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

But in the same if thou dost find
Words written ill, and not well coucht,
Knowe that my hand did like the winde
Tremble, when that my pen it toucht.

The blots, which heere thou see'st disgrace
My letter, making it to blame,
My teares they are, that fell apace,
Knowing to thee I wrote the same.

Reade it, I pray thee, to the end:
And make an end of all my woes,
Open thine eies to this I send,
And to my griefes giue some repose.

And to the end thou maist it reede,
It comes not from an En'mies brest,
But from a faithfull hart indeede,
And from a friend aboue the rest.

It is no letter, that defies
(Defied for I am too much)
Alas in conquer'd men it lies
Not in their power to be such.

In endlesse peace I seeke to liue,
And on thy grace I doe relie,
If not, the doome and sentence giue
Vnto my life condemn'd to die.

I haue contended to this howre
Thy mighty forces to resist,
And now I finde, thy onely powre
Doth conquer (Mistresse) as thou list.

It is not much, that in the field
Vnto thy valour I giue place,
Since that the God of loue doth yeeld
Himselfe, vnto thy wounding face.

So that now subiect I remaine
Vnto thy sou'raine force, I see,
Then wound me not, for t'is in vaine,
Since wholy I doe yeeld to thee.

My life I put into thy hands,
And now doe with me at thy will:
But yet behold, how pitie stands
Entreating thee thou wouldst not kill.

So shalt thou make thy conquest braue,
If in thy spoiles and triumphes, such
Remorse of pitie thou wilt haue,
Which all the world commends so much.

I sawe thee sit not long agoe
Feasting with ioy and pleasant fare,
And I, bicause I could not soe,
Did feede vpon my woes and care.

There leisurely thou didst begin
Of other cates and flesh to feede,
But I with haste did rauin in
My pains, wherwith my hart did bleede.

The Riuer water thou didst drinke
With freest minde deuoid of care,
But I in fluds of teares did sinke,
The which to drinke I did not spare.

I sawe thee with thy little knife
Cutting thy bread and meate againe,
And then (me thought) my wofull life
Should in like sort be cut in twaine.

A little Boy sat in thy lap,
Thou didst imbrace him with great ioy:
Oh would it had beene then my hap
To haue beene that same little Boy.

Thou gau'st to him a louing kisse:
What heere I felt, I will repeate,
Let it suffice, that I was this
Most happy childe, but in conceate.

But not contented vvith the same,
Marking the place where thou didst lay
Thy lips, vnto the childe I came,
And tooke from him the kisse avvay.

Each thing of thine so vvell I loue,
That if I see them to decay,
Me thinks' my care it doth behoue
To saue, to cast them not avvay.

168

For all the bones, which thou didst leaue,
With greedy stomacke I did picke,
Bicause I onely did conceaue,
That they thy daintie mouth did licke.

The place I marked of the pot,
That did thy Corall lips diuide,
When thou didst drinke and I did not
Forget to drinke of that same side.

And with the wine which I did shed
Of purpose, on the cloth aboue:
Often (in vaine) these words in red
My finger wrote: I loue, I loue:

(Disdainfull) thou dost not esteeme
These signes, nor these inductions know,
Or dost at least (as it doth seeme
Dissemble: it must needes be so.

And onely that thou dost dissemble,
Which might vnto my profit fall,
But that which makes me now to tremble,
Alas, thou fainest not at all.

By seeing such effects in me,
That thou dost cause my heauines,
Thou fain'st, my plaintes are not for thee,
But for some other Shepherdesse.

Thou seest how for thy loue I paine,
And at thy gracious feete I lie.
(To greeue me more) yet dost thou faine,
That for another I doe die.

But if thy beauties in great store
Engender pride of such excesse,
Thou must beleeue, and faine no more,
That my pure loue is no whitlesse.

If thy perfections doe surpasse
All beauties that the world doth breede,
As much as Dimond passeth glasse,
So doth my loue all loues exceede.

And when thou com'st to know, that none
Is worthy of thy louely grace,
Thou must not faine, that I am one,
That may deserue so sweete a place.

I am not worthy of so deere
A choice (I say) to be my lot,
Since all the world hath not thy peere,
For that it selfe deserues thee not.

And though I said so (in a vaine)
I shall not be beleeu'd, I knowe;
For well thou know'st what one doth faine,
Is of a thing which is not soe.

Dispose of me euen at thy will,
And faine as much as any one,
So thou beleeue, and faine not still,
That I loue none, but thee alone.

Then on thy gentlenes I call
In pitie, which thou hast forgot,
Thou would'st not mocke my loue at all,
Nor faine, that I doe loue thee not.

Great Ioue can witnesse heere to thee,
That it doth greeue me not so much,
The little loue thou bear'st to me,
As once to faine, that mine is such.

Nor it doth greeue me of thy guise,
To see thee mocke me in such sort:
Or that my things in any wise
May cause thy laughter and thy sport.

But it doth glad me without measure,
That thou dost mocke my loue so lost,
Since by such meanes I giue thee pleasure:
(Although it be vnto my cost.)

To make thee laugh, I doe adiure
The heauens (as I thy loue may ioy)
That many times I doe procure
To doe, and tell thee many a toy.

And though I know none will omit
To call me foole (not without cause)
A simple man of little wit,
Sweruing too much from reasons lawes:

Yet Shepherdesse it skils me not,
Nor it doth not my minde dismay
That all repute me for a sot,
So I may please thee any way.

169

Since that I cannot (Shepherdesse)
With things in earnest please thy vaine,
I will content thee (at the lest)
Frō hence with toies (though to my pain)

To thee they are but things in iest
(For so thou mean'st to take them all)
But euer to my painfull brest
True they haue proou'd, and so they shall.

Mocke me thy fill, since thou dost make
It all thy glee, thy sport, and laughter:
But I doe wish, that Loue may take
A narrow count of thee heereafter.

I once did also iest with loue,
Loue did I scoffe, and loue despise,
But to my paine I now doe proue
What did thereof to me arise.

And this is that poore silly mee
This wicked traitor brought vnto;
But woe is me, that now with thee
I knowe not what he meanes to do.

With iestes and sports of thousand fashions
Two thousand fauors thou didst lend me,
But yet the God of loue, to passions
In earnest turnes them, to offend me.

With thine owne hand (O what a thing)
In iesting didst thou carue to me?
In iest thou saidst and sometimes sing,
Mine onely Shepherd thou shalt be.

O sweetest foode of sauourie tast,
Of force my poore life to maintaine:
Sweet words, whose sound did bind me fast,
Of force to giue me rest againe.

Both word, and deede, and what did passe
(Though but a merry iest it were yet)
So singular a grace it was,
That in my brest I cannot beare it.

To sickest men to giue great store
Of meate, and so much as they craue,
It is not good, but iust no more,
Then it is meete for them to haue.

Fauours I craue by heapes of thee,
That thou wouldst giue me (Shepherdesse)
But yet (perhaps) they may kill me,
For little force I doe possesse.

It hurts the driest field and meade,
As much to cast in them great plentie
Of water, as if they lay deade,
Of water, and of moisture emptie.

So fauours in the selfe same sort,
If that they haue no rule, nor measure,
Suffice to make ones life more short,
As wel as scornes, hates, and displeasure.

But in the end, and howsoeuer,
Take thy full ioy, although I die.
Whether it be with death for euer,
Or with my life, I care not I.

Mocke, and with me doe what thou list,
And happen will, what happen may,
My will thy will shall not resist,
But thy commaund shall still obay,

Commaund me then to be thy loue,
Commaund me in thy loue to end,
And he that rules, and is aboue
All harts, commaund thy hart to bend.

Since mightie Loue commaunds my hart,
Of force thy louer I must bee,
Ioine thou with loue, and take his part,
Then all the world shall honour thee.

But I haue written to be plaine
Enough, since thou hast not thy fill
By giuing me continuall paine,
Desiring yet to serue thee still.

But in the end now will I cease,
Although my torment doth not end:
Desire is conquerd by the feare
I haue, thy patience to offend.