University of Virginia Library

[I joye in griefe, and doo detest all joyes]

Strephon. Klaius.
Strephon.
I joye in griefe, and doo detest all joyes:
Despise delight, and tyrde with thought of ease
I turne my minde to all formes of annoyes,
And with the chaunge of them my fancie please.
I studie that which may me most displease,
And in despite of that displeasures might,
Embrace that most, that most my soule destroyes.
Blinded with beames, fell darkenes is my sight:
Dole on my ruine feedes, with sucking smarte,
I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte.

Klaius.
I thinke from me, not from my woes to parte,
And loth this time, calld life, nay thinke, that life
Nature to me for torment did emparte;
Thinke, my harde haps have blunted deaths sharpe knife,
Not sparing me, in whom his workes be rife:
And thinking this, thinke Nature, Life, and Death
Place Sorrowes triumph on my conquered brest:
Whereto I yeeld, and seeke none other breath,
But from the sent of some infectious grave:
Nor of my fortune ought, but mischieve crave.

Strephon.
Nor of my fortune ought but mischiefe crave,
And seeke to nourish that, which now contaynes
All what I am: if I my selfe will save,
Then must I save, what in me chiefly raignes,
Which is the hatefull web of Sorowes paines.
Sorow then cherish me, for I am sorowe:
No being now, but sorowe I can have:
Then decke me as thine owne; thy helpe I borowe,
Since thou my riches arte, and that thou haste
Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste.

Klaius.
Enough to make a fertill minde lie waste
Is that huge storme, which powres it selfe on me:
Hailestones of teares, of sighes a monstrous blast,
Thunders of cries; lightnings my wilde lookes be,
The darkened heav'n my soule which nought can see;
The flying sprites which trees by rootes up teare
Be those despaires, which have my hopes quite wast.
The diffrence is; all folkes those stormes forbeare:
But I cannot; who then my selfe should flie
So close unto my selfe my wrackes doo lie.

Strephon.
So close unto my selfe my wrackes doo lie;
Both cause, effect, beginning, and the ende
Are all in me: what helpe then can I trie?
My ship, my selfe; whose course to love doth bende,
Sore beaten doth her mast of Comforte spende:
Her cable, Reason, breakes from anchor, Hope:
Fancie, her tackling, torne away doth flie:
Ruine, the winde, hath blowne her from her scope:
Brused with waves of Cares, but broken is
On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse.

Klaius.
On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse
I long doo plowe with plough of deepe Desire:
The seed Fast-meaning is, no truth to misse:
I harowe it with Thoughts, which all conspire
Favour to make my chiefe and onely hire.
But, woe is me, the yeare is gone about,
And now I faine would reape, I reape but this,
Hate fully growne, Absence new sprongen out.
So that I see, although my sight empaire,
Vaine is their paine, who labour in Despaire.

Strephon.
Vaine is their paine, who labour in Despaire.
For so did I, when with my angle, Will,
I sought to catch the fish Torpedo faire.
Ev'n then Despaire did Hope already kill:
Yet Fancie would perforce employ his skill,
And this hath got; the catcher now is caught,
Lamde with the angle, which it selfe did beare,
And unto death, quite drownde in Dolours, brought
To death, as then disguisde in her faire face.
Thus, thus I had, alas, my losse in chase.

Klaius
Thus, thus I had, alas, my losse in chase,
When first that crowned Basiliske I knewe,
Whose footesteps I with kisses oft did trace,
Till by such hap, as I must ever rewe,
Mine eyes did light upon her shining hewe,
And hers on me, astonisht with that sight.
Since then my harte did loose his wonted place,
Infected so with her sweet poysons might,
That, leaving me for dead, to her it went:
But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent.

Strephon.
But ah her flight hath my dead reliques spent,
Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me,
Yet living still in her, while her beames lent
Such vitall sparke, that her mine eyes might see.
But now those living lights absented be,
Full dead before, I now to dust should fall,
But that eternall paines my soule should hent,
And keepe it still within this body thrall:
That thus I must, while in this death I dwell,
In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell.

Klaius.

Strephon
I joye in griefe, and doo detest all joyes.
And now an ende, (ô Claius) now an ende
For even the hearbes our mournefull musique stroyes,
And from our burning breath the trees doo bende.