Loves martyr or, Rosalins complaint. Allegorically shadowing the truth of Loue, in the constant Fate of the Phoenix and Turtle. A Poeme enterlaced with much varietie and raritie; now first translated out of the uenerable Italian Torquato Caeliano, by Robert Chester. With the true legend of famous King Arthur, the last of the nine Worthies, being the first Essay of a new British Poet: collected out of diuerse Authenticall Records. To these are added some new compositions, of seuerall moderne Writers whose names are subscribed to their seuerall workes, upon the first Subiect: viz. the Phoenix and Turtle |
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| [Ah quoth she, but where is true Loue?] |
 | Loves martyr |  |
[Ah quoth she, but where is true Loue?]
Ah quoth she, but where is true Loue?Where quoth he? where you and I loue.
I quoth she, were thine like my loue.
Why quoth he, as you loue I loue.
Ah thou imperious high commaunding Lord,
(Quoth he) to Cupid gentle god of Loue,
He that I honor most will not accord,
But striues against thy Iustice from aboue,
Where I haue promist faith, my plighted word
Is quite refused with a base reproue:
True louing honour this I onely will thee,
Loue thy true loue, or else false loue will kill me.
Where shall I find a heart that's free from guile?
Quoth Faithfulnesse, within my louers brest.
He at these pleasing words began to smile,
Where Anguish wrapt his thoughts in much vnrest:
You did with pretie tales the time beguile,
And made him in conceited pleasure blest,
I grac'd the words spoke with so sweet a tong,
Loue being the holy burden of your song.
158
(Quoth true Experience,) sit and you shall see,
She will enchaunt you with her heauenly lay:
Were you fram'd all of heauenly Pollicie,
Thine eares should drinke the poison of Delay,
Like as I said, so did it proue to be,
My Mistris beautie grac'd my Mistris song,
Loue pleasd more with her Eyes then with her Tong.
Why then in deepenesse of sweete Loues delight,
Quoth she, the perfect Mistris of Desire,
He that I honor most bard from my sight,
As a bright Lampe kindles Affections fire:
You Magicke operations worke your spight,
Loue to the mountaine top of will aspires:
I chalenge all in all, and this I sing,
Loue is a holy Saint, a Lord, a King.
Ah Loue, where is thy faith in sweete loue?
Why loue where hearts conioyne in true loue:
Why then my heart hopes of thy Loues loue,
Else let my heart be plagu'd with false loue.
Why loue where hearts conioyne in true loue:
Why then my heart hopes of thy Loues loue,
Else let my heart be plagu'd with false loue.
Why art thou strange to me my Deare?
Not strange when as I loue my deare:
But thou esteem'st not of thy deare.
Yes when I know my dearest deare.
Not strange when as I loue my deare:
But thou esteem'st not of thy deare.
Yes when I know my dearest deare.
Why is my Loue so false to me?
My loue is thine if thou lou'st me:
Thee I loue, else none contents me.
If thou lou'st me, it not repents me.
My loue is thine if thou lou'st me:
Thee I loue, else none contents me.
159
Ah quoth he, wher's faith in sweete loue?
Why quoth she, conioynd in true loue.
Ah quoth he, I hope of thy loue:
Else quoth she, Ile die a false loue.
Why quoth she, conioynd in true loue.
Ah quoth he, I hope of thy loue:
Else quoth she, Ile die a false loue.
Ah my Deare, why dost thou kill me?
No my deare, Loue doth not will me.
Then in thine armes thou shalt enfould me.
I, my deare, there thou shalt hold me:
And holding me betweene thine armes,
I shall embrace sweete Louers Charmes.
No my deare, Loue doth not will me.
Then in thine armes thou shalt enfould me.
I, my deare, there thou shalt hold me:
And holding me betweene thine armes,
I shall embrace sweete Louers Charmes.
| Loves martyr | |