University of Virginia Library

AMATORIA

1
A complaint against the contrary Wyndes that hindered the Queene to com to Scotland from Denmarke

2
To the Queene

As on the wings of your enchanting fame
I was transported ou'r the stormie seas
Who coulde not quenche that restles burning flame
Which onlie ye by sympathie did mease
So can I troubled be with no disease
Bot ye my onlie Medicinar remaines
And easilie when euer that ye please
May salue my sores and mitigatt my paines
Your smiling is an antidote againes
The Melancholie that oppresseth me
And when a raging wrathe into me raignes
Your louing lookes may make me calme to be
How oft yow see me haue an heauie hart
Remember then sweete Doctour on your art.

3
To the Queene, Anonimos

That blessed houre when first was broght to light
Our earthlie Juno, and our gratious Queene
Three Goddesses how soone they hade her seene
Contended who protect her shoulde by right
Bot being as Goddesses of equall might
And as of female sexe like stiffe in will
It was agreed by sacred Phœbus skill
To ioyne there powers to blesse that blessed wight.
Then happie Monarch sprung of Ferguse race
That talkes with wise Minerue when pleaseth the
And when thou list sume Princelie sporte to see
Thy chaste Diana rides with the in chase
Then when to bed thou gladlie does repaire
Clasps in thine armes thy Cytherea faire.

4
Two Sonnets to her M:tie to show the difference of Stiles

5

[the Cheuiott hills doe with my state agree]

6
Constant Loue in all Conditions

7
A Dier at her M:ties desyer

If mourning might amend my harde vnhappie cace
Or if complaining coulde appease Dame Fortunes frowning face
Then shoulde I neuer cease by songs and sonnets still
With my to iust conceaued regraits the earthe and aire to fill
My cairfull cries and grones shoulde make the rockes rebounde
The montains riue and all the earth with Echoes to resounde
No Orpheus charming notes for his departed wife
Nor raging Roland for his loue that ledd so madd a life
No not the worlde in one compared should neuer be
Vnto the mone that I shoulde make, suche passions martyrs me
Bot what can that awaile except for to renewe
My olde and deeplie rooted griefs that els to gladlie grewe
To rankle wp the sore that lurkes into my hart
And as a cancer make it spreade abroade in euerie part.
What wrathe haue all the Gods conceaued at me allace
That makes me loue where hatred dwells, and pittie hath no place
Ô if she were bot faire, or if she were bot false
Bot faire and false torments me thus and holdes me by the halse
If beautie as it ought with bountie coupled ware
Then suirlie she wolde pittie take on my consuming caire
Or if she wear but false and lacking Venus grace
Then woulde I not haue bene abused by her enchanting face
Thus am I tortured still, I mourne without remeade
My languour lackes one graine of houpe to mixe with daylie dreade
My teares getts no regarde, my sighs can haue no eare
And in one houre is quite forgott my seruice manie a yeare
What houpe can rest behinde, what may I looke for then
Bot be a butt to heauenlie plagues, a monstre amongs men
My state can neuer change my griefs are bot begunne
Thus casten is my luckles lott that woefull weirds haue spunne
Awaye with comfort then and wellcome colde dispaire
And since I can haue no delight, lett me delight in caire
My mirth in murning be, my ioye in dolours deepe
I will with sadd and sorie sighs my selfe from languour keepe
And for my cheefest sports to minde then will I bring syne
As in a roll my whole mishaps, then like a swanne them sing
My houpe is whole transformed in blacke and colde dispaire
Except I onlie houpe for deathe to end continuall caire:
No, death he must not haste, my mischiefs woulde he mend
It best becumes my miserie to duine before I end
Yett if the endles smart and sorrowe I sustaine
Were suffered for sume worthie wight, I happie wolde remaine
I wolde me happie thinke if thus I martyred ware
For sume sweete Sainct in sacrifice that both were good and faire
Bot ô allace my paine and restles griefe it growes
For her who neuer once on me a louing thought bestowes
Yett lett not this dishart no happie man in loue that
Who finds a maike that will not change, nor for no chance remoue.
All wemen are in ouers, in vertue sume excell
And sume in vices may ou'rmatche the greatest Diuell in hell
The blessedest creatures made by God the Angells ware
The cursedest creatures in the worlde the fallen Angells are
For me I onlie craue a spectacle to be
Wherin as in á masse confused all miseries men may see
And when my happ shall be to goe to wished graue
Which is the onelie happie chance I euer wishe to haue
That then the passenger may reade in going by
For true and honest constant loue, this patient here does lye.

the sonnett lakkis heere quhiche interprettis all the matter

My Muse hath made a willfull lye I grante,
I sung of sorrows neuer felt by me;
I haue as great occasion for to wante,
My loue begunne my blessing for to be.
How can I then excuse so lowd a lye?
O yes, I did it euen at her desire,
Who made me such successe in loue to see,
How soone her flames hade sett my hart on fire.
Since for her sake I presse for to aspire,
To preache of passions which I neuer prou'd;
What should yee doe who haue for haplesse hire
The lucklesse lott, to loue and not be lou'd.
Your plaints I thinke should pierce the starrie skies
And deaue the Gods with shrill and cairfull cries:

8
A complaint of his mistressis absence from Court

9
A dreame on his Mistris my Ladie Glammis

Whill as the silent shaddie night
Did with her courtens blacke
Ou'rcouer Rheas fruictfull face
And being colde and wacke
By sympathie with mortall braines
Our members make of leade
And stealing all our senses make
Ws lye a while as deade.
Then whill I was in this estate
The God with golden wings,
Who entring at the ports of horne
So manie monstres brings,
And changing into sundrie shapes
By strange and subtle slight,
Does make ws heare without our eares
And see but eyes or light.
This strange and subtle God, I saye,
Of late appear'd to me,
And by the hand my Mistres ledd,
Loe here she is quoth he,
Whose presence breeds as manie ioyes
As absence breeds thee woes,
Loe here the harbour of thy hart
Loe here thy onlie chose
Loe here she is who makes thee trade
The statelie forcked hill,
Whose pleasant grasse beginnes to fade
So trampled by thee still,
Loe here she is who makes thee drinke
The christall siluer spring
Of flying horse and riding foule
As ancient Poëts sing,
Loe here the subiect and the wings
Of thy high flying verse
That mountes aboue the flammie vaults
And to the heauen does pearse.
With this me thought she bowed her doune
And ioyned the rubies sine,
(That hides her iuorie rankes and smells
Of Nectar) vnto mine,
Sine with her soft and silken hands
About my necke she layes
A tablet and an Amethyst
And silent slipps her wayes.
Bot loe my minde so passion'd was
My hart so sturr'd withall
With ioye extreame, as made them soone
My senses to recall.
And looke how soone from slugglish sleepe
I perfectlie awooke,
Euen at the first (ô miracle)
Into my hand I tooke
These tokens hunge about my necke
(As I hade dream'd before)
What Deïtie (quoth I amaz'd)
For this shall I adore:
Sume God or Angell suirlie hath
This present to me brought,
For if on anie naturall dreames
Hade rauished bene my thought,
Then ather of the humours foure
The cheefe that did abounde,
By sympathie with brethren foure
Wherof was form'd this rounde,
And with the seasons of the yeare
Wolde vexed haue my braine,
If bloode domin'd with bloodie iarres
In spring tyme, and againe,
If cholere raign'd with rauening fires
In Sommers pearching heate,
If phlegme did with drowning floods
When Hyades holds there seate,
If melancholie earth and night
With heauie things and blacke,
When frozen Saturne rules with snowe
The place wolde suirlie take:
Or els the things I last hade thought
Hade done or wish'd to be
They hade although imperfectlie
In dreame appear'd to me,
And so by nature hade I dream'd
The thing I dream'd indeede,
For I confesse that Idee oft
My rauish'd minde dois feede,
Bot then how soone I hade awack'd
And Morpheus flowen awaye,
No token hade he left behinde
As now this wedd it laye:
Then counting it sume heauenlie gift
And sent me from aboue,
I cust me narrowlie to guesse
What coulde the meaning proue,
And so beganne both wp and doune
To tosse, to wiewe, to spie—
The tablet and the Amethyst
There secrets for to trie.
Thou Lycian Lord that Deïtie
Whome Delphos did adore,
Whose shining coache doe saphirs blewe
And rubies red decore,
The sacred Sisters Monarch greate,
The spirit that did inspire
With oracles the Sybills sage
Inflam'd with heauenlie fire,
O thou that mysteries can reueale
And future things foreseis
Assist my seeking out of this
And open cleare mine eyes.
The Amethyst in forme of hart
Doeth signifie the hart
And constant loue vnchangeable
That is vpon my part,
And as the colours of this stone
Are purple mix'd with graye,
So flames of loue my earthlie parts
Consumes me day by daye.
The secret vertues that are hidd
Into this pretious stone
Indues me with meete qualities
For seruing such a one.
For as this stone by secret force
Can soueraignlie remeade
These daizeled braines whome Bacchus strength
Ou'rcomes as they were deade,
And can preserue ws from the harme
Of the envenomed sting
Of poysoned cuppes, that to our tombe
Vntymelie does ws bring,
So shall my harte be still preserued
By vertue from aboue,
From staggering like a drunken man
Or wauering into loue:
Bot by this soueraigne antidote
Of her whome still I serue
In spite of all the poysoned lookes
Of Dames I shall not swerue.
And speciallie with courage bolde
This stone can furnish me
That with my conquering hand I may
Enforce my foes to flie,
For suire he can not worthie be
To be accompted deare
By anie Dame that in his brest
A womans hart dois beare.
And therfor for my part I wowe
If as the rumours be
Of iarrs and broyles, I happen in
Effect the same to see,
I shall not from the enemies sight
To anie part remoue,
Vnkithing once in honour of
My Mistres and my loue:
But onlie mot I conquered be
And onelie will I yeelde
To Cupids shott, whose firie darts
Resist coulde neuer sheelde.
And lastlie as this stone hath force
A hunter for to aide,
In end to catche his pray, the fruict
Of all his trauell made,
So as I am an prentise past
Into that Princelie game,
Whose hounds and horns through rockes and woodes
Makes Echo answer them,
I trust by vertue of this stone
To winne and holde the pray
That prayes on me, and is of all
My passion'd thoughts the stay.
Bot loe I long to turne me to
The tablet made of golde,
And all without and in the same
At length for to beholde.
Of purest golde the tablet made
Which by the fire is fin'd,
Her chastnes pure does represent
In bodie both and mind,
The crawling scores of ameling blacke
That on the golde are wrought,
The diuers passions represents
That walters in her thought.
One of the leaues on vtter side
A nacked man does beare,
Whome Phœbus rosts with hote reflexe
And stinging flees doe teare,
Yett sitting in the forrest greene,
As senceles of his harme,
By harmonie of violl sweete
He neuer irkes to charme
The rauish'd foules and beasts about,
Esteeming so there ioye,
As makes him quite for to forgett
His grieuous sore anoye.
This man not onlie represents
Her Siren voyce diuine,
Wherewith she makes the dullest eares
And hardest harts encline,
Bot as his dittie sayes, To please
The rest he suffers paine,
So she her Princesse serues of loue
Without respect of gaine.
The other on the vtter side
The Sunne hath shining bright
Into the midst, with stars about
Bot darckned by his light
And as that dittie sayes, As Sunne
Amongst the stars does shine,
So she her sexe surpasseth far
In vertues most diuine:
That Sunne of whome I sung before
Whose absence made me flie
Aboue the skies, ô Sunne to seeke
Her shaddowe into the.
Bot if into these former verse
I soar'd with Eagle wings,
Then Mistres thanke your selfe for them
That by your vertue sings.
Bot greatest comfort is to me
To spie the inward part,
Wheras ane hand does holde me thinke
My onelie Mistres hart,
Whill Cupide with his bended bowe
And golden arrowe aime,
To shoote his subtle firie shaft
For pearcing of the same:
Bot that her hand does holde her hart
I take it for to be,
That willinglie she letts her hart
Be shotte into for me.
The inward of the other leafe
It emptie does remaine,
Which if my guesse deceaue me not,
Is ordain'd to containe,
The art of sume Apelles fine,
The portraict of her face,
To giue vnto the workemanship
Of all the rest a grace:
For as the rest does represent
Her qualities most rare,
So shoulde her selfe, though viuelie, no,
Yett best it can be there.
And suire the Gods aboue they haue
Decreed as seemes to me,
That as the tablet and the stone
Both knitt together be
Euen by a string, the tablet like
To her, to me the stone,
So shall our loue whill Atrope cutt
The threed, be knitt in one.
Thus haue I redd my dreame ye see
With wise Apollos aide,
And if this be the verrie trueth
That I herin haue saide,
Then am I gladd of such a guesse,
Bot if I be deceau'd,
And in the opening of a dreame
Haue ather dream'd or reau'd,
Yett wellcume be a gladd deceate,
For as into my sleepe,
My dreame deceaued me, so my guesse,
In gladnes doth me keepe.
Now may ye see ô Titan mine,
No distance far of place,
Nor other thoughts can out of me
The thought of yow deface,
In absence are ye present still
And euer so in sight,
No wonder is, what Monarch may
Resist a womans might.

10
A Satire against Woemen

11
Song 1

12
Song 2