 | The Poetry of George Wither |  |
151
SONNET I.
Ah me!
Am I the swain,
That late from sorrow free,
Did all the cares on earth disdain?
And still untouch'd, as at some safer games,
Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames?
Was't I could dive and sound each passion's secret depth at will,
And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise by help of reason still?
And am I now, oh heavens! for trying this in vain
So sunk that I shall never rise again?
Then let despair set sorrow's string
For strains that dolefull'st be,
And I will sing,
Ah me.
Am I the swain,
That late from sorrow free,
Did all the cares on earth disdain?
And still untouch'd, as at some safer games,
Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames?
Was't I could dive and sound each passion's secret depth at will,
And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise by help of reason still?
And am I now, oh heavens! for trying this in vain
So sunk that I shall never rise again?
Then let despair set sorrow's string
For strains that dolefull'st be,
And I will sing,
Ah me.
But why,
O fatal Time!
Dost thou constrain that I
Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?
I but awhile ago, you cruel powers,
In spite of fortune, cropp'd contentment's sweetest flowers.
And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she
That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see.
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress;
Yet I, poor I, must perish natheless.
And, which much more augments my care,
Unmoaned I must die,
And no man e'er
Know why.
O fatal Time!
Dost thou constrain that I
Should perish in my youth's sweet prime?
I but awhile ago, you cruel powers,
In spite of fortune, cropp'd contentment's sweetest flowers.
And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she
That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see.
Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress;
Yet I, poor I, must perish natheless.
And, which much more augments my care,
Unmoaned I must die,
And no man e'er
Know why.
152
Thy leave,
My dying song,
Yet take, ere grief bereave
The breath which I enjoy too long.
Tell thou that fair one this: my soul prefers
Her love above my life, and that I died hers:
And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear,
Who loved the very thought of her whilst he remained here.
And now farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth,
Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth.
Since me my wonted joys forsake,
And all my trust deceive,
Of all I take
My leave.
My dying song,
Yet take, ere grief bereave
The breath which I enjoy too long.
Tell thou that fair one this: my soul prefers
Her love above my life, and that I died hers:
And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear,
Who loved the very thought of her whilst he remained here.
And now farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth,
Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth.
Since me my wonted joys forsake,
And all my trust deceive,
Of all I take
My leave.
Farewell,
Sweet groves, to you;
You hills, that highest dwell;
And all you humble vales, adieu.
You wanton brooks and solitary rocks,
My dear companions all, and you, my tender flocks;
Farewell, my pipe, and all those pleasing songs whose moving strains
Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains;
You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have, without pity, broke the truest heart,
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy
That erst did with me dwell,
And all others joy,
Farewell.
Sweet groves, to you;
You hills, that highest dwell;
And all you humble vales, adieu.
You wanton brooks and solitary rocks,
My dear companions all, and you, my tender flocks;
Farewell, my pipe, and all those pleasing songs whose moving strains
Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains;
You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart
Have, without pity, broke the truest heart,
Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy
That erst did with me dwell,
And all others joy,
Farewell.
153
Adieu,
Fair Shepherdesses;
Let garlands of sad yew
Adorn your dainty golden tresses.
I that loved you, and often with my quill
Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill;
I whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace,
Yea, with a thousand rarer favours, would vouchsafe to grace,
I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain,
And never pipe nor never sing again.
I must for evermore be gone;
And therefore bid I you,
And every one,
Adieu.
Fair Shepherdesses;
Let garlands of sad yew
Adorn your dainty golden tresses.
I that loved you, and often with my quill
Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill;
I whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace,
Yea, with a thousand rarer favours, would vouchsafe to grace,
I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain,
And never pipe nor never sing again.
I must for evermore be gone;
And therefore bid I you,
And every one,
Adieu.
I die!
For oh, I feel
Death's horrors drawing nigh;
And all this frame of nature reel.
My hopeless heart, despairing of relief,
Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief,
Which hath so ruthless torn, so rack'd, so tortur'd every vein,
All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again
My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round;
A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound:
Benumb'd is my cold-sweating brow;
A dimness shuts my eye;
And now, oh, now
I die.
For oh, I feel
Death's horrors drawing nigh;
And all this frame of nature reel.
My hopeless heart, despairing of relief,
Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief,
Which hath so ruthless torn, so rack'd, so tortur'd every vein,
All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again
My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round;
A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound:
Benumb'd is my cold-sweating brow;
A dimness shuts my eye;
And now, oh, now
I die.
154
So movingly these lines he did express,
And to a tune so full of heaviness,
As if, indeed, his purpose had been past
To live no longer than the song did last,
Which in the nymphs such tender passion bred,
That some of them did tears of pity shed.
And to a tune so full of heaviness,
As if, indeed, his purpose had been past
To live no longer than the song did last,
Which in the nymphs such tender passion bred,
That some of them did tears of pity shed.
This she perceiving, who first craved the song,
“Shepherd,” she said, “although it be no wrong
Nor grief to you those passions to recall,
Which heretofore you have been pain'd withal,
But comforts rather, since they now are over,
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover,
Yet some young nymphs among us I do see
Who so much moved with your passions be,
That if my aim I taken have aright,
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.
“Shepherd,” she said, “although it be no wrong
Nor grief to you those passions to recall,
Which heretofore you have been pain'd withal,
But comforts rather, since they now are over,
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover,
Yet some young nymphs among us I do see
Who so much moved with your passions be,
That if my aim I taken have aright,
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.
“I dare not, therefore, beg of you again
To sing another of the selfsame strain,
For fear it breed within them more unrest
Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
Yet in your measures such content you have,
That one song more I will presume to crave.
And if your memory preserves of those
Which you of your affections did compose
Before you saw this mistress, let us hear
What kind of passions then within you were.”
To sing another of the selfsame strain,
For fear it breed within them more unrest
Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
Yet in your measures such content you have,
That one song more I will presume to crave.
And if your memory preserves of those
Which you of your affections did compose
Before you saw this mistress, let us hear
What kind of passions then within you were.”
To which request he instantly obey'd,
And this ensuing song both sung and play'd.
And this ensuing song both sung and play'd.
155
SONNET 2.
You gentle nymphs that on these meadows play,
And oft relate the loves of shepherds young,
Come, sit you down; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth passion sung.
A lad there is, and I am that poor groom,
That['s] fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And oft relate the loves of shepherds young,
Come, sit you down; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth passion sung.
A lad there is, and I am that poor groom,
That['s] fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom.
Oh, do not smile at sorrow as a jest;
With others' cares good natures moved be;
And I should weep if you had my unrest;
Then at my grief how can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
With others' cares good natures moved be;
And I should weep if you had my unrest;
Then at my grief how can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
I that have oft the rarest features view'd,
And beauty in her best perfection seen;
I that have laugh'd at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been,
Lo, now at last so cruel is my doom,
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And beauty in her best perfection seen;
I that have laugh'd at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been,
Lo, now at last so cruel is my doom,
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow;
My breast doth burn, but she that lights the fire
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss my fortune keeps me from,
That though I dearly love, I know not whom.
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow;
My breast doth burn, but she that lights the fire
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss my fortune keeps me from,
That though I dearly love, I know not whom.
156
Ere I had twice four springs renewed seen,
The force of beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a song of love,
And little thought I, this day should have come,
Before that I to love had found out whom.
The force of beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a song of love,
And little thought I, this day should have come,
Before that I to love had found out whom.
For on my chin the mossy down you see,
And in my veins well-heated blood doth glow;
Of summers I have seen twice three times three,
And fast my youthful time away doth go,
That much I fear I aged shall become,
And still complain, I love I know not whom.
And in my veins well-heated blood doth glow;
Of summers I have seen twice three times three,
And fast my youthful time away doth go,
That much I fear I aged shall become,
And still complain, I love I know not whom.
Oh! why had I a heart bestow'd on me
To cherish dear affections so inclin'd?
Since I am so unhappy born to be
No object for so true a love to find.
When I am dead it will be missed of some,
Yet, now I live, I love I know not whom.
To cherish dear affections so inclin'd?
Since I am so unhappy born to be
No object for so true a love to find.
When I am dead it will be missed of some,
Yet, now I live, I love I know not whom.
I to a thousand beauteous nymphs am known;
A hundred ladies' favours do I wear;
I with as many half in love am grown;
Yet none of them, I find, can be my dear.
Methinks I have a mistress yet to come,
Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
A hundred ladies' favours do I wear;
I with as many half in love am grown;
Yet none of them, I find, can be my dear.
Methinks I have a mistress yet to come,
Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
157
There lives no swain doth stronger passion prove
For her whom most he covets to possess,
Than doth my heart, that being full of love,
Knows not to whom it may the same profess.
For he that is despis'd hath sorrow some,
But he hath more that loves and knows not whom.
For her whom most he covets to possess,
Than doth my heart, that being full of love,
Knows not to whom it may the same profess.
For he that is despis'd hath sorrow some,
But he hath more that loves and knows not whom.
Knew I my love as many others do,
To some one object might my thoughts be bent,
So they divided should not wandering go
Until the soul's united force be spent.
As his that seeks and never finds a home,
Such is my rest, that love and know not whom.
To some one object might my thoughts be bent,
So they divided should not wandering go
Until the soul's united force be spent.
As his that seeks and never finds a home,
Such is my rest, that love and know not whom.
Those whom the frowns of jealous friends divide
May live to meet and descant on their woe;
And he hath gain'd a lady for his bride
That durst not woo her maid awhile ago.
But oh! what end unto my hopes can come
That am in love, and cannot tell with whom?
May live to meet and descant on their woe;
And he hath gain'd a lady for his bride
That durst not woo her maid awhile ago.
But oh! what end unto my hopes can come
That am in love, and cannot tell with whom?
Poor Colin grieves that he was late disdain'd,
And Chloris doth for Willy's absence pine;
Sad Thirsis weeps, for his sick Phœbe pain'd;
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine.
A greater care, alas! on me is come:
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And Chloris doth for Willy's absence pine;
Sad Thirsis weeps, for his sick Phœbe pain'd;
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine.
A greater care, alas! on me is come:
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
158
Narcissus-like did I affect my shade,
Some shadow yet I had to dote upon;
Or did I love some image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone,
I might despair, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I love! and cannot tell you whom.
Some shadow yet I had to dote upon;
Or did I love some image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone,
I might despair, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I love! and cannot tell you whom.
Once in a dream methought my love I view'd,
But never waking could her face behold;
And doubtless that resemblance was but shew'd
That more my tired heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more griev'd I am become,
And more in love; I cannot tell with whom.
But never waking could her face behold;
And doubtless that resemblance was but shew'd
That more my tired heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more griev'd I am become,
And more in love; I cannot tell with whom.
When on my bed at night to rest I lie,
My watchful eyes with tears bedew my cheek;
And then, oh, would it once were day, I cry;
Yet when it comes I am as far to seek.
For who can tell, though all the earth he roam,
Or when, or where, to find he knows not whom?
My watchful eyes with tears bedew my cheek;
And then, oh, would it once were day, I cry;
Yet when it comes I am as far to seek.
For who can tell, though all the earth he roam,
Or when, or where, to find he knows not whom?
Oh! if she be among the beauteous trains
Of all you nymphs that haunt the silver rills;
Or if you know her, ladies of the plains,
Or you that have your bowers on the hills,
Tell, if you can, who will my love become,
Or I shall die, and never know for whom.
Of all you nymphs that haunt the silver rills;
Or if you know her, ladies of the plains,
Or you that have your bowers on the hills,
Tell, if you can, who will my love become,
Or I shall die, and never know for whom.
| The Poetry of George Wither | |