The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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| III. | III. Epistles. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
291
III. Epistles.
AN EPISTLE.
Deare soule, ye time is come, & we must part,
Yet, ere I goe, in these lynes read my heart;
A heart so iust, so louing, & so true,
So full of sorrow & so full of you.
That all I speake, or write, or pray, or meane,
And (which is all I can) all yt I dreame,
Is not wthout a sigh, a thought for you,
And as your beautyes are, so are they true.
Yet, ere I goe, in these lynes read my heart;
A heart so iust, so louing, & so true,
So full of sorrow & so full of you.
That all I speake, or write, or pray, or meane,
And (which is all I can) all yt I dreame,
Is not wthout a sigh, a thought for you,
And as your beautyes are, so are they true.
Seauen summers now are fully spent & gone,
Since first I lou'd, lov'd you, & you alone;
And should myne eyes as many hundreds see,
Yet none but you should clayme a right in me;
A right so plac'd that time shall neuer heare
Of one so vow'd, or any lov'd so deare.
When I am gone (if euer prayers mov'd you)
Relate to none yt I so well haue lov'd you;
Ffor all that know your beauty & desert,
Would sweare he neuer lov'd, that knew to part.
Since first I lou'd, lov'd you, & you alone;
And should myne eyes as many hundreds see,
Yet none but you should clayme a right in me;
A right so plac'd that time shall neuer heare
Of one so vow'd, or any lov'd so deare.
When I am gone (if euer prayers mov'd you)
Relate to none yt I so well haue lov'd you;
Ffor all that know your beauty & desert,
Would sweare he neuer lov'd, that knew to part.
Why part we then? that spring which but this daye
Met some sweet Riuer, in his bed can playe,
And with a dimple cheek smile at their blisse,
Who never know what separation is.
The amorous vine with wanton interlaces
Clips still the rough Elme in her kind embraces:
Doues with their doues sit billing in ye groues,
And wooe the lesser birds to sing their loues;
Whilst haples we in grieffull absence sit,
Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it.
Met some sweet Riuer, in his bed can playe,
And with a dimple cheek smile at their blisse,
Who never know what separation is.
292
Clips still the rough Elme in her kind embraces:
Doues with their doues sit billing in ye groues,
And wooe the lesser birds to sing their loues;
Whilst haples we in grieffull absence sit,
Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it.
AN EPISTLE
OCCASIONED BY THE MOST INTOLLERABLE JANGLING OF THE PAPISTS' BELLS ON ALL SAINTS' NIGHT, THE EVE OF ALL SOULES' DAYE, BEING THEN VSED TO BE RUNG ALL NIGHT (AND ALL AS IF THE TOWNE WERE ON FIRE) FOR THE SOULES OF THOSE IN PURGATORYE. WRITTEN FROM THOUARS TO SAUMUR, TO MR. BRYAN PALMES.
Palmes and my friend, this night of Hollantide,
Left all alone, and no way occupyed:
Not to be idle, though I idle be
In writeing verse, I send these lynes to thee:
Aske me not how I can be left alone,
For all are heere so in devotion,
So earnest in their prayers for the dead,
And with their De profundis soe farr led,
And so transported (poore night-seeing fowles)
In their oraisons for all Christian sowles,
That knowing me for one but yesterdaye,
May be they dreamt me dead, & for me praye.
This maye coniectur'd be the reason why
I haue this night with me noe company,
I meane of that Religion; for indeed
But to consort with one that sayes his creed
In his owne Mother tongue, this daye for them
Were such a crime, that nor Jerusalem,
Not yet Romes voyage (for which I am sorry)
Could free those friends of mine from purgatorie.
And had I gone to visit them may be
They at my entrance might haue taken me,
(If that I spoke in English,) for some one
Of their good friends, new come from Phlegeton;
And so had put them to the pains to wooe
My Friend Fryer Guy and Bonaventure to;
To publish such a Miracle of theirs,
By ringing all the Bells about mine eares.
Left all alone, and no way occupyed:
Not to be idle, though I idle be
In writeing verse, I send these lynes to thee:
Aske me not how I can be left alone,
For all are heere so in devotion,
So earnest in their prayers for the dead,
And with their De profundis soe farr led,
And so transported (poore night-seeing fowles)
In their oraisons for all Christian sowles,
That knowing me for one but yesterdaye,
May be they dreamt me dead, & for me praye.
This maye coniectur'd be the reason why
I haue this night with me noe company,
293
But to consort with one that sayes his creed
In his owne Mother tongue, this daye for them
Were such a crime, that nor Jerusalem,
Not yet Romes voyage (for which I am sorry)
Could free those friends of mine from purgatorie.
And had I gone to visit them may be
They at my entrance might haue taken me,
(If that I spoke in English,) for some one
Of their good friends, new come from Phlegeton;
And so had put them to the pains to wooe
My Friend Fryer Guy and Bonaventure to;
To publish such a Miracle of theirs,
By ringing all the Bells about mine eares.
But peace be to their Bells, say I, as is
Their prayer euery day pax defunctis;
For I am sure all this long night to heare
Such a charauary, that if ther were
All the Tom Tinkers since the world began,
Inhabiting from Thule to Magellan;
And those that beat their kettles, when the Moone
Darkning the sun, brings on the Night ere Noone:
I thinke all these together would not make
Such a curs'd noyse as these for all soules sake.
Their prayer euery day pax defunctis;
For I am sure all this long night to heare
Such a charauary, that if ther were
All the Tom Tinkers since the world began,
Inhabiting from Thule to Magellan;
And those that beat their kettles, when the Moone
Darkning the sun, brings on the Night ere Noone:
I thinke all these together would not make
Such a curs'd noyse as these for all soules sake.
Honest John Helms, now by my troth I wish,
(Although my popish hostess hath with fish
Fed me three dayes) that thou wert here with speed,
And some more of thy crue, not without need,
To teache their Bells some rime or tune in swinging,
For sure they haue no reason in their ringing.
(Although my popish hostess hath with fish
Fed me three dayes) that thou wert here with speed,
And some more of thy crue, not without need,
To teache their Bells some rime or tune in swinging,
For sure they haue no reason in their ringing.
For mine owne part, heareing so strange a coyle,
Such discord, such debate, & such turmoil,
In a high steeple, when I first came hither,
And had small language, I did doubt me whether
Some had the Towre of Babell new begun,
And god had plagued them with confusion:
For which I was not sorry, for I thought
To catch some tongue among them, & for nought.
Such discord, such debate, & such turmoil,
In a high steeple, when I first came hither,
And had small language, I did doubt me whether
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And god had plagued them with confusion:
For which I was not sorry, for I thought
To catch some tongue among them, & for nought.
But being much deceiu'd, good Lord! quoth I,
What pagan noise is this? One that stood by,
Swore I did wrong them, for he me aduised
The Bells vpon his knowledge were baptizd.
My friend, quoth I, y'are more to blame by farre,
To see poore Christian creatures so at jarr,
And seeke not to accord them; as for me,
Although they not of my acquaintance be,
Nor though we never have shooke hands as yet,
Out of my Love to peace, not out of debt,
See theres eight soulz, or ten, it makes not whether;
Get them some wyne, see them drinke together:
Or if the Sexton cannot bring them to it,
As he will sure have much adoe to doe it;
Tell him he shall be thank'd, if soe he strives
With special care to take away their knives;
And for their cause of stirre that he record it,
Untill a gen'ral councell doe accord it.
Till when, Ile hold, what ere the Jesuits say:
Although their church erre not, their steeple may.
What pagan noise is this? One that stood by,
Swore I did wrong them, for he me aduised
The Bells vpon his knowledge were baptizd.
My friend, quoth I, y'are more to blame by farre,
To see poore Christian creatures so at jarr,
And seeke not to accord them; as for me,
Although they not of my acquaintance be,
Nor though we never have shooke hands as yet,
Out of my Love to peace, not out of debt,
See theres eight soulz, or ten, it makes not whether;
Get them some wyne, see them drinke together:
Or if the Sexton cannot bring them to it,
As he will sure have much adoe to doe it;
Tell him he shall be thank'd, if soe he strives
With special care to take away their knives;
And for their cause of stirre that he record it,
Untill a gen'ral councell doe accord it.
Till when, Ile hold, what ere the Jesuits say:
Although their church erre not, their steeple may.
W. B.
AN EPISTLE THROWNE INTO A RIUER, IN A BALL OF WAX.
Goe, gentle paper; happy (happier farreThen he that sends thee) with this character:
Goe, view those blessed Banks, enriched by
A faire but faithles Maidens company;
And if consorted with my teares of bryne,
Which (Gentle floud) add waues to those of thyne,
295
Made valuable by her stepps impression:
Stay, stay thy course; and fortunate from danger
Dwell there, where my ill fate makes me a Stranger.
If, faithfull paper which holdst nought of Art,
Thou come into her hands who kylls my heart;
And she demands thee, how I spend my howres,
Tell her, O tell her! how in gloomy bowers,
In cauernes yet vnknowne euen to the sun,
And places free from all confusion
Except my thoughts, there sit I girt with feares;
Where day and night I turne my selfe to teares,
Onelye to wash away that stayne which she
Hath (carelesse) throwne vpon her constancye;
And if (touch'd with repentance) she bedewe
Thee with some christall drops, I would she knewe
Her Sorrowes or the breakyng of the dart
Heales not her wounded faith, nor my slaine hart.
And my iust Griefes of all redresse bereauen
Shall euer witnes before men and heauen,
That as she is the fair'st and most vntrue
Of those that euer man or read or knewe,
So am I the most constant without mate
Of all that breathe, and most affectionate;
Although assurd, that nor my loue nor Faith
Shall reape one Joye but by the hand of death.
AN EPISTLE.
Hasten, o hasten, for my loues sake haste:
The Spring alreadye hath your Beachworth grac'd.
What need you longer stay to grace it more;
Or adde to that which had enough before?
The heauens admit no suns: why should your Seate
Haue two, then, equall good & as complete?
Hasten, o hasten then; for till I see
Whom most I loue, 'tis Winter still with mee.
I feele no Spring; nor shall I, till your light
Repell my too too long and lonely Night:
Till you haue quicken'd with your happy shine
A drooping discontented hart of mine,
No mirth, but what is forc'd, shall there be plac'd.
Hasten, o hasten then: for loues sake haste.
The Spring alreadye hath your Beachworth grac'd.
What need you longer stay to grace it more;
Or adde to that which had enough before?
The heauens admit no suns: why should your Seate
Haue two, then, equall good & as complete?
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Whom most I loue, 'tis Winter still with mee.
I feele no Spring; nor shall I, till your light
Repell my too too long and lonely Night:
Till you haue quicken'd with your happy shine
A drooping discontented hart of mine,
No mirth, but what is forc'd, shall there be plac'd.
Hasten, o hasten then: for loues sake haste.
Soe longing Hero oftentymes was wont
Vpon the flowry bankes of Hellespont
To walke, expecting when her loue should land,
As I haue done on siluer Isis strand.
Vpon the flowry bankes of Hellespont
To walke, expecting when her loue should land,
As I haue done on siluer Isis strand.
I aske the snowy swans, that swim along,
Seeking some sad place for their sadder song,
Whether they came from Mole, or heard her tell
What worth doth neere her wanton riuer dwell;
And naming you, the gentle spotlesse birds,
As if they vnderstood the power of words,
To bend their stately necks doe straight agree;
And honoring the name, so answer me.
Seeking some sad place for their sadder song,
Whether they came from Mole, or heard her tell
What worth doth neere her wanton riuer dwell;
And naming you, the gentle spotlesse birds,
As if they vnderstood the power of words,
To bend their stately necks doe straight agree;
And honoring the name, so answer me.
Those being gone, I aske the christall brooke,
Since pert of it vnwillinglie had took
An euer leaue of that more happy place
Then pleasant Tempe, which the gods did grace;
The streame I ask'd, if when it lately left
Those daisyed banks, & grieu'd to be berefte
So sweet a channell, you did meane to stay
Still in that vale, whence they were forc'd away;
Hereat the waue a little murmur makes,
And then another waue that overtakes;
And then a third comes on, & then another,
Rowling themselues vp closely each to other—
(As little lads, to know their fellowes minde,
While he is talking, closely steale behinde;)
I aske them all, & each like murmur keepes;
I aske another, & that other weepes.
What they should meane by this, I doe not know,
Except the mutterings & the teares they showe
Be from the dear remembrance of that scite
Where, when they left you, they forsooke delight.
Since pert of it vnwillinglie had took
An euer leaue of that more happy place
Then pleasant Tempe, which the gods did grace;
The streame I ask'd, if when it lately left
Those daisyed banks, & grieu'd to be berefte
So sweet a channell, you did meane to stay
Still in that vale, whence they were forc'd away;
Hereat the waue a little murmur makes,
And then another waue that overtakes;
And then a third comes on, & then another,
Rowling themselues vp closely each to other—
(As little lads, to know their fellowes minde,
While he is talking, closely steale behinde;)
I aske them all, & each like murmur keepes;
I aske another, & that other weepes.
297
Except the mutterings & the teares they showe
Be from the dear remembrance of that scite
Where, when they left you, they forsooke delight.
That this the cause was, I perceiued plaine;
For going thence, I thither came againe,
What time it had bin flood, a pretty while;
And then the dimpled waters seem'd to smile;
As if they did reioice, & were full faine,
That they were turning back to Mole againe.
For going thence, I thither came againe,
What time it had bin flood, a pretty while;
And then the dimpled waters seem'd to smile;
As if they did reioice, & were full faine,
That they were turning back to Mole againe.
In such like thoughts, I spend the tedious day;
But when the night doth our half-Globe array
In mournfull black, I leaue the curled streame,
And by the kindnes of a happy dreame,
Enioy what most I wish; your selfe & such,
Whose worth, whose loue, could I as highly touch
As I conceiue, some houres should still be spent
To raise your more then earthly Monument.
In sleepe I walk with you, & doe obtayne
A seeming conference: but, alas, what paine
Endures that man, which euermore is taking
His ioyes in sleepe, & is most wretched waking?
But when the night doth our half-Globe array
In mournfull black, I leaue the curled streame,
And by the kindnes of a happy dreame,
Enioy what most I wish; your selfe & such,
Whose worth, whose loue, could I as highly touch
As I conceiue, some houres should still be spent
To raise your more then earthly Monument.
In sleepe I walk with you, & doe obtayne
A seeming conference: but, alas, what paine
Endures that man, which euermore is taking
His ioyes in sleepe, & is most wretched waking?
To make me happy then, be you my Sun,
And with your presence cleere all clouds begun;
My mists of Melancholy will outweare,
By your appearing in our Hemispheare;
Till which, within a vale as full of woe,
As I haue euer sung, or eye can knowe,
Or you can but imagine, reading this,
Inthralled lyes the heart of him that is
And with your presence cleere all clouds begun;
My mists of Melancholy will outweare,
By your appearing in our Hemispheare;
Till which, within a vale as full of woe,
As I haue euer sung, or eye can knowe,
Or you can but imagine, reading this,
Inthralled lyes the heart of him that is
Careles of all others' loue without your respect, W. B.
From an Inner Temple, then ye Inner Temple, May the third 1615.
298
FIDO: AN EPISTLE TO FIDELIA.
Sittyng one day beside a siluer Brooke,
Whose sleepy waues vnwillingly forsooke
The strict imbraces of the flowry shore,
As loath to leaue what they should see no more:
I read (as Fate had turned it to my hand)
Among the famous Layes of faierie Land,
Bœlphæbes fond mistrust, when as she mett
Her gentle Squire with louely Amorett.
And laying by the booke, poore Lad, quoth I,
Must all thy ioyes, like Eues posterity,
Receiue a doome, not to be chang'd by Suite,
Onely for tasting the forbidden fruite?
Had faire Belphæbe licenc'd thee some tyme
To kysse her cherry lipp, thou didst a cryme;
But since she for thy thirst noe help would bring,
Thou lawfully mightst seeke another spring;
And had those kisses stolne bin melting sipps,
Tane by consent from Amoretts sweet lipps,
Thou mightst haue answer'd, if thy loue had spyde,
How others gladly gaue what she denyde;
But since they were not such, it did approue
A jealousie not meritinge thy loue,
And an iniustice offerd by the mayde
In giuing iudgment ere she heard thee pleade.
I haue a Loue, (and then I thought of you,
As heauen can witnesse I each minute doe,)
Soe well assurd of that once promised faith,
Which my vnmoud Loue still cherisheth,
That should she see me priuate with a dame,
Fair as her selfe, and of a house whose name,
From Phæbus' rise to Tagus where he setts,
Hath bin as famous as Plantagenetts.
Whose eyes would thawe congealed harts of Ice,
And as we now dispute of Paradise,
And question where Faire Eden stood of olde,
Among so many sweet plots we beholde,
Which by the armes of those braue Riuers bin,
Inbraced which of yore did keepe it in:
So were she one, who did so much abounde
In graces, more then euer mortal crownde,
That it might fitly for a question passe,
Where or wherein her most of beauty was.
I surely could belieue, nay, I durst sweare,
That your sweet goodnesse would not stoope to feare,
Though she might be to any that should wyn it
A Paradise without a Serpent in it.
Whose sleepy waues vnwillingly forsooke
The strict imbraces of the flowry shore,
As loath to leaue what they should see no more:
I read (as Fate had turned it to my hand)
Among the famous Layes of faierie Land,
Bœlphæbes fond mistrust, when as she mett
Her gentle Squire with louely Amorett.
And laying by the booke, poore Lad, quoth I,
Must all thy ioyes, like Eues posterity,
Receiue a doome, not to be chang'd by Suite,
Onely for tasting the forbidden fruite?
Had faire Belphæbe licenc'd thee some tyme
To kysse her cherry lipp, thou didst a cryme;
But since she for thy thirst noe help would bring,
Thou lawfully mightst seeke another spring;
And had those kisses stolne bin melting sipps,
Tane by consent from Amoretts sweet lipps,
Thou mightst haue answer'd, if thy loue had spyde,
How others gladly gaue what she denyde;
But since they were not such, it did approue
A jealousie not meritinge thy loue,
And an iniustice offerd by the mayde
In giuing iudgment ere she heard thee pleade.
I haue a Loue, (and then I thought of you,
As heauen can witnesse I each minute doe,)
Soe well assurd of that once promised faith,
Which my vnmoud Loue still cherisheth,
That should she see me priuate with a dame,
Fair as her selfe, and of a house whose name,
From Phæbus' rise to Tagus where he setts,
Hath bin as famous as Plantagenetts.
299
And as we now dispute of Paradise,
And question where Faire Eden stood of olde,
Among so many sweet plots we beholde,
Which by the armes of those braue Riuers bin,
Inbraced which of yore did keepe it in:
So were she one, who did so much abounde
In graces, more then euer mortal crownde,
That it might fitly for a question passe,
Where or wherein her most of beauty was.
I surely could belieue, nay, I durst sweare,
That your sweet goodnesse would not stoope to feare,
Though she might be to any that should wyn it
A Paradise without a Serpent in it.
Such were my thoughts of you, and thynking soe,
Much lyke a man, who running in the Snowe
From the Surprisall of a murdrous Elfe,
Beates out a Path, and so betrayes him selfe.
I in securitie was further gone,
And made a Path for your Suspition
To finde me out. Tyme being nigh the same,
When thus I thought, and when your letters came.
Much lyke a man, who running in the Snowe
From the Surprisall of a murdrous Elfe,
Beates out a Path, and so betrayes him selfe.
I in securitie was further gone,
And made a Path for your Suspition
To finde me out. Tyme being nigh the same,
When thus I thought, and when your letters came.
But, oh, how farre I err'd, how much deceiu'd
Was my belief! your selfe, that haue bereau'd
Me of that confidence, my loue had got.
Judge if I were an Infidell or not;
And let me tell you, Faire, the Fault was thyne,
If I did misbelieue, and none of myne.
Was my belief! your selfe, that haue bereau'd
Me of that confidence, my loue had got.
Judge if I were an Infidell or not;
And let me tell you, Faire, the Fault was thyne,
If I did misbelieue, and none of myne.
That man which sees, as he along doth passe
Some beaten way, a piece of sparklyng glasse,
And deemes far of that it a dyamond is,
Adds to the glasse by such a thought of his;
But when he findes it wants, to quit his paine,
The value soone returnes to him agayne.
Some beaten way, a piece of sparklyng glasse,
And deemes far of that it a dyamond is,
Adds to the glasse by such a thought of his;
But when he findes it wants, to quit his paine,
The value soone returnes to him agayne.
If in the ruder North some country clowne,
That stands to see the kyng ride through the town,
Spyeing some gaye & gold belaced thyng,
Should cry, See, neighbors, yonder comes the Kyng:
And much mistaken both in state and age,
Points at some lord, and for a lord a page:
Is not that lord or page beholding much
To him that thynkes them worthy to be such
He tooke them for? And are not you to me
Indebted much, since my credulitie
Made you the same I thought you, and from thence
Rais'd an assurance of your confidence?
These were the thoughts of you I still was in,
Nor shall your Letters so much of me wynne;
I will not trust myne eyes so much to thynke
Your white hand wrote with such a stayning inke;
Or if I ever take yt for your hand,
I sure shall thinke I doe not vnderstand
In reading as you meant, and fall from thence
To doubt if points puerted not the sense!
For such a constant faith I haue in thee,
That I could dye euen in that heresye.
That stands to see the kyng ride through the town,
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Should cry, See, neighbors, yonder comes the Kyng:
And much mistaken both in state and age,
Points at some lord, and for a lord a page:
Is not that lord or page beholding much
To him that thynkes them worthy to be such
He tooke them for? And are not you to me
Indebted much, since my credulitie
Made you the same I thought you, and from thence
Rais'd an assurance of your confidence?
These were the thoughts of you I still was in,
Nor shall your Letters so much of me wynne;
I will not trust myne eyes so much to thynke
Your white hand wrote with such a stayning inke;
Or if I ever take yt for your hand,
I sure shall thinke I doe not vnderstand
In reading as you meant, and fall from thence
To doubt if points puerted not the sense!
For such a constant faith I haue in thee,
That I could dye euen in that heresye.
In this beliefe of you I stand as yet,
And thinke as those that followe Mahomet:
He merits much that doth continue still
In his first faith, although that faith be ill.
And thinke as those that followe Mahomet:
He merits much that doth continue still
In his first faith, although that faith be ill.
A vaine inconstant dame, that counts her loues
By this enamell'd ring, that paire of gloues,
And with her chamber-mayd when closely set,
Turning her Letters in her Cabinett,
Makes knowne what Tokens haue byn sent vnto her,
What man did bluntly, who did courtly wooe her;
Who hath the best face, neatest legg, most Lands,
Who for his Carriage in her fauour stands.
Opening a Paper then she shewes her wytt
In an Epistle that some foole had wrytt:
Then meeting with another which she lykes,
Her Chambermayds great readyng quickly strykes
That good opinyon dead, & sweares that this
Was stolne from Palmerin or Amadis.
Next come her Sonnetts, wch they spelling reade,
And say the man was very much afrayde
To haue his meaning knowne, since they from thence
(Saue Cupids darts) can picke no iot of sense;
And in conclusion, with discretion small,
Scoffe thys, scorne that, and so abuse them all.
If I had thought you such an empty prise,
I had not sought nowe to apologize,
Nor had these Lynes the virgin paper staynde
But, as my Loue, vnspotted had remayned;
And sure I thinke to what I am about,
My inke then it was wont goes slower out,
As if it told me I but vaguelye writt
To her that should, but will not, credyt it.
By this enamell'd ring, that paire of gloues,
And with her chamber-mayd when closely set,
Turning her Letters in her Cabinett,
Makes knowne what Tokens haue byn sent vnto her,
What man did bluntly, who did courtly wooe her;
Who hath the best face, neatest legg, most Lands,
Who for his Carriage in her fauour stands.
Opening a Paper then she shewes her wytt
In an Epistle that some foole had wrytt:
Then meeting with another which she lykes,
Her Chambermayds great readyng quickly strykes
301
Was stolne from Palmerin or Amadis.
Next come her Sonnetts, wch they spelling reade,
And say the man was very much afrayde
To haue his meaning knowne, since they from thence
(Saue Cupids darts) can picke no iot of sense;
And in conclusion, with discretion small,
Scoffe thys, scorne that, and so abuse them all.
If I had thought you such an empty prise,
I had not sought nowe to apologize,
Nor had these Lynes the virgin paper staynde
But, as my Loue, vnspotted had remayned;
And sure I thinke to what I am about,
My inke then it was wont goes slower out,
As if it told me I but vaguelye writt
To her that should, but will not, credyt it.
Yet goe, ye hopeless lines, and tell that faire,
Whose flaxen tresses with the wanton ayre
Intrappe the darling Boy, that daily flyes
To see his sweet face in her sweeter eyes;
Tell my Fidelia, if she doe averre
That I with borrowde phrases courted her,
Or sung to her the layes of other men;
And lyke the cag'd thrush of a cittizen,
Tyr'd with a Note contynually sung ore
The eares of one that knew that all before.
If this she thinke, (as I shall nere be wonne
Once to imagine she hath truly done,)
Let her then know, though now a many be
Parrots, which speak the tongue of Arcadye,
Yet in themselues not so much language knowe,
Nor wit sufficient for a Lord Maiors showe.
I neuer yet but scorn'd a tast to bring
Out of the Channell when I saw the Spring,
Or like a silent Organ been soe weake,
That others' fingers taught me how to speake.
The sacred Nyne, whose powrefull songs haue made
In way-les deserts trees of mightye shade
To bend in admiracōn, & alayde
The wrath of Tigers with the notes they plaide,
Were kind in some small measure at my birth,
And by the hand of Nature to my Earth
Lent their eternall heat, by whose bright flame
Succeeding time shall read & know your name,
And pine in envye of your praises writ,
Though now your brightnes strive to lessen it.
Thus haue I done, & like an Artist spent
My dayes to build another's Monument;
Yet you those paines so careles ouerslip,
That I am not allow'd the workmanship.
Some haue done lesse, and haue been more rewarded;
None hath lov'd more, & hath bin lesse regarded:
Yet the poore silkenworme & onely I
Like parallells run on to worke & dye.
Why write I then againe, since she will thinke
My heart is limned with anothers inke?
Or if she deeme these lines had birth from me,
Perhaps will thinke they but deceiuers be,
And, as our flattering painters doe impart,
A fair made Copy of a faithles heart,
O, my Fidelia, if thou canst be wonne
From that mistrust my absence hath begun,
Be now converted, kill those iealous feares,
Creddit my lines: if not, belieue my teares,
Which with each word, nay, euery letter, stroue
That in their number you might read my love.
And where (for one distracted needs must misse)
My language not enough persuasive is,
Be that supplyed with what each eye affords,
For teares haue often had the powre of words.
Grant this, faire saint, since their distilling rayne
permits me not to read it ore againe;
For as a Swan more white then Alpine Snow,
Wandring vpon the sands of siluer Po,
Hath his impression by a fuller sea
Not made so soone as quickly washt awaye.
Such in my writeing now the state hath been,
For scarce my pen goes of the inke yet green,
But flouds of teares fall on it in such store,
That I perceiue not what I writt before.
Can any man do thus, yet that man be
Without the fire of Loue & Loialtie?
Know then in breach of Natures constant Lawes,
There may be an effect & yet no cause.
Without the Sun we may haue Aprill showers,
And wanting moysture know no want of flowers;
Causeles the Elements could cease to war:
The seaman's needle to the Northern Starr
Without the Loadstone would for ever move.
If all these teares can be & yet no love:
If you still deeme I onelye am the man,
Which in the Maze of Loue yet never ranne:
Or if in love I surely did persue
The Favour of some other, not of you;
Or loving you, would not be strictly tyde
To you alone, but sought a Saint beside:
Know then by all the vertues we inthrone,
That I haue lov'd, lov'd you, & you alone.
Read ore my lines where truthful passion mov'd,
And hate it selfe will say that I have lov'd.
Thinke on my Vowes which have been ever true,
And know by them that I affected you.
Recount my tryalls, & they will impart
That none is partner with you in my heart.
Lines, vows, & tryalls will conclude in one,
That I haue lov'd, lov'd you, & you alone.
Lines, seeke no more then to that doubtfull faire,
And ye, my vowes, for euer more forbeare:
Trialls, to her prove never true againe;
Since lines, vowes, tryalls striue all but in vaine.
Yet when I writt, the ready tongue of Truth
Did euer dictate not deceiving youth.
When I have sworn my tongue did never erre
To be my harts most true interpreter,
And proofe confirm'd when you examin'd both,
Love caused those lines, & Constancy that Oath;
And shall I write, protest (you proue) & then
Be left the most vnfortunate of men?
Must Truth be still neglected? Faith forgot?
And Constancy esteem'd as what is not?
Shall deare Regard and Love for euer be
Wrong'd with the name of lust & flatterie?
It must; for this your last suspicion tells,
That you intend to worke noe miracles.
Whose flaxen tresses with the wanton ayre
Intrappe the darling Boy, that daily flyes
To see his sweet face in her sweeter eyes;
Tell my Fidelia, if she doe averre
That I with borrowde phrases courted her,
Or sung to her the layes of other men;
And lyke the cag'd thrush of a cittizen,
Tyr'd with a Note contynually sung ore
The eares of one that knew that all before.
If this she thinke, (as I shall nere be wonne
Once to imagine she hath truly done,)
Let her then know, though now a many be
Parrots, which speak the tongue of Arcadye,
Yet in themselues not so much language knowe,
Nor wit sufficient for a Lord Maiors showe.
I neuer yet but scorn'd a tast to bring
Out of the Channell when I saw the Spring,
Or like a silent Organ been soe weake,
That others' fingers taught me how to speake.
302
In way-les deserts trees of mightye shade
To bend in admiracōn, & alayde
The wrath of Tigers with the notes they plaide,
Were kind in some small measure at my birth,
And by the hand of Nature to my Earth
Lent their eternall heat, by whose bright flame
Succeeding time shall read & know your name,
And pine in envye of your praises writ,
Though now your brightnes strive to lessen it.
Thus haue I done, & like an Artist spent
My dayes to build another's Monument;
Yet you those paines so careles ouerslip,
That I am not allow'd the workmanship.
Some haue done lesse, and haue been more rewarded;
None hath lov'd more, & hath bin lesse regarded:
Yet the poore silkenworme & onely I
Like parallells run on to worke & dye.
Why write I then againe, since she will thinke
My heart is limned with anothers inke?
Or if she deeme these lines had birth from me,
Perhaps will thinke they but deceiuers be,
And, as our flattering painters doe impart,
A fair made Copy of a faithles heart,
O, my Fidelia, if thou canst be wonne
From that mistrust my absence hath begun,
Be now converted, kill those iealous feares,
Creddit my lines: if not, belieue my teares,
Which with each word, nay, euery letter, stroue
That in their number you might read my love.
And where (for one distracted needs must misse)
My language not enough persuasive is,
Be that supplyed with what each eye affords,
For teares haue often had the powre of words.
Grant this, faire saint, since their distilling rayne
permits me not to read it ore againe;
303
Wandring vpon the sands of siluer Po,
Hath his impression by a fuller sea
Not made so soone as quickly washt awaye.
Such in my writeing now the state hath been,
For scarce my pen goes of the inke yet green,
But flouds of teares fall on it in such store,
That I perceiue not what I writt before.
Can any man do thus, yet that man be
Without the fire of Loue & Loialtie?
Know then in breach of Natures constant Lawes,
There may be an effect & yet no cause.
Without the Sun we may haue Aprill showers,
And wanting moysture know no want of flowers;
Causeles the Elements could cease to war:
The seaman's needle to the Northern Starr
Without the Loadstone would for ever move.
If all these teares can be & yet no love:
If you still deeme I onelye am the man,
Which in the Maze of Loue yet never ranne:
Or if in love I surely did persue
The Favour of some other, not of you;
Or loving you, would not be strictly tyde
To you alone, but sought a Saint beside:
Know then by all the vertues we inthrone,
That I haue lov'd, lov'd you, & you alone.
Read ore my lines where truthful passion mov'd,
And hate it selfe will say that I have lov'd.
Thinke on my Vowes which have been ever true,
And know by them that I affected you.
Recount my tryalls, & they will impart
That none is partner with you in my heart.
Lines, vows, & tryalls will conclude in one,
That I haue lov'd, lov'd you, & you alone.
Lines, seeke no more then to that doubtfull faire,
And ye, my vowes, for euer more forbeare:
304
Since lines, vowes, tryalls striue all but in vaine.
Yet when I writt, the ready tongue of Truth
Did euer dictate not deceiving youth.
When I have sworn my tongue did never erre
To be my harts most true interpreter,
And proofe confirm'd when you examin'd both,
Love caused those lines, & Constancy that Oath;
And shall I write, protest (you proue) & then
Be left the most vnfortunate of men?
Must Truth be still neglected? Faith forgot?
And Constancy esteem'd as what is not?
Shall deare Regard and Love for euer be
Wrong'd with the name of lust & flatterie?
It must; for this your last suspicion tells,
That you intend to worke noe miracles.
W. B.
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