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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| THE THIRD BOOKE |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
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| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| 4. |
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 | The Works of Thomas Campion |  |
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.
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