University of Virginia Library

An absent Dame thus complayneth.

Much like the seely Byrd, which close in Cage is pent,
So sing I now, not notes of joye, but layes of deep lament.
And as the hooded Hauke, which heares the Partrich spring,
Who though she feele hir self fast tied, yet beats her bating wing:
So strive I now to shewe, my feeble forward will,
Although I know my labour lost, to hop against the Hill.
The droppes of darke disdayne, did never drench my hart,
For well I know I am belov'd, if that might ease my smart.
Ne yet the privy coales, of glowing jellosie,
Could ever kindle needlesse feare, within my fantasie.
The rigor of repulse, doth not renew my playnt,
Nor choyce of change doth move my mone, nor force me thus to faint.
Onely that pang of payne, which passeth all the rest,
And cankerlike doth fret the hart, within the giltlesse brest.
Which is if any bee, most like the panges of death,
That present grief now gripeth me, and strives to stop my breath.
When friendes in mind may meete, and hart in hart embrace,
And absent yet are faine to playne, for lacke of time and place:
Then may I compt their love, like seede that soone is sowen,
Yet lacking droppes of heavēly dew, with weedes is overgrowē.
The Greyhound is agreev'd, although he see his game,
If stil in slippe he must be stayde, when he would chase the same.
So fares it now by me, who know my selfe belov'd
Of one the best, in eche respect, that ever yet was prov'd.
But since my lucklesse lot, forbids me now to taste,
The dulcet fruites of my delight, therfore in woes I wast.
And Swallow like I sing, as one enforced so,
Since others reape the gaineful crop, which I with pain did sow.
Yet you that marke my song, excuse my Swallowes voyce,
And beare with hir unpleasant tunes, which cannot wel rejoyce.
Had I or lucke in love, or lease of libertie,
Then should you heare some sweeter notes, so cleere my throte would be.
But take it thus in gree, and marke my playnsong well,
No hart feeles so much hurt, as that, which doth in absence dwell.