The Works of Thomas Campion Complete Songs, Masques, and Treatises with a Selection of the Latin Verse: Edited with an introduction and notes by Walter R. Davis |
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| 3. | THE THIRD AND FOURTH BOOKE OF AYRES:
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 | The Works of Thomas Campion |  |
127
THE THIRD AND FOURTH BOOKE OF AYRES:
Composed BY Thomas Campian.
133
THE THIRD BOOKE
TO MY HONOURABLE FRIEND, Sr. THOMAS MOUNSON, KNIGHT AND BARONET.
Since now those clouds, that lately over-castYour Fame and Fortune, are disperst at last:
And now since all to you fayre greetings make,
Some out of love, and some for pitties sake:
Shall I but with a common stile salute
Your new enlargement? or stand onely mute?
I, to whose trust and care you durst commit
Your pined health, when Arte despayr'd of it?
I, that in your affliction often view'd
In you the fruits of manly fortitude,
Patience, and even constancie of minde,
That Rocke-like stood, and scorn'd both wave and winde?
Should I, for all your ancient love to me,
Endow'd with waighty favours, silent be?
Your merits, and my gratitude, forbid
That eyther should in Lethean Gulfe lye hid.
But how shall I this worke of fame expresse?
How can I better, after pensivenesse,
Then with light straynes of Musicke, made to move
Sweetly with the wide-spreading plumes of love?
These youth-borne Ayres, then, prison'd in this Booke,
Which in your Bowres much of their beeing tooke,
Accept as a kinde offring from that hand
Which, joyn'd with heart, your vertue may command.
Who love a sure friend, as all good men doe,
Since such you are, let those affect you to:
And may the joyes of that Crowne never end,
That innocence doth pitty, and defend.
Yours devoted, THOMAS CAMPIAN.
134
I.
[Oft have I sigh'd for him that heares me not]
Oft have I sigh'd for him that heares me not,
Who absent hath both love and mee forgot.
Oh yet I languish still through his delay:
Dayes seeme as yeares, when wisht friends breake their day.
Who absent hath both love and mee forgot.
Oh yet I languish still through his delay:
Dayes seeme as yeares, when wisht friends breake their day.
Had hee but lov'd as common lovers use,
His faithlesse stay some kindnesse would excuse:
O yet I languish still, still constant mourne
For him that can breake vowes, but not returne.
His faithlesse stay some kindnesse would excuse:
O yet I languish still, still constant mourne
For him that can breake vowes, but not returne.
II.
[Now let her change and spare not]
Now let her change and spare not;
Since she proves strange I care not:
Fain'd love charm'd so my delight
That still I doted on her sight.
But she is gone, new joies imbracing
And my desires disgracing.
Since she proves strange I care not:
Fain'd love charm'd so my delight
That still I doted on her sight.
But she is gone, new joies imbracing
And my desires disgracing.
When did I erre in blindnesse?
Or vexe her with unkindnesse?
If my cares serv'd her alone,
Why is shee thus untimely gone?
True love abides to th'houre of dying;
False love is ever flying.
Or vexe her with unkindnesse?
If my cares serv'd her alone,
Why is shee thus untimely gone?
True love abides to th'houre of dying;
False love is ever flying.
False, then farewell for ever:
Once false proves faithfull never.
Hee that boasts now of thy love
Shall soone my present fortunes prove:
Were he as faire as bright Adonis,
Faith is not had where none is.
Once false proves faithfull never.
Hee that boasts now of thy love
Shall soone my present fortunes prove:
Were he as faire as bright Adonis,
Faith is not had where none is.
137
III.
[Were my hart as some mens are, thy errours would not move me]
Were my hart as some mens are, thy errours would not move me:
But thy faults I curious finde, and speake because I love thee;
Patience is a thing divine and farre, I grant, above mee.
But thy faults I curious finde, and speake because I love thee;
Patience is a thing divine and farre, I grant, above mee.
Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deedes objecting,
Then th'obsequious bosome guest, with false respect affecting:
Friendship is the glasse of Truth, our hidden staines detecting.
Then th'obsequious bosome guest, with false respect affecting:
Friendship is the glasse of Truth, our hidden staines detecting.
While I use of eyes enjoy, and inward light of reason,
Thy observer will I be, and censor, but in season:
Hidden mischiefe to conceale in State and Love is treason.
Thy observer will I be, and censor, but in season:
Hidden mischiefe to conceale in State and Love is treason.
IV.
[Maydes are simple, some men say]
Maydes are simple, some men say:
They, forsooth, will trust no men.
But, should they mens wils obey,
Maides were very simple then.
They, forsooth, will trust no men.
But, should they mens wils obey,
Maides were very simple then.
Truth a rare flower now is growne,
Few men weare it in their hearts;
Lovers are more easily knowne
By their follies, then deserts.
Few men weare it in their hearts;
Lovers are more easily knowne
By their follies, then deserts.
Safer may we credit give
To a faithlesse wandring Jew
Then a young mans vowes beleeve
When he sweares his love is true.
To a faithlesse wandring Jew
Then a young mans vowes beleeve
When he sweares his love is true.
Love they make a poore blinde childe,
But let none trust such as hee:
Rather then to be beguil'd,
Ever let me simple be.
But let none trust such as hee:
Rather then to be beguil'd,
Ever let me simple be.
138
V.
[So tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile]
So tyr'd are all my thoughts, that sence and spirits faile;
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle.
O what can yeeld ease to a minde,
Joy in nothing that can finde?
Mourning I pine, and know not what I ayle.
O what can yeeld ease to a minde,
Joy in nothing that can finde?
How are my powres fore-spoke? what strange distaste is this?
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
Come, come delight, make my dull braine
Feele once heate of joy againe.
Hence, cruell hate of that which sweetest is:
Come, come delight, make my dull braine
Feele once heate of joy againe.
The lovers teares are sweet, their mover makes them so;
Proud of a wound the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming, endure
Griefe that knowes nor cause, nor cure.
Proud of a wound the bleeding Souldiers grow:
Poore I alone, dreaming, endure
Griefe that knowes nor cause, nor cure.
And whence can all this grow? even from an idle minde,
That no delight in any good can finde.
Action alone makes the soule blest:
Vertue dyes with too much rest.
That no delight in any good can finde.
Action alone makes the soule blest:
Vertue dyes with too much rest.
139
VI.
[Why presumes thy pride on that, that must so private be]
Why presumes thy pride on that, that must so private be
Scarce that it can good be cal'd, though it seemes best to thee,
Best of all that Nature fram'd, or curious eye can see?
Scarce that it can good be cal'd, though it seemes best to thee,
Best of all that Nature fram'd, or curious eye can see?
Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a blossome growes,
Which who viewes no more enjoyes then on a bush a Rose;
That by manies handling fades, and thou art one of those.
Which who viewes no more enjoyes then on a bush a Rose;
That by manies handling fades, and thou art one of those.
If to one thou shalt prove true, and all beside reject,
Then art thou but one mans good, which yeelds a poore effect;
For the common'st good by farre deserves the best respect.
Then art thou but one mans good, which yeelds a poore effect;
For the common'st good by farre deserves the best respect.
But if for this goodnesse thou thy selfe wilt common make,
Thou art then not good at all; so thou canst no way take
But to prove the meanest good, or else all good forsake.
Thou art then not good at all; so thou canst no way take
But to prove the meanest good, or else all good forsake.
Be not then of beauty proud, but so her colours beare
That they prove not staines to her that them for grace should weare:
So shalt thou to all more fayre then thou wert borne appeare.
That they prove not staines to her that them for grace should weare:
So shalt thou to all more fayre then thou wert borne appeare.
140
VII.
[Kinde are her answeres]
Kinde are her answeres,
But her performance keeps no day,
Breaks time, as dancers
From their own Musicke when they stray:
All her free favors
And smooth words wing my hopes in vaine.
O did ever voice so sweet but only fain?
Can true love yeeld such delay,
Converting joy to pain?
But her performance keeps no day,
Breaks time, as dancers
From their own Musicke when they stray:
All her free favors
And smooth words wing my hopes in vaine.
O did ever voice so sweet but only fain?
Can true love yeeld such delay,
Converting joy to pain?
Lost is our freedome
When we submit to women so:
Why doe wee neede them,
When in their best they worke our woe?
There is no wisedome
Can alter ends by Fate prefixt:
O why is the good of man with evill mixt?
Never were dayes yet cal'd two,
But one night went betwixt.
When we submit to women so:
Why doe wee neede them,
When in their best they worke our woe?
There is no wisedome
Can alter ends by Fate prefixt:
O why is the good of man with evill mixt?
Never were dayes yet cal'd two,
But one night went betwixt.
142
VIII.
[O griefe, O spight, to see poore Vertue scorn'd]
O griefe, O spight, to see poore Vertue scorn'd,
Truth far exil'd, False arte lov'd, Vice ador'd,
Free Justice sold, worst causes best adorn'd,
Right cast by Powre, Pittie in vaine implor'd!
O who in such an age could wish to live,
When none can have or hold, but such as give?
Truth far exil'd, False arte lov'd, Vice ador'd,
Free Justice sold, worst causes best adorn'd,
Right cast by Powre, Pittie in vaine implor'd!
O who in such an age could wish to live,
When none can have or hold, but such as give?
O times! O men! to Nature rebels growne,
Poore in desert, in name rich, proud of shame,
Wise but in ill: your stiles are not your owne,
Though dearely bought; honour is honest fame.
Old Stories onely goodnesse now containe,
And the true wisedome that is just, and plaine.
Poore in desert, in name rich, proud of shame,
Wise but in ill: your stiles are not your owne,
Though dearely bought; honour is honest fame.
Old Stories onely goodnesse now containe,
And the true wisedome that is just, and plaine.
IX.
[O never to be moved]
O never to be moved,
O beauty unrelenting!
Hard hart, too dearely loved;
Fond love, too late repenting!
Why did I dreame of too much blisse?
Deceitfull hope was cause of this.
O heare mee speake this, and no more:
Live you in joy, while I my woes deplore.
O beauty unrelenting!
Hard hart, too dearely loved;
Fond love, too late repenting!
Why did I dreame of too much blisse?
Deceitfull hope was cause of this.
O heare mee speake this, and no more:
Live you in joy, while I my woes deplore.
All comforts despayred
Distaste your bitter scorning;
Great sorrowes unrepayred
Admit no meane in mourning:
Dye, wretch, since hope from thee is fled;
He that must dye is better dead.
O deare delight, yet, ere I dye,
Some pitty shew, though you reliefe deny.
Distaste your bitter scorning;
Great sorrowes unrepayred
Admit no meane in mourning:
Dye, wretch, since hope from thee is fled;
He that must dye is better dead.
O deare delight, yet, ere I dye,
Some pitty shew, though you reliefe deny.
144
X.
[Breake now my heart and dye! Oh no, she may relent.]
Breake now my heart and dye! Oh no, she may relent.
Let my despaire prevayle! Oh stay, hope is not spent.
Should she now fixe one smile on thee, where were despaire?
The losse is but easie which smiles can repayre.
A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre.
Let my despaire prevayle! Oh stay, hope is not spent.
Should she now fixe one smile on thee, where were despaire?
The losse is but easie which smiles can repayre.
A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre.
Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as shee;
The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not mee:
But cannot time make way for love through ribs of steele?
The Grecian, inchanted all parts but the heele,
At last a shaft daunted, which his hart did feele.
The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not mee:
But cannot time make way for love through ribs of steele?
The Grecian, inchanted all parts but the heele,
At last a shaft daunted, which his hart did feele.
146
XI.
[If Love loves truth, then women doe not love]
If Love loves truth, then women doe not love;
Their passions all are but dissembled shewes;
Now kinde and free of favour if they prove,
Their kindnes straight a tempest overthrowes.
Then as a Sea-man the poore lover fares:
The storme drownes him ere hee can drowne his cares.
Their passions all are but dissembled shewes;
Now kinde and free of favour if they prove,
Their kindnes straight a tempest overthrowes.
Then as a Sea-man the poore lover fares:
The storme drownes him ere hee can drowne his cares.
But why accuse I women that deceive?
Blame then the Foxes for their subtile wile:
They first from Nature did their craft receive:
It is a womans nature to beguile.
Yet some, I grant, in loving stedfast grow;
But such by use are made, not nature, so.
Blame then the Foxes for their subtile wile:
They first from Nature did their craft receive:
It is a womans nature to beguile.
Yet some, I grant, in loving stedfast grow;
But such by use are made, not nature, so.
O why had Nature power at once to frame
Deceit and Beauty, traitors both to Love?
O would Deceit had dyed when Beauty came
With her divinesse ev'ry heart to move!
Yet doe we rather wish, what ere befall,
To have fayre women false, then none at all.
Deceit and Beauty, traitors both to Love?
O would Deceit had dyed when Beauty came
With her divinesse ev'ry heart to move!
Yet doe we rather wish, what ere befall,
To have fayre women false, then none at all.
147
XII.
[Now winter nights enlarge]
Now winter nights enlarge
The number of their houres,
And clouds their stormes discharge
Upon the ayrie towres;
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tun'd words amaze
With harmonie divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall waite on hunny Love,
While youthfull Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
Sleepes leaden spels remove.
The number of their houres,
And clouds their stormes discharge
Upon the ayrie towres;
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tun'd words amaze
With harmonie divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall waite on hunny Love,
While youthfull Revels, Masks, and Courtly sights,
Sleepes leaden spels remove.
This time doth well dispence
With lovers long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All doe not all things well:
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted Ridles tell,
Some Poems smoothly read.
The Summer hath his joyes,
And Winter his delights;
Though Love and all his pleasures are but toyes,
They shorten tedious nights.
With lovers long discourse;
Much speech hath some defence,
Though beauty no remorse.
All doe not all things well:
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted Ridles tell,
Some Poems smoothly read.
The Summer hath his joyes,
And Winter his delights;
Though Love and all his pleasures are but toyes,
They shorten tedious nights.
148
XIII.
[Awake, thou spring of speaking grace, mute rest becomes not thee]
Awake, thou spring of speaking grace, mute rest becomes not thee;
The fayrest women, while they sleepe, and Pictures equall bee.
O come and dwell in loves discourses,
Old renuing, new creating.
The words which thy rich tongue discourses
Are not of the common rating.
The fayrest women, while they sleepe, and Pictures equall bee.
O come and dwell in loves discourses,
Old renuing, new creating.
The words which thy rich tongue discourses
Are not of the common rating.
Thy voyce is as an Eccho cleare which Musicke doth beget,
Thy speech is as an Oracle which none can counterfeit:
For thou alone, without offending,
Hast obtain'd power of enchanting;
And I could heare thee without ending,
Other comfort never wanting.
Thy speech is as an Oracle which none can counterfeit:
For thou alone, without offending,
Hast obtain'd power of enchanting;
And I could heare thee without ending,
Other comfort never wanting.
Some little reason brutish lives with humane glory share;
But language is our proper grace, from which they sever'd are.
As brutes in reason man surpasses,
Men in speech excell each other:
If speech be then the best of graces,
Doe it not in slumber smother.
But language is our proper grace, from which they sever'd are.
As brutes in reason man surpasses,
Men in speech excell each other:
If speech be then the best of graces,
Doe it not in slumber smother.
149
XIV.
[What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?]
What is it that all men possesse, among themselves conversing?
Wealth or fame, or some such boast, scarce worthy the rehearsing?
Women onely are mens good, with them in love conversing.
Wealth or fame, or some such boast, scarce worthy the rehearsing?
Women onely are mens good, with them in love conversing.
If weary, they prepare us rest; if sicke, their hand attends us;
When with griefe our hearts are prest, their comfort best befriends us:
Sweet or sowre, they willing goe to share what fortune sends us.
When with griefe our hearts are prest, their comfort best befriends us:
Sweet or sowre, they willing goe to share what fortune sends us.
What pretty babes with paine they beare, our name and form presenting!
What we get, how wise they keepe, by sparing, wants preventing;
Sorting all their houshold cares to our observ'd contenting.
What we get, how wise they keepe, by sparing, wants preventing;
Sorting all their houshold cares to our observ'd contenting.
All this, of whose large use I sing, in two words is expressed:
Good wife is the good I praise, if by good men possessed;
Bad with bad in ill sute well, but good with good live blessed.
Good wife is the good I praise, if by good men possessed;
Bad with bad in ill sute well, but good with good live blessed.
150
XV.
[Fire that must flame is with apt fuell fed]
Fire that must flame is with apt fuell fed,
Flowers that wil thrive in sunny soyle are bred;
How can a hart feele heate that no hope findes?
Or can hee love on whom no comfort shines?
Flowers that wil thrive in sunny soyle are bred;
How can a hart feele heate that no hope findes?
Or can hee love on whom no comfort shines?
Fayre, I confesse there's pleasure in your sight:
Sweet, you have powre, I grant, of all delight:
But what is all to mee, if I have none?
Churle that you are, t'injoy such wealth alone.
Sweet, you have powre, I grant, of all delight:
But what is all to mee, if I have none?
Churle that you are, t'injoy such wealth alone.
Prayers move the heav'ns, but finde no grace with you;
Yet in your lookes a heavenly forme I view:
Then will I pray againe, hoping to finde,
As well as in your lookes, heav'n in your minde.
Yet in your lookes a heavenly forme I view:
Then will I pray againe, hoping to finde,
As well as in your lookes, heav'n in your minde.
Saint of my heart, Queene of my life, and love,
O let my vowes thy loving spirit move:
Let me no longer mourne through thy disdaine,
But with one touch of grace cure all my paine.
O let my vowes thy loving spirit move:
Let me no longer mourne through thy disdaine,
But with one touch of grace cure all my paine.
151
XVI.
[If thou longst so much to learne (sweet boy) what 'tis to love]
If thou longst so much to learne (sweet boy) what 'tis to love,
Doe but fixe thy thought on mee, and thou shalt quickly prove.
Little sute, at first, shal win
Way to thy abasht desire,
But then will I hedge thee in,
Salamander-like, with fire.
Doe but fixe thy thought on mee, and thou shalt quickly prove.
Little sute, at first, shal win
Way to thy abasht desire,
But then will I hedge thee in,
Salamander-like, with fire.
With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance beare;
Wee the grovy hils will climbe, and play the wantons there;
Other whiles wee'le gather flowres,
Lying dalying on the grasse,
And thus our delightfull howres
Full of waking dreames shall passe.
Wee the grovy hils will climbe, and play the wantons there;
Other whiles wee'le gather flowres,
Lying dalying on the grasse,
And thus our delightfull howres
Full of waking dreames shall passe.
When thy joyes were thus at height, my love should turne from thee;
Old acquaintance then should grow as strange as strange might be;
Twenty rivals thou should'st finde
Breaking all their hearts for mee,
When to all Ile prove more kinde
And more forward then to thee.
Old acquaintance then should grow as strange as strange might be;
Twenty rivals thou should'st finde
Breaking all their hearts for mee,
When to all Ile prove more kinde
And more forward then to thee.
Thus thy silly youth, enrag'd, would soone my love defie;
But, alas, poore soule, too late: clipt wings can never flye.
Those sweet houres which wee had past,
Cal'd to minde, thy heart would burne;
And, could'st thou flye ne'er so fast,
They would make thee straight returne.
But, alas, poore soule, too late: clipt wings can never flye.
Those sweet houres which wee had past,
Cal'd to minde, thy heart would burne;
And, could'st thou flye ne'er so fast,
They would make thee straight returne.
152
XVII.
[Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee]
Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee,
When the ev'ning beames are set?
Shall I not excluded be?
Will you finde no fained lett?
Let me not, for pitty, more,
Tell the long houres at your dore.
When the ev'ning beames are set?
Shall I not excluded be?
Will you finde no fained lett?
Let me not, for pitty, more,
Tell the long houres at your dore.
Who can tell what theefe or foe,
In the covert of the night,
For his prey, will worke my woe,
Or through wicked foule despight:
So may I dye unredrest,
Ere my long love be possest.
In the covert of the night,
For his prey, will worke my woe,
Or through wicked foule despight:
So may I dye unredrest,
Ere my long love be possest.
But, to let such dangers passe,
Which a lovers thoughts disdaine,
'Tis enough in such a place
To attend loves joyes in vaine.
Doe not mocke me in thy bed,
While these cold nights freeze me dead.
Which a lovers thoughts disdaine,
'Tis enough in such a place
To attend loves joyes in vaine.
Doe not mocke me in thy bed,
While these cold nights freeze me dead.
154
XVIII.
[Thrice tosse these Oaken ashes in the ayre]
Thrice tosse these Oaken ashes in the ayre,
Thrice sit thou mute in this inchanted chayre;
Then thrice three times tye up this true loves knot,
And murmur soft, shee will, or shee will not.
Thrice sit thou mute in this inchanted chayre;
Then thrice three times tye up this true loves knot,
And murmur soft, shee will, or shee will not.
Goe burne these poys'nous weedes in yon blew fire,
These Screech-owles fethers, and this prickling bryer,
This Cypresse gathered at a dead mans grave:
That all thy feares and cares an end may have.
These Screech-owles fethers, and this prickling bryer,
This Cypresse gathered at a dead mans grave:
That all thy feares and cares an end may have.
Then come, you Fayries, dance with me a round,
Melt her hard hart with your melodious sound.
In vaine are all the charmes I can devise:
She hath an Arte to breake them with her eyes.
Melt her hard hart with your melodious sound.
In vaine are all the charmes I can devise:
She hath an Arte to breake them with her eyes.
155
XIX.
[Be thou then my beauty named]
Be thou then my beauty named,
Since thy will is to be mine:
For by that am I enflamed,
Which on all alike doth shine.
Others may the light admire,
I onely truely feele the fire.
Since thy will is to be mine:
For by that am I enflamed,
Which on all alike doth shine.
Others may the light admire,
I onely truely feele the fire.
But, if lofty titles move thee,
Challenge then a Sov'raignes place:
Say I honour when I love thee,
Let me call thy kindnesse grace.
State and Love things divers bee,
Yet will we teach them to agree.
Challenge then a Sov'raignes place:
Say I honour when I love thee,
Let me call thy kindnesse grace.
State and Love things divers bee,
Yet will we teach them to agree.
Or, if this be not sufficing,
Be thou stil'd my Goddesse then:
I will love thee sacrificing,
In thine honour Hymnes Ile pen.
To be thine, what canst thou more?
Ile love thee, serve thee, and adore.
Be thou stil'd my Goddesse then:
I will love thee sacrificing,
In thine honour Hymnes Ile pen.
To be thine, what canst thou more?
Ile love thee, serve thee, and adore.
156
XX.
[Fire, fire, fire, fire!]
Fire, fire, fire, fire!
Loe here I burne in such desire
That all the teares that I can straine
Out of mine idle empty braine
Cannot allay my scorching paine.
Come Trent, and Humber, and fayre Thames,
Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streames:
And, if you cannot quench my fire,
O drowne both mee and my desire.
Loe here I burne in such desire
That all the teares that I can straine
Out of mine idle empty braine
Cannot allay my scorching paine.
Come Trent, and Humber, and fayre Thames,
Dread Ocean, haste with all thy streames:
And, if you cannot quench my fire,
O drowne both mee and my desire.
Fire, fire, fire, fire!
There is no hell to my desire:
See, all the Rivers backward flye,
And th'Ocean doth his waves deny,
For feare my heate should drinke them dry.
Come, heav'nly showres, then, pouring downe;
Come, you that once the world did drowne:
Some then you spar'd, but now save all,
That else must burne, and with mee fall.
There is no hell to my desire:
See, all the Rivers backward flye,
And th'Ocean doth his waves deny,
For feare my heate should drinke them dry.
Come, heav'nly showres, then, pouring downe;
Come, you that once the world did drowne:
Some then you spar'd, but now save all,
That else must burne, and with mee fall.
159
XXI.
[O sweet delight, O more then humane blisse]
O sweet delight, O more then humane blisse,
With her to live that ever loving is;
To heare her speake, whose words so well are plac't,
That she by them, as they in her are grac't;
Those lookes to view, that feast the viewers eye;
How blest is he that may so live and dye!
With her to live that ever loving is;
To heare her speake, whose words so well are plac't,
That she by them, as they in her are grac't;
Those lookes to view, that feast the viewers eye;
How blest is he that may so live and dye!
Such love as this the golden times did know,
When all did reape, yet none tooke care to sow:
Such love as this an endlesse Summer makes,
And all distaste from fraile affection takes.
So lov'd, so blest, in my belov'd am I;
Which, till their eyes ake, let yron men envy.
When all did reape, yet none tooke care to sow:
Such love as this an endlesse Summer makes,
And all distaste from fraile affection takes.
So lov'd, so blest, in my belov'd am I;
Which, till their eyes ake, let yron men envy.
XXII.
[Thus I resolve, and time hath taught me so]
Thus I resolve, and time hath taught me so:
Since she is fayre and ever kinde to me,
Though she be wilde and wanton-like in shew,
Those little staines in youth I will not see.
That she be constant, heav'n I oft implore;
If pray'rs prevaile not, I can doe no more.
Since she is fayre and ever kinde to me,
Though she be wilde and wanton-like in shew,
Those little staines in youth I will not see.
That she be constant, heav'n I oft implore;
If pray'rs prevaile not, I can doe no more.
Palme tree the more you presse, the more it growes:
Leave it alone, it will not much exceede.
Free beauty if you strive to yoke, you lose,
And for affection strange distaste you breede.
What Nature hath not taught, no Arte can frame:
Wilde borne be wilde still, though by force made tame.
Leave it alone, it will not much exceede.
Free beauty if you strive to yoke, you lose,
And for affection strange distaste you breede.
What Nature hath not taught, no Arte can frame:
Wilde borne be wilde still, though by force made tame.
160
XXIII.
[Come, O come, my lifes delight]
Come, O come, my lifes delight,
Let me not in langour pine:
Love loves no delay: thy sight,
The more enjoy'd, the more divine.
O come, and take from mee
The paine of being depriv'd of thee.
Let me not in langour pine:
Love loves no delay: thy sight,
The more enjoy'd, the more divine.
O come, and take from mee
The paine of being depriv'd of thee.
Thou all sweetnesse dost enclose,
Like a little world of blisse:
Beauty guards thy lookes: the Rose
In them pure and eternall is.
Come then, and make thy flight
As swift to me as heav'nly light.
Like a little world of blisse:
Beauty guards thy lookes: the Rose
In them pure and eternall is.
Come then, and make thy flight
As swift to me as heav'nly light.
XXIV.
[Could my heart more tongues imploy]
Could my heart more tongues imploy
Then it harbors thoughts of griefe,
It is now so farre from joy
That it scarce could aske reliefe.
Truest hearts by deedes unkinde
To despayre are most enclin'd.
Then it harbors thoughts of griefe,
It is now so farre from joy
That it scarce could aske reliefe.
Truest hearts by deedes unkinde
To despayre are most enclin'd.
Happy mindes, that can redeeme
Their engagements how they please,
That no joyes or hopes esteeme
Halfe so pretious as their ease!
Wisedome should prepare men so
As if they did all foreknow.
Their engagements how they please,
That no joyes or hopes esteeme
Halfe so pretious as their ease!
Wisedome should prepare men so
As if they did all foreknow.
Yet no Arte or Caution can
Growne affections easily change;
Use is such a Lord of Man
That he brookes worst what is strange.
Better never to be blest
Then to loose all at the best.
Growne affections easily change;
Use is such a Lord of Man
That he brookes worst what is strange.
Better never to be blest
Then to loose all at the best.
161
XXV.
[Sleepe, angry beauty, sleep, and feare not me]
Sleepe, angry beauty, sleep, and feare not me,
For who a sleeping Lyon dares provoke?
It shall suffice me here to sit and see
Those lips shut up that never kindely spoke.
What sight can more content a lovers minde
Then beauty seeming harmlesse, if not kinde?
For who a sleeping Lyon dares provoke?
It shall suffice me here to sit and see
Those lips shut up that never kindely spoke.
What sight can more content a lovers minde
Then beauty seeming harmlesse, if not kinde?
My words have charm'd her, for secure shee sleepes,
Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;
And in her slumber, see! shee close-ey'd weepes!
Dreames often more then waking passions move.
Pleade, sleepe, my cause, and make her soft like thee,
That shee in peace may wake and pitty mee.
Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;
And in her slumber, see! shee close-ey'd weepes!
Dreames often more then waking passions move.
Pleade, sleepe, my cause, and make her soft like thee,
That shee in peace may wake and pitty mee.
162
XXVI.
[Silly boy, 'tis ful Moone yet, thy night as day shines clearely]
Silly boy, 'tis ful Moone yet, thy night as day shines clearely;
Had thy youth but wit to feare, thou couldst not love so dearely.
Shortly wilt thou mourne when all thy pleasures are bereaved;
Little knowes he how to love that never was deceived.
Had thy youth but wit to feare, thou couldst not love so dearely.
Shortly wilt thou mourne when all thy pleasures are bereaved;
Little knowes he how to love that never was deceived.
This is thy first mayden flame, that triumphes yet unstayned;
All is artlesse now you speake, not one word yet is fayned;
All is heav'n that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed:
But no Spring can want his Fall, each Troylus hath his Cresseid.
All is artlesse now you speake, not one word yet is fayned;
All is heav'n that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessed:
But no Spring can want his Fall, each Troylus hath his Cresseid.
Thy well-order'd lockes ere long shall rudely hang neglected;
And thy lively pleasant cheare reade griefe on earth dejected.
Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy,
And with sighs confesse, in love, that too much faith is folly.
And thy lively pleasant cheare reade griefe on earth dejected.
Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy,
And with sighs confesse, in love, that too much faith is folly.
Yet, be just and constant still; Love may beget a wonder,
Not unlike a Summers frost, or Winters fatall thunder:
Hee that holds his Sweet-hart true unto his day of dying
Lives, of all that ever breath'd, most worthy the envying.
Not unlike a Summers frost, or Winters fatall thunder:
Hee that holds his Sweet-hart true unto his day of dying
Lives, of all that ever breath'd, most worthy the envying.
163
XXVII.
[Never love unlesse you can]
Never love unlesse you can
Beare with all the faults of man:
Men sometimes will jealous bee
Though but little cause they see,
And hang the head, as discontent,
And speake what straight they will repent.
Beare with all the faults of man:
Men sometimes will jealous bee
Though but little cause they see,
And hang the head, as discontent,
And speake what straight they will repent.
Men that but one Saint adore
Make a shew of love to more:
Beauty must be scorn'd in none,
Though but truely serv'd in one:
For what is courtship, but disguise?
True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
Make a shew of love to more:
Beauty must be scorn'd in none,
Though but truely serv'd in one:
For what is courtship, but disguise?
True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
Men, when their affaires require,
Must a while themselves retire:
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawke,
And not ever sit and talke.
If these, and such like, you can beare,
Then like, and love, and never feare.
Must a while themselves retire:
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawke,
And not ever sit and talke.
If these, and such like, you can beare,
Then like, and love, and never feare.
164
XXVIII.
[So quicke, so hot, so mad is thy fond sute]
So quicke, so hot, so mad is thy fond sute,
So rude, so tedious growne, in urging mee,
That faine I would with losse make thy tongue mute,
And yeeld some little grace to quiet thee:
An houre with thee I care not to converse,
For I would not be counted too perverse.
So rude, so tedious growne, in urging mee,
That faine I would with losse make thy tongue mute,
And yeeld some little grace to quiet thee:
An houre with thee I care not to converse,
For I would not be counted too perverse.
But roofes too hot would prove for men all fire,
And hils too high for my unused pace;
The grove is charg'd with thornes and the bold bryer;
Gray Snakes the meadowes shrowde in every place:
A yellow Frog, alas, will fright me so,
As I should start and tremble as I goe.
And hils too high for my unused pace;
The grove is charg'd with thornes and the bold bryer;
Gray Snakes the meadowes shrowde in every place:
A yellow Frog, alas, will fright me so,
As I should start and tremble as I goe.
Since then I can on earth no fit roome finde,
In heaven I am resolv'd with you to meete;
Till then, for Hopes sweet sake, rest your tir'd minde,
And not so much as see mee in the streete:
A heavenly meeting one day wee shall have,
But never, as you dreame, in bed, or grave.
In heaven I am resolv'd with you to meete;
Till then, for Hopes sweet sake, rest your tir'd minde,
And not so much as see mee in the streete:
A heavenly meeting one day wee shall have,
But never, as you dreame, in bed, or grave.
165
XXIX.
[Shall I then hope when faith is fled?]
Shall I then hope when faith is fled?
Can I seeke love when hope is gone?
Or can I live when Love is dead?
Poorely hee lives, that can love none.
Her vowes are broke, and I am free;
Shee lost her faith in loosing mee.
Can I seeke love when hope is gone?
Or can I live when Love is dead?
Poorely hee lives, that can love none.
Her vowes are broke, and I am free;
Shee lost her faith in loosing mee.
When I compare mine owne events,
When I weigh others like annoy,
All doe but heape up discontents
That on a beauty build their joy.
Thus I of all complaine, since shee
All faith hath lost in loosing mee.
When I weigh others like annoy,
All doe but heape up discontents
That on a beauty build their joy.
Thus I of all complaine, since shee
All faith hath lost in loosing mee.
So my deare freedome have I gain'd
Through her unkindnesse and disgrace;
Yet could I ever live enchain'd,
As shee my service did embrace.
But shee is chang'd, and I am free:
Faith failing her, Love dyed in mee.
Through her unkindnesse and disgrace;
Yet could I ever live enchain'd,
As shee my service did embrace.
But shee is chang'd, and I am free:
Faith failing her, Love dyed in mee.
167
THE FOURTH BOOKE
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, Mr. JOHN MOUNSON,
Sonne and Heyre to Sir Thomas Mounson, Knight and Baronet.
On you th'affections of your Fathers Friends,With his Inheritance by right descends;
But you your gracefull youth so wisely guide,
That his you hold, and purchase much beside.
Love is the fruit of Vertue, for whose sake
Men onely liking each to other take.
If sparkes of vertue shin'd not in you then,
So well how could you winne the hearts of men?
And, since that honour and well-suted Prayse
Is Vertues Golden Spurre, let mee now rayse
Unto an act mature your tender age,
This halfe commending to your Patronage:
Which from your Noble Fathers, but one side,
Ordain'd to doe you honour, doth divide.
And so my love betwixt you both I part,
On each side placing you as neare my heart.
Yours ever, THOMAS CAMPIAN.
169
I.
[Leave prolonging thy distresse]
Leave prolonging thy distresse:
All delayes afflict the dying.
Many lost sighes long I spent, to her for mercy crying;
But now, vaine mourning, cease:
Ile dye, and mine owne griefes release.
All delayes afflict the dying.
Many lost sighes long I spent, to her for mercy crying;
But now, vaine mourning, cease:
Ile dye, and mine owne griefes release.
Thus departing from this light
To those shades that end all sorrow,
Yet a small time of complaint, a little breath Ile borrow,
To tell my once delight
I dye alone through her despight.
To those shades that end all sorrow,
Yet a small time of complaint, a little breath Ile borrow,
To tell my once delight
I dye alone through her despight.
II.
[Respect my faith, regard my service past]
Respect my faith, regard my service past;
The hope you wing'd call home to you at last.
Great prise it is that I in you shall gaine,
So great for you hath been my losse and paine.
My wits I spent and time for you alone,
Observing you and loosing all for one.
The hope you wing'd call home to you at last.
Great prise it is that I in you shall gaine,
So great for you hath been my losse and paine.
My wits I spent and time for you alone,
Observing you and loosing all for one.
Some rais'd to rich estates in this time are,
That held their hopes to mine inferiour farre:
Such scoffing mee, or pittying me, say thus,
Had hee not lov'd, he might have liv'd like us.
O then, deare sweet, for love and pitties sake,
My faith reward, and from me scandall take.
That held their hopes to mine inferiour farre:
Such scoffing mee, or pittying me, say thus,
Had hee not lov'd, he might have liv'd like us.
O then, deare sweet, for love and pitties sake,
My faith reward, and from me scandall take.
170
III.
[Thou joy'st, fond boy, to be by many loved]
Thou joy'st, fond boy, to be by many loved,
To have thy beauty of most dames approved.
For this dost thou thy native worth disguise
And play'st the Sycophant t'observe their eyes.
Thy glasse thou councel'st more t'adorne thy skin,
That first should schoole thee to be fayre within.
To have thy beauty of most dames approved.
For this dost thou thy native worth disguise
And play'st the Sycophant t'observe their eyes.
Thy glasse thou councel'st more t'adorne thy skin,
That first should schoole thee to be fayre within.
'Tis childish to be caught with Pearle, or Amber,
And woman-like too much to cloy the chamber;
Youths should the Field affect, heate their rough Steedes,
Their hardned nerves to fit for better deedes.
Is't not more joy strong Holds to force with swords,
Then womens weakenesse take with lookes or words?
And woman-like too much to cloy the chamber;
Youths should the Field affect, heate their rough Steedes,
Their hardned nerves to fit for better deedes.
Is't not more joy strong Holds to force with swords,
Then womens weakenesse take with lookes or words?
Men that doe noble things all purchase glory:
One man for one brave Act hath prov'd a story:
But if that one tenne thousand Dames o'ercame,
Who would record it, if not to his shame?
'Tis farre more conquest with one to live true
Then every houre to triumph Lord of new.
One man for one brave Act hath prov'd a story:
But if that one tenne thousand Dames o'ercame,
Who would record it, if not to his shame?
'Tis farre more conquest with one to live true
Then every houre to triumph Lord of new.
IV.
[Vaile, love, mine eyes, O hide from me]
Vaile, love, mine eyes, O hide from me
The plagues that charge the curious minde:
If beauty private will not be,
Suffice it yet that she proves kinde.
Who can usurp heav'ns light alone?
Stars were not made to shine on one.
The plagues that charge the curious minde:
If beauty private will not be,
Suffice it yet that she proves kinde.
Who can usurp heav'ns light alone?
Stars were not made to shine on one.
Griefes past recure fooles try to heale,
That greater harmes on lesse inflict;
The pure offend by too much zeale,
Affection should not be too strict.
Hee that a true embrace will finde
To beauties faults must still be blinde.
That greater harmes on lesse inflict;
The pure offend by too much zeale,
Affection should not be too strict.
Hee that a true embrace will finde
To beauties faults must still be blinde.
171
V.
[Ev'ry Dame affects good fame, what ere her doings be]
Ev'ry Dame affects good fame, what ere her doings be,
But true prayse is Vertues Bayes, which none may weare but she.
Borrow'd guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;
Native grace becomes a face, though ne'er so rudely drest.
Now such new found toyes are sold, these women to disguise,
That, before the yeare growes old, the newest fashion dyes.
But true prayse is Vertues Bayes, which none may weare but she.
Borrow'd guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best;
Native grace becomes a face, though ne'er so rudely drest.
Now such new found toyes are sold, these women to disguise,
That, before the yeare growes old, the newest fashion dyes.
Dames of yore contended more in goodnesse to exceede
Then in pride to be envi'd for that which least they neede:
Little Lawne then serv'd the Pawne, if Pawne at all there were;
Home-spun thread, and houshold bread, then held out all the yeare.
But th'attyres of women now weare out both house and land;
That the wives in silkes may flow, at ebbe the Good-men stand.
Then in pride to be envi'd for that which least they neede:
Little Lawne then serv'd the Pawne, if Pawne at all there were;
Home-spun thread, and houshold bread, then held out all the yeare.
But th'attyres of women now weare out both house and land;
That the wives in silkes may flow, at ebbe the Good-men stand.
Once agen, Astraea, then, from heav'n to earth descend,
And vouchsafe in their behalfe these errours to amend:
Aid from heav'n must make all eev'n, things are so out of frame,
For let man strive all he can, hee needes must please his Dame.
Happy man, content that gives, and what hee gives enjoyes;
Happy Dame, content that lives, and breakes no sleepe for toyes.
And vouchsafe in their behalfe these errours to amend:
Aid from heav'n must make all eev'n, things are so out of frame,
For let man strive all he can, hee needes must please his Dame.
Happy man, content that gives, and what hee gives enjoyes;
Happy Dame, content that lives, and breakes no sleepe for toyes.
173
VI.
[So sweet is thy discourse to me]
So sweet is thy discourse to me,
And so delightfull is thy sight,
As I taste nothing right but thee.
O why invented Nature light?
Was it alone for beauties sake,
That her grac't words might better take?
And so delightfull is thy sight,
As I taste nothing right but thee.
O why invented Nature light?
Was it alone for beauties sake,
That her grac't words might better take?
No more can I old joyes recall:
They now to me become unknowne,
Not seeming to have beene at all.
Alas, how soone is this love growne
To such a spreading height in me
As with it all must shadowed be!
They now to me become unknowne,
Not seeming to have beene at all.
Alas, how soone is this love growne
To such a spreading height in me
As with it all must shadowed be!
174
VII.
[There is a Garden in her face]
There is a Garden in her face,
Where Roses and white Lillies grow;
A heav'nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
There Cherries grow, which none may buy
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Where Roses and white Lillies grow;
A heav'nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
There Cherries grow, which none may buy
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Of Orient Pearle a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter showes,
They looke like Rose-buds fill'd with snow.
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Of Orient Pearle a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter showes,
They looke like Rose-buds fill'd with snow.
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Her Eyes like Angels watch them still;
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,
Threatning with piercing frownes to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred Cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,
Threatning with piercing frownes to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred Cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.
176
VIII.
[To his sweet Lute Apollo sung the motions of the Spheares]
To his sweet Lute Apollo sung the motions of the Spheares,
The wondrous order of the Stars, whose course divides the yeares,
And all the Mysteries above:
But none of this could Midas move,
Which purchast him his Asses eares.
The wondrous order of the Stars, whose course divides the yeares,
And all the Mysteries above:
But none of this could Midas move,
Which purchast him his Asses eares.
Then Pan with his rude Pipe began the Country-wealth t'advance,
To boast of Cattle, flockes of Sheepe, and Goates on hils that dance,
With much more of this churlish kinde:
That quite transported Midas minde,
And held him rapt as in a trance.
To boast of Cattle, flockes of Sheepe, and Goates on hils that dance,
With much more of this churlish kinde:
That quite transported Midas minde,
And held him rapt as in a trance.
This wrong the God of Musicke scorn'd from such a sottish Judge,
And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the Piper trudge:
Then Midas head he so did trim
That ev'ry age yet talkes of him
And Phoebus right revenged grudge.
And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the Piper trudge:
Then Midas head he so did trim
That ev'ry age yet talkes of him
And Phoebus right revenged grudge.
177
IX.
[Young and simple though I am]
Young and simple though I am,
I have heard of Cupids name:
Guesse I can what thing it is
Men desire when they doe kisse.
Smoake can never burne, they say,
But the flames that follow may.
I have heard of Cupids name:
Guesse I can what thing it is
Men desire when they doe kisse.
Smoake can never burne, they say,
But the flames that follow may.
I am not so foule or fayre
To be proud, nor to despayre;
Yet my lips have oft observ'd,
Men that kisse them presse them hard,
As glad lovers use to doe
When their new met loves they wooe.
To be proud, nor to despayre;
Yet my lips have oft observ'd,
Men that kisse them presse them hard,
As glad lovers use to doe
When their new met loves they wooe.
Faith, 'tis but a foolish minde,
Yet, me thinkes, a heate I finde,
Like thirst longing, that doth bide
Ever on my weaker side,
Where they say my heart doth move.
Venus, grant it be not love.
Yet, me thinkes, a heate I finde,
Like thirst longing, that doth bide
Ever on my weaker side,
Where they say my heart doth move.
Venus, grant it be not love.
If it be, alas, what then?
Were not women made for men?
As good 'twere a thing were past,
That must needes be done at last.
Roses that are over-blowne
Growe lesse sweet, then fall alone.
Were not women made for men?
As good 'twere a thing were past,
That must needes be done at last.
Roses that are over-blowne
Growe lesse sweet, then fall alone.
Yet nor Churle, nor silken Gull
Shall my Mayden blossome pull:
Who shall not I soone can tell;
Who shall, would I could as well:
This I know, who ere hee be,
Love hee must, or flatter me.
Shall my Mayden blossome pull:
Who shall not I soone can tell;
Who shall, would I could as well:
This I know, who ere hee be,
Love hee must, or flatter me.
178
X.
[Love me or not, love her I must or dye]
Love me or not, love her I must or dye;
Leave me or not, follow her needs must I.
O, that her grace would my wisht comforts give:
How rich in her, how happy should I live!
Leave me or not, follow her needs must I.
O, that her grace would my wisht comforts give:
How rich in her, how happy should I live!
All my desire, all my delight should be
Her to enjoy, her to unite to mee:
Envy should cease, her would I love alone:
Who loves by lookes, is seldome true to one.
Her to enjoy, her to unite to mee:
Envy should cease, her would I love alone:
Who loves by lookes, is seldome true to one.
Could I enchant, and that it lawfull were,
Her would I charme softly that none should heare.
But love enforc'd rarely yeelds firme content;
So would I love that neyther should repent.
Her would I charme softly that none should heare.
But love enforc'd rarely yeelds firme content;
So would I love that neyther should repent.
XI.
[What meanes this folly, now to brave it so]
What meanes this folly, now to brave it so,
And then to use submission?
Is that a friend that straight can play the foe?
Who loves on such condition?
And then to use submission?
Is that a friend that straight can play the foe?
Who loves on such condition?
Though Bryers breede Roses, none the Bryer affect,
But with the flowre are pleased.
Love onely loves delight and soft respect:
He must not be diseased.
But with the flowre are pleased.
Love onely loves delight and soft respect:
He must not be diseased.
These thorny passions spring from barren breasts,
Or such as neede much weeding.
Love onely loves delight and soft respect;
But sends them not home bleeding.
Or such as neede much weeding.
Love onely loves delight and soft respect;
But sends them not home bleeding.
Command thy humour, strive to give content,
And shame not loves profession.
Of kindnesse never any could repent
That made choyse with discretion.
And shame not loves profession.
Of kindnesse never any could repent
That made choyse with discretion.
179
XII.
[Deare, if I with guile would guild a true intent]
Deare, if I with guile would guild a true intent,
Heaping flattries that in heart were never meant,
Easely could I then obtaine
What now in vaine I force;
Fals-hood much doth gaine,
Truth yet holds the better course.
Heaping flattries that in heart were never meant,
Easely could I then obtaine
What now in vaine I force;
Fals-hood much doth gaine,
Truth yet holds the better course.
Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive,
Or, in praysing you, my selfe of truth deprive:
Let not your high thoughts debase
A simple truth in me;
Great is beauties grace,
Truth is yet as fayre as shee.
Or, in praysing you, my selfe of truth deprive:
Let not your high thoughts debase
A simple truth in me;
Great is beauties grace,
Truth is yet as fayre as shee.
Prayse is but the winde of pride, if it exceedes;
Wealth, pris'd in it selfe, no outward value needes.
Fayre you are, and passing fayre;
You know it, and 'tis true:
Yet let none despayre
But to finde as fayre as you.
Wealth, pris'd in it selfe, no outward value needes.
Fayre you are, and passing fayre;
You know it, and 'tis true:
Yet let none despayre
But to finde as fayre as you.
180
XIII.
[O Love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, and thy Bow?]
O Love, where are thy Shafts, thy Quiver, and thy Bow?
Shall my wounds onely weepe, and hee ungaged goe?
Be just, and strike him, to, that dares contemne thee so.
Shall my wounds onely weepe, and hee ungaged goe?
Be just, and strike him, to, that dares contemne thee so.
No eyes are like to thine, though men suppose thee blinde,
So fayre they levell when the marke they list to finde:
Then strike, o strike the heart that beares the cruell minde.
So fayre they levell when the marke they list to finde:
Then strike, o strike the heart that beares the cruell minde.
Is my fond sight deceived? or doe I Cupid spye
Close ayming at his breast, by whom despis'd I dye?
Shoot home, sweet Love, and wound him, that hee may not flye!
Close ayming at his breast, by whom despis'd I dye?
Shoot home, sweet Love, and wound him, that hee may not flye!
O then we both will sit in some unhaunted shade,
And heale each others wound which Love hath justly made:
O hope, o thought too vaine, how quickly dost thou fade!
And heale each others wound which Love hath justly made:
O hope, o thought too vaine, how quickly dost thou fade!
At large he wanders still, his heart is free from paine,
While secret sighes I spend, and teares, but all in vaine:
Yet, Love, thou know'st, by right I should not thus complaine.
While secret sighes I spend, and teares, but all in vaine:
Yet, Love, thou know'st, by right I should not thus complaine.
181
XIV.
[Beauty is but a painted hell]
Beauty is but a painted hell:
Aye me, aye me,
Shee wounds them that admire it,
Shee kils them that desire it.
Give her pride but fuell,
No fire is more cruell.
Aye me, aye me,
Shee wounds them that admire it,
Shee kils them that desire it.
Give her pride but fuell,
No fire is more cruell.
Pittie from ev'ry heart is fled,
Aye me, aye me;
Since false desire could borrow
Teares of dissembled sorrow,
Constant vowes turne truthlesse,
Love cruell, Beauty ruthlesse.
Aye me, aye me;
Since false desire could borrow
Teares of dissembled sorrow,
Constant vowes turne truthlesse,
Love cruell, Beauty ruthlesse.
Sorrow can laugh, and Fury sing,
Aye me, aye me;
My raving griefes discover
I liv'd too true a lover:
The first step to madnesse
Is the excesse of sadnesse.
Aye me, aye me;
My raving griefes discover
I liv'd too true a lover:
The first step to madnesse
Is the excesse of sadnesse.
182
XV.
[Are you what your faire lookes expresse?]
Are you what your faire lookes expresse?
Oh then be kinde:
From law of Nature they digresse
Whose forme sutes not their minde:
Fairenesse seene in th'outward shape
Is but th'inward beauties Ape.
Oh then be kinde:
From law of Nature they digresse
Whose forme sutes not their minde:
Fairenesse seene in th'outward shape
Is but th'inward beauties Ape.
Eyes that of earth are mortall made,
What can they view?
All's but a colour or a shade,
And neyther alwayes true.
Reasons sight, that is eterne,
Ev'n the substance can discerne.
What can they view?
All's but a colour or a shade,
And neyther alwayes true.
Reasons sight, that is eterne,
Ev'n the substance can discerne.
Soule is the Man; for who will so
The body name?
And to that power all grace we owe
That deckes our living frame.
What, or how, had housen bin,
But for them that dwell therein?
The body name?
And to that power all grace we owe
That deckes our living frame.
What, or how, had housen bin,
But for them that dwell therein?
Love in the bosome is begot,
Not in the eyes;
No beauty makes the eye more hot,
Her flames the spright surprise:
Let our loving mindes then meete,
For pure meetings are most sweet.
Not in the eyes;
No beauty makes the eye more hot,
Her flames the spright surprise:
Let our loving mindes then meete,
For pure meetings are most sweet.
183
XVI.
[Since she, ev'n shee, for whom I liv'd]
Since she, ev'n shee, for whom I liv'd,
Sweet she by Fate from me is torne,
Why am not I of sence depriv'd,
Forgetting I was ever borne?
Why should I languish, hating light?
Better to sleepe an endlesse night.
Sweet she by Fate from me is torne,
Why am not I of sence depriv'd,
Forgetting I was ever borne?
Why should I languish, hating light?
Better to sleepe an endlesse night.
Be 't eyther true, or aptly fain'd,
That some of Lethes water write,
'Tis their best med'cine that are pain'd
All thought to loose of past delight.
O would my anguish vanish so!
Happy are they that neyther know.
That some of Lethes water write,
'Tis their best med'cine that are pain'd
All thought to loose of past delight.
O would my anguish vanish so!
Happy are they that neyther know.
184
XVII.
[I must complain, yet doe enjoy my Love]
I must complain, yet doe enjoy my Love;
She is too faire, too rich in lovely parts:
Thence is my grief, for Nature, while she strove
With all her graces and divinest Arts
To form her too too beautifull of hue,
Shee had no leasure left to make her true.
She is too faire, too rich in lovely parts:
Thence is my grief, for Nature, while she strove
With all her graces and divinest Arts
To form her too too beautifull of hue,
Shee had no leasure left to make her true.
Should I, agriev'd, then wish shee were lesse fayre?
That were repugnant to mine owne desires:
Shee is admir'd, new lovers still repayre;
That kindles daily loves forgetfull fires.
Rest, jealous thoughts, and thus resolve at last:
Shee hath more beauty then becomes the chast.
That were repugnant to mine owne desires:
Shee is admir'd, new lovers still repayre;
That kindles daily loves forgetfull fires.
Rest, jealous thoughts, and thus resolve at last:
Shee hath more beauty then becomes the chast.
186
XVIII.
[Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning?]
Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning?
Parats so can learne to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:
Nurces teach their children so about the time of weaning.
Parats so can learne to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:
Nurces teach their children so about the time of weaning.
Learne to speake first, then to wooe: to wooing much pertayneth:
Hee that courts us, wanting Arte, soone falters when he fayneth,
Lookes a-squint on his discourse, and smiles when hee complaineth.
Hee that courts us, wanting Arte, soone falters when he fayneth,
Lookes a-squint on his discourse, and smiles when hee complaineth.
Skilfull Anglers hide their hookes, fit baytes for every season;
But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes doe that want reason;
Gogians onely can be caught with such poore trickes of treason.
But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes doe that want reason;
Gogians onely can be caught with such poore trickes of treason.
Ruth forgive me, if I err'd from humane hearts compassion
When I laught sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion:
But, alas, who lesse could doe that found so good occasion?
When I laught sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion:
But, alas, who lesse could doe that found so good occasion?
187
XIX.
[Her fayre inflaming eyes]
Her fayre inflaming eyes,
Chiefe authors of my cares,
I prai'd in humblest wise
With grace to view my teares:
They beheld me broad awake,
But, alasse, no ruth would take.
Chiefe authors of my cares,
I prai'd in humblest wise
With grace to view my teares:
They beheld me broad awake,
But, alasse, no ruth would take.
Her lips with kisses rich,
And words of fayre delight,
I fayrely did beseech
To pitty my sad plight:
But a voyce from them brake forth
As a whirle-winde from the North.
And words of fayre delight,
I fayrely did beseech
To pitty my sad plight:
But a voyce from them brake forth
As a whirle-winde from the North.
Then to her hands I fled,
That can give heart and all;
To them I long did plead,
And loud for pitty call:
But, alas, they put mee off
With a touch worse then a scoffe.
That can give heart and all;
To them I long did plead,
And loud for pitty call:
But, alas, they put mee off
With a touch worse then a scoffe.
So backe I straight return'd,
And at her breast I knock'd;
Where long in vaine I mourn'd,
Her heart so fast was lock'd:
Not a word could passage finde,
For a Rocke inclos'd her minde.
And at her breast I knock'd;
Where long in vaine I mourn'd,
Her heart so fast was lock'd:
Not a word could passage finde,
For a Rocke inclos'd her minde.
Then downe my pray'rs made way
To those most comely parts
That make her flye or stay,
As they affect deserts:
But her angry feete, thus mov'd,
Fled with all the parts I lov'd.
To those most comely parts
That make her flye or stay,
As they affect deserts:
But her angry feete, thus mov'd,
Fled with all the parts I lov'd.
Yet fled they not so fast
As her enraged minde:
Still did I after haste,
Still was I left behinde,
Till I found 'twas to no end
With a Spirit to contend.
As her enraged minde:
Still did I after haste,
Still was I left behinde,
Till I found 'twas to no end
With a Spirit to contend.
188
XX.
[Turne all thy thoughts to eyes]
Turne all thy thoughts to eyes,
Turne all thy haires to eares,
Change all thy friends to spies,
And all thy joyes to feares:
True Love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
Turne all thy haires to eares,
Change all thy friends to spies,
And all thy joyes to feares:
True Love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
Turne darknesse into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Beleeve what th'envious say,
Let age interpret youth:
True love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
Conjectures into truth,
Beleeve what th'envious say,
Let age interpret youth:
True love will yet be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
Wrest every word and looke,
Racke ev'ry hidden thought,
Or fish with golden hooke,
True love cannot be caught:
For that will still be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
Racke ev'ry hidden thought,
Or fish with golden hooke,
True love cannot be caught:
For that will still be free,
In spite of Jealousie.
189
XXI.
[If any hath the heart to kill]
If any hath the heart to kill,
Come rid me of this wofull paine.
For while I live I suffer still
This cruell torment all in vaine:
Yet none alive but one can guesse
What is the cause of my distresse.
Come rid me of this wofull paine.
For while I live I suffer still
This cruell torment all in vaine:
Yet none alive but one can guesse
What is the cause of my distresse.
Thanks be to heav'n, no grievous smart,
No maladies my limbes annoy;
I beare a sound and sprightfull heart,
Yet live I quite depriv'd of joy:
Since what I had, in vaine I crave,
And what I had not, now I have.
No maladies my limbes annoy;
I beare a sound and sprightfull heart,
Yet live I quite depriv'd of joy:
Since what I had, in vaine I crave,
And what I had not, now I have.
A Love I had, so fayre, so sweet,
As ever wanton eye did see.
Once by appointment wee did meete;
Shee would, but ah, it would not be:
She gave her heart, her hand shee gave;
All did I give, shee nought could have.
As ever wanton eye did see.
Once by appointment wee did meete;
Shee would, but ah, it would not be:
She gave her heart, her hand shee gave;
All did I give, shee nought could have.
What Hagge did then my powers forespeake,
That never yet such taint did feele?
Now shee rejects me as one weake,
Yet am I all compos'd of steele.
Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now though shee sees, shee'le not believe!
That never yet such taint did feele?
Now shee rejects me as one weake,
Yet am I all compos'd of steele.
Ah, this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now though shee sees, shee'le not believe!
190
XXII.
[Beauty, since you so much desire]
Beauty, since you so much desire
To know the place of Cupids fire:
About you somewhere doth it rest,
Yet never harbour'd in your brest,
Nor gout-like in your heele or toe;
What foole would seeke Loves flame so low?
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.
To know the place of Cupids fire:
About you somewhere doth it rest,
Yet never harbour'd in your brest,
Nor gout-like in your heele or toe;
What foole would seeke Loves flame so low?
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.
Thinke not, when Cupid most you scorne,
Men judge that you of Ice were borne;
For, though you cast love at your heele,
His fury yet sometime you feele;
And where-abouts if you would know,
I tell you still, not in your toe:
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.
Men judge that you of Ice were borne;
For, though you cast love at your heele,
His fury yet sometime you feele;
And where-abouts if you would know,
I tell you still, not in your toe:
But a little higher, but a little higher,
There, there, o there lyes Cupids fire.
192
XXIII.
[Your faire lookes urge my desire]
Your faire lookes urge my desire:
Calme it, sweet, with love.
Stay, o why will you retire?
Can you churlish prove?
If Love may perswade,
Loves pleasures, deare, deny not:
Here is a grove secur'd with shade;
O then be wise, and flye not.
Calme it, sweet, with love.
Stay, o why will you retire?
Can you churlish prove?
If Love may perswade,
Loves pleasures, deare, deny not:
Here is a grove secur'd with shade;
O then be wise, and flye not.
Harke, the Birds delighted sing,
Yet our pleasure sleepes.
Wealth to none can profit bring,
Which the miser keepes:
O come, while we may,
Let's chayne Love with embraces;
Wee have not all times time to stay,
Nor safety in all places.
Yet our pleasure sleepes.
Wealth to none can profit bring,
Which the miser keepes:
O come, while we may,
Let's chayne Love with embraces;
Wee have not all times time to stay,
Nor safety in all places.
What ill finde you now in this?
Or who can complaine?
There is nothing done amisse,
That breedes no man payne.
'Tis now flowry May,
But ev'n in cold December,
When all these leaves are blowne away,
This place shall I remember.
Or who can complaine?
There is nothing done amisse,
That breedes no man payne.
'Tis now flowry May,
But ev'n in cold December,
When all these leaves are blowne away,
This place shall I remember.
193
XXIV.
[Faine would I wed a faire yong man that day and night could please mee]
Faine would I wed a faire yong man that day and night could please mee,When my mind or body grieved, that had the powre to ease mee.
Maids are full of longing thoughts that breed a bloudlesse sickenesse,
And that, oft I heare men say, is onely cur'd by quicknesse.
Oft have I beene woo'd and prai'd, but never could be moved:
Many for a day or so I have most dearely loved,
But this foolish mind of mine straight loaths the thing resolved.
If to love be sinne in mee, that sinne is soone absolved.
Sure, I thinke I shall at last flye to some holy Order;
When I once am setled there, then can I flye no farther.
Yet I would not dye a maid, because I had a mother:
As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.
FINIS.
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