The Poems of James VI. of Scotland Edited by James Craigie |
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| 1. | 1 A complaint against the contrary Wyndes that hindered the Queene to com to Scotland from Denmarke |
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 | The Poems of James VI. of Scotland |  |
1
A complaint against the contrary Wyndes that hindered the Queene to com to Scotland from Denmarke
From sacred throne in heauen Empyrick hie
A breathe diuine in Poëts brests does blowe
Wherethrough all things inferiour in degrie
As vassalls vnto them doe hommage showe
There songs enchants Apollos selfe ye knowe
And chaste Dianas coache can haste or staye
Can change the course of Planets high or lowe
And make the earthe obeye them euerie waye
Make rockes to danse, hugge hills to skippe and playe
Beasts, foules, and fishe to followe them allwhere
Though thus the heauen, the sea, and earthe obeye,
Yett mutins the midde region of the aire.
What hatefull Juno, Æolus entiseth
Wherby contrarious Zephyre thus ariseth.
A breathe diuine in Poëts brests does blowe
Wherethrough all things inferiour in degrie
As vassalls vnto them doe hommage showe
There songs enchants Apollos selfe ye knowe
And chaste Dianas coache can haste or staye
Can change the course of Planets high or lowe
And make the earthe obeye them euerie waye
Make rockes to danse, hugge hills to skippe and playe
Beasts, foules, and fishe to followe them allwhere
Though thus the heauen, the sea, and earthe obeye,
Yett mutins the midde region of the aire.
What hatefull Juno, Æolus entiseth
Wherby contrarious Zephyre thus ariseth.
O cruell Cupide what a rutheles rage
What hatefull wrathe thou vtterest vpon me
No medicine my sicknesse may asswage
Nor cataplasme cure my wounde I see
Through deadlie shott aliue I daylie dye
I frie in flammes of that envenomed darte
Which shotte me sicker in at ather eye
Then fastned fast into my hoalit harte
The feuer hath infected euerie parte
My bones are dried there marrowe melts awaye
My sinnowes feebles through my smoaking smarte
And all my bloode as in a pann doeth playe
I onlie wishe for ease of all my paine
That she might witt what sorrowe I sustaine.
What hatefull wrathe thou vtterest vpon me
No medicine my sicknesse may asswage
Nor cataplasme cure my wounde I see
Through deadlie shott aliue I daylie dye
I frie in flammes of that envenomed darte
Which shotte me sicker in at ather eye
Then fastned fast into my hoalit harte
The feuer hath infected euerie parte
My bones are dried there marrowe melts awaye
My sinnowes feebles through my smoaking smarte
And all my bloode as in a pann doeth playe
I onlie wishe for ease of all my paine
That she might witt what sorrowe I sustaine.
| The Poems of James VI. of Scotland | |