Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Faire Shepherdesse whose hap and fare,
That such it be, it is Gods will:
Let not such grace and beautie rare
Decay, or be imployed ill.
And whose milde lambes and marked sheepe
Thou maist behold (with merrie cheere)
By flockes increase, where they doe keepe
On tops of these greene hillocks heere.

Harke to a Shepherdes wretched crie,
Vnto himselfe so great a foe,
As for thy sweetest sake to die,
He findes he doth it well bestowe:
Turne thy deafe cares vnto my smart,
And mollifie thy hard pretences,
And now begin to put thy hart
Into the handes of thy sweete sences.

Turne these two faire and cruell eies
Vnto this haplesse Shepherd Swaine:
Thy flocke regarde not, but his cries,
And thinke a little on his paine,
Let that but mooue and change thy will:
To thinke thereof, I pray thee deine yet,
And not to remedie mine ill,
But to behold how I susteine it.

How often hast thou come and leade
Vnto the field thy flocke and dams,
How many times vnto the meade
Hast thou brought forth thy pretie lambes?
That I told not my little ease,
That I became a foole for thee,
But better had I held my peace,
So little it auailed me.

That which I feele for thy sweete sake
With what wordes shall I now declare?
Or with what knowledge shall I make
My faith but knowen and heauie care?
What humane senses shall suffice
To feele that paine, and that vnrest,
Which for thy sake Loue did deuise
To giue me (though I tell it best.)

Why dost thou hide thy selfe from me,
Since thou dost knowe it very cleere,
That present when I am with thee,
Most absent from thee I appeere:
I, in suspences to enfolde me
Being where thy faire beauties are:
And thou, when that thou dost beholde me,
From seeing me then art thou far.

To shewe me likewise thou dost knowe
(To mocke me when thou dost pretend)
Things from thy thought, which euer goe,
And so deceiue me in the end.
See then who greater loue can giue,
Or greater grounded loue in hand,
That my deceiued thought must liue
With that thou mak'st it vnderstand.

Behold th' extreme wherein I am,
Seeing my good in doubtfull state,
That silly creatures I became,
(Lesse then myselfe) to emulate:
For, for the bird the winde doth beare,
And fish that in the waues doe liue,
For their sweete freedome euery where
My vnderstanding I would giue.

A change of thousand times I see,
And nouels euery day doe raine:
Minds change from that they wont to bee,
Obliuions doe reuiue againe.
In euery thing there is great change,
The which I neuer saw in thee,
Whereby thou maist perceiue how strange,
And vaine my hope is vnto me.

The other day thou didst passe by,
Feeding thy flocke vpon the hill:
For greefe I sighed somewhat high;
Meaning thereby to thee no ill:
A lambe the head then lift vp, that it
Did heare, and did some pitie feele,
And thou didst fling thy sheepehooke at it:
See what a hardned hart of steele.

Could'st thou not (armed with such power)
After such long time killing me
Helpe me a day or but an hower?
If that doth seeme too much to thee,
Doe it to see how I may proue
Or how with fauours, that ensue,
In better sort intreate this loue:
Then after kill my soule anew.

I doe desire to change estate
From paine to paine, and not to pleasure:
Nor yet to change from loue to hate,
And all in one degree and measure.
And though the ill in substance should
Be but all one and of one sort:

Yet in the circumstance I would
That more or lesse it did import.

For that may be of such behoofe,
And Mistresse, so much it may doe
That loue may giue thee greater proofe,
Then it hath giu'n thee hitherto.
And whom an ill and firmest loue
Can neither greeue, normollifie,
It may be such a greefe may moue
Thee, of some greater qualitie.

Vnto the meade if thou dost goe,
Vnto the riuer or the plaine,
Then am I diligent to knowe,
If thou art gone or come againe.
If angrie, when I follow thee,
Or mocke me, if behinde I stay:
See then how feare doth trouble me,
And what extremes I doe essay.

To Syluia then thy deerest friend
I goe (to seeke a poore releefe)
To know if (haply) in the end
Thou hast inform'd her of my greefe.
But nothing when of thee she speakes,
Then doe I say, this cruell foe
Vnto her good companion breakes
Nothing of me, nor of my woe.

Some other times I watch the place,
To heare the singing in the night,
With singular and sweetest grace,
A thousand songs of great delight:
For I doe heare them one by one,
And thou seek'st out the worst of all,
And euer from thy mouth heare none
That in loue matters doe befall.

I sawe thee yet the other day,
Talking with Maudline, who in fine
To thee her sorrow did bevvray:
O would to God it had bene mine.
I thought thou wouldst not long defer
(Poore soule) to cheere her heauy hart,
But laughing, thou didst answere her.
It is a iest, in loue's no smart.

Thou left'st her weeping all in vaine,
And I came thither by and by:
Of thy hard hart she did complaine,
And sighing, this I did reply:
No wonder, for this cruell one
Delights not onely, that aboue
All others she loues not alone,
But that all others should not loue.

Some other times I thee espie
Talking with other Shepherdesses,
All is of feastes and brauerie,
Who daunceth best, and like digresses:
That this maide hath a seemely grace,
And he this, or that interest:
But if of loue they touch an ace,
Then straight thou turn'st it to a iest.

Beware yet, liue not too secure,
For in braue loue and fortunes art,
There is not anything lesse sure
Then such a free exempted hart.
And it may be with after woe
That cruell loue will subiect thee,
To one that will intreate thee soe,
(Cruell) as thou intreatest me.

But (if that fall out to thy cost)
God graunt the same may neuer bee,
And first I wish my life were lost,
Rather then such a thing to see.
For this poore hart which in my brest
Is burning in so strange a fire,
Feares more thy harme and thy vnrest,
Then it respects her owne desire.