The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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| II. | II. Odes, Songs, and Sonnets. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
278
II. Odes, Songs, and Sonnets.
An Ode.
I
Awake, faire Muse; for I intendThese everlasting lynes to thee,
And, honord Drayton, come & lend
An eare to this sweet melodye:
For on my harpes most high & siluer string,
To those Nine Sisters whom I loue, I sing.
2
This man through death & horror seekesHonor, by the Victorious Steele;
Another in vnmapped creekes
For Jewells moares his winged keele.
The clamrous Barre wins some, & others byte
At lookes throwne from a mushrome Fauorite.
3
But I, that serue the louely Graces,Spurne at that drosse, which most adore;
And tytles hate, like paynted faces,
And heart-fed Care for euermore.
Those pleasures I disdaine, which are pursude
With praise & wishes by the multitude.
279
4
The Bayes, which deathles Learning crownes,Me of Appollo's troope installs:
The Satyres following ore the downes
Fair Nymphs to rusticke festiualls,
Make me affect (where men no traffique haue)
The holy horror of a Sauage Caue.
5
Through the faire skyes I thence intend,With an vnusd & powerfull wing,
To beare me to my Jorneyes end:
And those that taste the Muses spring,
Too much celestiall fire haue at their birth,
To lyue long tyme like cōmon soules in Earth.
6
From faire Aurora will I reareMy selfe vnto the source of floods;
And from the Ethiopian Beare,
To him as white as snowy woods;
Nor shall I feare (for this daye taking flight)
To be wounde vp in any vayle of night.
7
Of Death I may not feare the dart,As is the vse of Humane State;
For well I knowe my better part
Dreads not the hand of Tyme or Fate.
Tremble at Death, Enuye, & fortune whoe
Haue but one life: Heauen giues a Poet two.
8
All costly obsequies invaye,Marble & paintyng too, as vayne;
280
As those doe of the vulgar trayne.
And if my Muse to Spencers glory come
No King shall owne my verses for his Tombe.”
A ROUNDE.
All.
Now that the Spring hath filld our veynes
With kinde and actiue fire,
And made green liuryes for the playnes,
And euery groue a Quire.
With kinde and actiue fire,
And made green liuryes for the playnes,
And euery groue a Quire.
Sing we a Song of merry glee,
And Bacchus fill the bowle:
And Bacchus fill the bowle:
1.
Then heres to thee;
2.
And thou to mee
And euery thirsty soule.
Nor Care nor Sorrow ere payd debt,
Nor never shall doe myne;
I haue no Cradle goeing yet,
Not I, by this good wyne.
Nor never shall doe myne;
I haue no Cradle goeing yet,
Not I, by this good wyne.
No wyfe at home to send for me,
Noe hoggs are in my grounde,
Noe suite at Law to pay a fee,
Then round, old Jocky, round.
Noe hoggs are in my grounde,
Noe suite at Law to pay a fee,
Then round, old Jocky, round.
281
Sheare sheepe that haue them, cry we still,
But see that noe man scape
To drinke of the Sherry,
That makes us so merry,
And plumpe as the lusty Grape.
[Vnhappy Muse, that nothing pleasest me]
Vnhappy Muse, that nothing pleasest me,
But tyr'st thyself to reape anothers blisse,
She that as much forbeares thy melodye,
As feareful maydens doe the serpents hisse,
Doth she not fly away when I would sing?
Or doth she staye, when I with many a teare
Keepe solemne tyme to my woes vttering;
And aske what wilde Birds grant to lend an Eare?
O haples Tongue, in silence euer live,
And ye, my founts of teares, forbeare supply:
Since neither words, nor teares, nor muse can give
Ought worth the pittying such a wretch as I.
Grieue to your selues, if needs you will deplore,
Till teares & words are spent for euermore.
But tyr'st thyself to reape anothers blisse,
She that as much forbeares thy melodye,
As feareful maydens doe the serpents hisse,
Doth she not fly away when I would sing?
Or doth she staye, when I with many a teare
Keepe solemne tyme to my woes vttering;
And aske what wilde Birds grant to lend an Eare?
O haples Tongue, in silence euer live,
And ye, my founts of teares, forbeare supply:
Since neither words, nor teares, nor muse can give
Ought worth the pittying such a wretch as I.
Grieue to your selues, if needs you will deplore,
Till teares & words are spent for euermore.
Vnhappy I, in whom no Joye appeares,
And but for sorrowe of all else forlorne;
Mishaps encreasing faster then my yeares,
As I to grieue & dye were onely borne.
Dark sullen night is my too tedious daye;
In it I labour when all others rest,
And wear in discontent those howres awaye,
Which make some lesse deseruing greater blest.
The rose cheekt morne I hate, because it brings
A sad remembrance of my fairer Faire,
From whose deare graue arise continuall springs,
Whose mistye vapours cloude the lightsome ayre.
And onely now I to my Loue preferre
Those Clouds which shed their rayne, & weepe for her.
And but for sorrowe of all else forlorne;
Mishaps encreasing faster then my yeares,
As I to grieue & dye were onely borne.
Dark sullen night is my too tedious daye;
In it I labour when all others rest,
And wear in discontent those howres awaye,
Which make some lesse deseruing greater blest.
The rose cheekt morne I hate, because it brings
A sad remembrance of my fairer Faire,
From whose deare graue arise continuall springs,
Whose mistye vapours cloude the lightsome ayre.
And onely now I to my Loue preferre
Those Clouds which shed their rayne, & weepe for her.
282
THIRSIS' PRAISE OF HIS MISTRESSE.
On a hill that grac'd the plaine
Thirsis sate, a comely Swaine,
Comelier Swaine nere grac'd a hill:
Whilst his Flocke that wandred nie,
Cropt the green grasse busilie,
Thus he tun'd his Oaten quill:
Thirsis sate, a comely Swaine,
Comelier Swaine nere grac'd a hill:
Whilst his Flocke that wandred nie,
Cropt the green grasse busilie,
Thus he tun'd his Oaten quill:
Ver hath made the pleasant field
Many seu'rall odours yeeld,
Odors aromaticall:
From faire Astra's cherrie lip,
Sweeter smells for euer skip,
They in pleasing passen all.
Many seu'rall odours yeeld,
Odors aromaticall:
From faire Astra's cherrie lip,
Sweeter smells for euer skip,
They in pleasing passen all.
Leauie Groues now mainely ring,
With each sweet birds sonnetting,
Notes that make the Eccho's long:
But when Astra tunes her voyce,
All the mirthfull birds reioyce,
And are list'ning to her Song.
With each sweet birds sonnetting,
Notes that make the Eccho's long:
But when Astra tunes her voyce,
All the mirthfull birds reioyce,
And are list'ning to her Song.
Fairely spreads the Damaske Rose,
Whose rare mixture doth disclose
Beauties pensills cannot faine.
Yet if Astra passe the bush,
Roses haue beene seen to blush
She doth all their beauties staine.
Whose rare mixture doth disclose
Beauties pensills cannot faine.
Yet if Astra passe the bush,
Roses haue beene seen to blush
She doth all their beauties staine.
Phœbus, shining bright in skie,
Gilds the floods, heates mountaines hie
With his beames all quick'ning fire:
Astra's eyes (most sparkling ones)
Strikes a heat in hearts of stones,
And enflames them with desire.
Gilds the floods, heates mountaines hie
With his beames all quick'ning fire:
283
Strikes a heat in hearts of stones,
And enflames them with desire.
Fields are blest with flowrie wreath,
Ayre is blest when she doth breath,
Birds make happy eu'ry Groue,
She, each Bird, when she doth sing:
Phœbus heate to Earth doth bring,
She makes Marble fall in loue.
Ayre is blest when she doth breath,
Birds make happy eu'ry Groue,
She, each Bird, when she doth sing:
Phœbus heate to Earth doth bring,
She makes Marble fall in loue.
Those blessings of the earth we Swaines doe call,
Astra can blesse those blessings, earth and all.
Astra can blesse those blessings, earth and all.
CŒLIA.
SONNETS.
1.
[Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost]
Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost,Not dreading losse, doe sing againe of loue;
And like a man but latelie tempest-tost,
Try if my starres still inauspicious proue:
Not to make good, that poets neuer can
Long time without a chosen Mistris be,
Doe I sing thus; or my affections ran
Within the Maze of Mutabilitie;
What best I lov'de, was beauty of the mind,
And that lodgd in a Temple truely faire,
Which ruyn'd now by death, if I can finde
The Saint that livd therein some otherwhere,
I may adore it there, and love the Cell
For entertaining what I lov'd so well.
284
2.
[Why might I not for once be of that Sect]
Why might I not for once be of that Sect,Which hold that soules, when Nature hath her right,
Some other bodyes to themselues elect;
And sunlike make the daye, and license Night;
That soul, whose setting in one Hemispheare
Was to enlighten streight another part;
In that Horizon, if I see yt there,
Calls for my first respect and its desert;
Her vertue is the same and may be more;
For as the Sun is distant, so his powre
In operation differs, and the store
Of thick clowds interposed make him lesse owr.
And verely I thinke her clymate such,
Since to my former flame it adds soe much.
3.
[Fairest, when by ye rules of palmistrye]
Fairest, when by ye rules of palmistryeYou tooke my hand to trye if you could guesse,
By lines therein, if anye wight there be
Ordain'd to make me know some happines;
I wish't that those Characters could explaine,
Whom I will neuer wrong with hope to win;
Or that by them a coppy might be sene,
By you, o loue, what thoughts I haue within.
But since the hand of Nature did not sett
(As providentlie loth to haue it knowne)
The meanes to finde that hidden Alphabet,
Mine Eyes shall be th' interpreters alone;
By them conceiue my thoughts, & tell me, faire,
If now you see her, that doth love me there?
285
4.
[Soe sat the Muses on the Bankes of Thames]
Soe sat the Muses on the Bankes of Thames,And pleas'd to sing our heauenly Spencers wit,
Inspireing almost trees with powrefull flames,
As Cælia when she sings what I haue writ:
Me thinkes there is a Spirrit more diuine,
An Elegance more rare when ought is sung
By her sweet voice, in euery verse of mine,
Then I conceiue by any other tongue:
So a musitian sets what some one playes
With better rellish, sweeter stroke, then he
That first composd; nay oft the maker weighes,
If what he heares, his owne, or others be.
Such are my lines: the highest, best of choice,
Become more gratious by her sweetest voice.
5.
[Wer't not for you, here should my pen haue rest]
Wer't not for you, here should my pen haue restAnd take a long leaue of sweet Poesye;
Britannias swaynes, & riuers far by west,
Should heare no more mine oaten melodye;
Yet shall the song I sing of them, awhile
Vnperfect lye, and make noe further knowne
The happy loves of this our pleasant Ile;
Till I haue left some record of mine owne.
You are the subiect now, and, writing you,
I well may versify, not poetize:
Heere needs no fiction: for the graces true
And vertues clipp not with base flatteryes.
Heere should I write what you deserue of praise,
Others might weare, but I should win the bayes.
286
6.
[Sing soft, ye pretty Birds, while Cælia sleepes]
Sing soft, ye pretty Birds, while Cælia sleepes,And gentle gales play gently with the leaues;
Learne of the neighbour brookes, whose silent deepes
Would teach him feare, that her soft sleep bereaues.
Myne Oaten reed, devoted to her praise,
(A theame that would befit the Delphian Lyre)
Give way, that I in silence may admire.
Is not her sleepe like that of innocents,
Sweet as her selfe; and is she not more faire,
Almost in death, then are the Ornaments
Of fruitfull trees, which newly budding are?
She is, and tell it, Truth, when she shall lye,
And sleep for euer, for she cannot dye.
7.
[Fairest, when I am gone, as now the Glasse]
Fairest, when I am gone, as now the GlasseOf Time is mark't how long I haue to staye,
Let me intreat you, ere from hence I passe,
Perhaps from you for euermore awaye,
Thinke that noe common Loue hath fir'd my Breast,
No base desire, but Vertue truely knowne,
Which I may love, & wish to haue possest,
Were you the high'st as fair'st of any one;
'Tis not your louely eye inforcing flames,
Nor beautious redd beneath a snowy skin,
That so much bindes me yours, or makes you Flames,
As the pure light & beauty shryn'd within:
Yet outward parts I must affect of duty,
As for the smell we like the Roses beauty.
287
8.
[As oft as I meet one that comes from you]
As oft as I meet one that comes from you,And aske your health, not as the usual fashion,
Before he speakes, I doubt there will insue,
As oft there doth, the com̄on commendacōn:
Alas, thinke I, did he but know my minde
(Though for the world I would not haue if soe)
He would relate it in another kinde,
Discourse of it at large, and yet but slowe;
He should th' occasion tell, & with it too
Add how you charg'd him he should not forget;
For this you might, as sure some louers doe,
Though such a Messenger I haue not mett:
Nor doe I care, since 'twill not further moue me,
Love me alone, and say, alone you love me.
9.
[Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly]
Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly,And see those beautyes which mine eyes haue lost,)
Is any worthier Loue beneath the sky?
Would not the cold Norwegian mixt with frost
(If in their clyme she were) from her bright Eyes
Receiue a heat, so powrefully begun,
In all his veynes & nummed arteryes,
That would supply the lowenes of the sun?
I wonder at her harmony of words,
Rare (and as rare as seldome doth she talke)
That Riuers stand not in their speedy fords,
And downe the hills the trees forbeare to walke.
But more I muse, why I should hope in fine,
To get alone a Beauty so divine.
288
10.
[To gett a Love & Beauty so devine]
To gett a Love & Beauty so devine,(In these so warye times) the fact must be,
Of greater fortunes to the world then myne;
Those are the stepps to that felicitye;
For love no other gate hath then the Eyes,
And inward worth is now esteem'd as none;
Mere outsides onely to that blessing rise,
Which Truth & Love did once account their owne;
Yet as she wants her fairer, she may misse
The common cause of Loue, and be as free
From Earth, as her composure heauenly is;
If not, I restles rest in miserie,
And daily wish to keepe me from despaire,
Fortune my Mistris, or you not so faire.
11.
[Fair Laurell, that the onelye witnes art]
Fair Laurell, that the onelye witnes artTo that discourse, which vnderneath thy shade
Our griefe swolne brests did lovinglie impart,
With vowes as true as ere Religion made:
If (forced by our sighs) the flame shall fly
Of our kinde Love, and get within thy rind,
Be warye, gentle Baye, & shrieke not hye,
When thou dost such vnusual feruor finde;
Suppresse the fire; for should it take thy leaues,
Their crackling would betraye vs, & thy glorye
289
But heate sufficient for our future story.
And when our sad misfortunes vanquish'd lye,
Imbrace our fronts in signe of memorie.
12.
[Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne]
Had not the soyle, that bred me, further donne,And fill'd part of those veynes which sweetlye doe,
Much like the living streames of Eden, run,
Embracing such a Paradise as you;
My Muse had fail'd me in the course I ran,
But that she from your vertues tooke new breath,
And from your Eyes such fire that, like a Swan,
She in your praise can sing her selfe to death.
Now could I wish those golden howres vnspent,
Wherein my Fancy led me to the woods,
And tun'd soft layes of rurall merriment,
Of shepherds Loues & neuer resting Floods:
For had I seen you then, though in a dreame,
Those songs had slept, and you had bin my Theame.
13.
[Night, steale not on too fast: wee haue not yet]
Night, steale not on too fast: wee haue not yetShed all our parting teares, nor paid the kisses,
Which foure dayes absence made vs run in debt,
(O, who would absent be where growe such blisses?)
The Rose, which but this morning spred her leaues,
Kist not her neighbour flower more chast then wee:
Nor are the timelye Eares bound vp in sheaues
More strict then in our Armes we twisted be;
290
Twoo harmeles soules, so innocent and true,
That were all honest Love forgotten quite,
By our Example men might Learne Anew.
Night seuers vs, but pardon her she maye,
And will once make us happyer then the daye.
14.
[Divinest Cælia, send no more to aske]
Divinest Cælia, send no more to askeHow I in absence doe; your seruant may
Be freed of that vnnecessary Taske:
For you may knowe it by a shorter waye.
I was a shaddow when I went from you;
And shaddowes are from sicknes euer free.
My heart you kept (a sad one, though a true)
And nought but Memorie went home with me.
Looke in your brest, where now two hearts you haue,
And see if they agree together there:
If mine want ayde, be mercifull & save,
And seek not for me any other where:
Should my physitian question how I doe,
I cannot tell him, till I aske of you.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |