Alba. The Months Minde of a Melancholy Lover, diuided into three parts By R. T. Gentleman [i.e. Robert Tofte]. Herevnto is Added a most excellent pathetical and passionate Letter, sent by Duke D'Epernoun, vnto the late French King, Henry the 3. of that name, when he was commanded from the Court, and from his Royall Companie. Translated into English by the foresaid Author |
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| 2. | THE SECOND PART OF THE MONETHS MIND OF A MELANCHOLY LOVER. |
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 | Alba. The Months Minde of a Melancholy Lover, diuided into three parts |  |
2. THE SECOND PART OF THE MONETHS MIND OF A MELANCHOLY LOVER.
Alla Crudelissima.
These few (yet zealous) line comes from my hart,
Dried with my Sighs, and written with my Teares,
I send to her the Author of my smart.
Though (subtill Serpent like) she stop her eares:
VVho, more to her I sue, her Grace to gaine,
The more incenst against me doth remaine.
Dried with my Sighs, and written with my Teares,
I send to her the Author of my smart.
Though (subtill Serpent like) she stop her eares:
VVho, more to her I sue, her Grace to gaine,
The more incenst against me doth remaine.
I loue not I to pharisie, nor praise
My selfe, for to her owne selfe I appeale,
If I deuoted haue not bin alwaies,
To do her good, as one that sought her weale.
Heauens I forsweare, and vtterly abiure,
If that my Faith be tainted or vnpure.
My selfe, for to her owne selfe I appeale,
If I deuoted haue not bin alwaies,
To do her good, as one that sought her weale.
Heauens I forsweare, and vtterly abiure,
If that my Faith be tainted or vnpure.
Malleuolent, Malicious, Planet, Starre,
VVas it my Fortune, so for to be borne,
My Cote so true, to haue so crosse a Bar,
That for my seruice thus she should me skorne?
Must my cleere Sunne eclipsed be with Spite?
Must enuious Clowdes still seeke to dark my Light?
VVas it my Fortune, so for to be borne,
My Cote so true, to haue so crosse a Bar,
That for my seruice thus she should me skorne?
Must my cleere Sunne eclipsed be with Spite?
Must enuious Clowdes still seeke to dark my Light?
VVhat remedie? Ile think twas Fortune mine,
(And not her fault) that wrought me all this paine:
Her Crueltie twas not, but Destnie mine,
My selfe, not she, was cause of mine owne bane:
Yet shal ye world by this my Loves Months Mind,
Aghast Fault, though no Follie in her finde.
(And not her fault) that wrought me all this paine:
Her Crueltie twas not, but Destnie mine,
My selfe, not she, was cause of mine owne bane:
Yet shal ye world by this my Loves Months Mind,
Aghast Fault, though no Follie in her finde.
Since that mine Alba tooke her leaue of mee,
I leaue haue tooke of pleasure and of ioy:
And did with sorrow at that time agree,
To soiorne with him in his chiefe Annoy.
My Woes (still greene) encrease continually,
Which faine I would, but cannot remedie.
I leaue haue tooke of pleasure and of ioy:
And did with sorrow at that time agree,
To soiorne with him in his chiefe Annoy.
My Woes (still greene) encrease continually,
Which faine I would, but cannot remedie.
And were it not but that my dauntlesse Hart,
Doth comfort me with hope of better cheere,
I soone would rid me of this vncouth smart,
And leaue this life which I haue bought too deare.
Oft do I weep to Love, and him I pray,
Either to ease my paines, or me to slay.
Doth comfort me with hope of better cheere,
I soone would rid me of this vncouth smart,
And leaue this life which I haue bought too deare.
Oft do I weep to Love, and him I pray,
Either to ease my paines, or me to slay.
Yet though I beg, I finde but small reliefe,
As do at Rich mens gates the Needy poore:
Who more they crie to aggrauate their griefe,
The lesse they finde their Almes at the doore.
So Love, the more my cries I to him send,
The lesse my plaints, he skornefull doth attend.
As do at Rich mens gates the Needy poore:
Who more they crie to aggrauate their griefe,
The lesse they finde their Almes at the doore.
So Love, the more my cries I to him send,
The lesse my plaints, he skornefull doth attend.
And yet my sute is small, small is the Grace
That I desire, (for somewhat I deserue)
Tis only for to die before her face,
From whom in Dutie (yet) I nere did swerue:
That she might know my life doth me annoy,
Vnles I might her company enioy.
That I desire, (for somewhat I deserue)
Tis only for to die before her face,
From whom in Dutie (yet) I nere did swerue:
That she might know my life doth me annoy,
Vnles I might her company enioy.
Ladie, when first vpon faire Venus Day,
I came acquainted with thy seemely selfe,
And vowde thy loyall Votarie to stay,
Proffring to thee my liuing, life and welth:
As I was then, so am I still the same,
Neuer to change, for change exchangeth shame.
I came acquainted with thy seemely selfe,
And vowde thy loyall Votarie to stay,
Proffring to thee my liuing, life and welth:
As I was then, so am I still the same,
Neuer to change, for change exchangeth shame.
Within the Center of mine inward Hart,
(As signe of euerlasting Monument,
Which fatall Death shall hardly from me part)
Thy high prizde Loue full surely haue I pent,
Neuer to be remou'd, but there to lie,
World without end for aye, continuallie.
(As signe of euerlasting Monument,
Which fatall Death shall hardly from me part)
Thy high prizde Loue full surely haue I pent,
Neuer to be remou'd, but there to lie,
World without end for aye, continuallie.
For thee I longde, for thee I much did dare,
For thee I hopte and feard, bid sweet and sower:
Liking thee, I for Others did not care,
Ore this my Hart thou hadst so great a power.
All other Faces, (in respect of thine)
I skornde as Masks, thou only seemst Diuine.
For thee I hopte and feard, bid sweet and sower:
Liking thee, I for Others did not care,
Ore this my Hart thou hadst so great a power.
All other Faces, (in respect of thine)
I skornde as Masks, thou only seemst Diuine.
Since Love, then me with such affection framde,
That he hath me adopted Thine, alone,
That I delight not but to heare thee namde,
And only like to heare thy praises showne.
Ah keepe thy plighted Faith vnstainde to me,
Though now farre off from hence thou Absent be.
That he hath me adopted Thine, alone,
That I delight not but to heare thee namde,
And only like to heare thy praises showne.
Ah keepe thy plighted Faith vnstainde to me,
Though now farre off from hence thou Absent be.
Disdaine assaulted hath mine Alba faire,
Fixing fast foot deep in her marble brest:
A blacksome Clowde hath darkt my beautious Aire,
Where cheerfull Sunne before with smile did rest.
She most vnlike her selfe a Tyrant showes,
Whilst as a Tiger mad with rage she growes.
Fixing fast foot deep in her marble brest:
A blacksome Clowde hath darkt my beautious Aire,
Where cheerfull Sunne before with smile did rest.
She most vnlike her selfe a Tyrant showes,
Whilst as a Tiger mad with rage she growes.
All for her pleasure (me for to displease)
Pitie she bandies from her tender hart:
Poyson, not honey, now must her appease:
Yet my Desire runs headlong to his smart,
Headlong he runs to her spite-tainted minde,
Which ouer fierce and cruell he doth finde.
Pitie she bandies from her tender hart:
Poyson, not honey, now must her appease:
Yet my Desire runs headlong to his smart,
Headlong he runs to her spite-tainted minde,
Which ouer fierce and cruell he doth finde.
My hopeles Chance, through Vaile (as twere) I see,
Her quondam beautious eyes are bloodshot now:
Exorde, desirde, intreated, they'le not be,
They'le not relent, repent, nor yeeld or bow:
Lightnings of Anger they do shew aright,
Thunders of Furie darting forth despight.
Her quondam beautious eyes are bloodshot now:
Exorde, desirde, intreated, they'le not be,
They'le not relent, repent, nor yeeld or bow:
Lightnings of Anger they do shew aright,
Thunders of Furie darting forth despight.
The dangers great my harmeles Hart doth spie,
Yet for all this, from her he'le not retire:
And whilst more humble he fore her doth lie,
The more she sullen swels with wrathfull Ire.
A Monster then I may her mirorise,
Since she delights in such strange Tragedies.
Yet for all this, from her he'le not retire:
And whilst more humble he fore her doth lie,
The more she sullen swels with wrathfull Ire.
A Monster then I may her mirorise,
Since she delights in such strange Tragedies.
Dried hath th' iniurious Feuer those faire Flowers,
VVhich in the cheekes of my faire Alba lay:
Scorcht are those paradized coloured Bowers,
Loves Lobbie where he wantonly did play:
Yet not extinguisht is mine amorous flame,
Some sparkes are yet remainders of the same.
VVhich in the cheekes of my faire Alba lay:
Scorcht are those paradized coloured Bowers,
Loves Lobbie where he wantonly did play:
Yet not extinguisht is mine amorous flame,
Some sparkes are yet remainders of the same.
As she lookes now, so lookes the Moone in skies,
When mongst the gloomie clowdes portending raine,
She with her watrie horned head forth pries,
Spreading abrode her dewie beames amaine:
So we Aurora vse for to depaint,
Mongst palish violets, when she looketh faint.
When mongst the gloomie clowdes portending raine,
She with her watrie horned head forth pries,
Spreading abrode her dewie beames amaine:
So we Aurora vse for to depaint,
Mongst palish violets, when she looketh faint.
Pitie is mixt with griefe in her faire face,
And Griefe with Pitie in the same conioyne,
Where Love (though sick) sits with a louely grace,
In midst of sickly palenes in her eyne.
Sicknes it selfe so louely nere did looke,
But since her Inne in Albas breast she tooke.
And Griefe with Pitie in the same conioyne,
Where Love (though sick) sits with a louely grace,
In midst of sickly palenes in her eyne.
Sicknes it selfe so louely nere did looke,
But since her Inne in Albas breast she tooke.
That stately Haughtines she had before,
Now changde is into low Humilitie:
And that same glance that faithles was of yore,
Now faithfull sheweth and full of Loyaltie.
So with her Colour if she did Cruell take,
Yet Pitifull her Palenes doth her make.
Now changde is into low Humilitie:
And that same glance that faithles was of yore,
Now faithfull sheweth and full of Loyaltie.
So with her Colour if she did Cruell take,
Yet Pitifull her Palenes doth her make.
Like bloodie Lion, or a stinging Snake,
With proud Disdaine to aggrauate my smart,
Loue into me (vnaskt) his way doth take,
Died all with blood, (and Blood tis of my Hart)
Which wounded deepe, still languishing doth lie,
Expecting euery minute when to die.
With proud Disdaine to aggrauate my smart,
Loue into me (vnaskt) his way doth take,
Died all with blood, (and Blood tis of my Hart)
Which wounded deepe, still languishing doth lie,
Expecting euery minute when to die.
Thousands of Wounds my life hath quite bereft,
And wanting blood, Palenes sits in my face:
My soule this Corse (his mansion House) hath left,
Nor dares he back retire to his old place.
This Martyrdome, although there's many see,
None me caresseth, or doth comfort mee.
And wanting blood, Palenes sits in my face:
My soule this Corse (his mansion House) hath left,
Nor dares he back retire to his old place.
This Martyrdome, although there's many see,
None me caresseth, or doth comfort mee.
My Life runnes fondly to his mortall Foe,
Hoping for Help, where he his hurt did finde:
My spirits after him amaine doe goe,
Whilst liueles Bodie doth remaine behinde,
On which grim death doth seaze, as on his pray,
And of his breath to reaue him doth assay.
Hoping for Help, where he his hurt did finde:
My spirits after him amaine doe goe,
Whilst liueles Bodie doth remaine behinde,
On which grim death doth seaze, as on his pray,
And of his breath to reaue him doth assay.
A farre off Peace I see, but Warre at hand,
Loue single strikes me, (but with double paine)
Kild is my hart by Cruell she's Command,
And he that slew him cleped is Disdaine:
Loe here of my kinde Dame the Exercise,
Hate is her Chapman, Blood her Marchandise.
Loue single strikes me, (but with double paine)
Kild is my hart by Cruell she's Command,
And he that slew him cleped is Disdaine:
Loe here of my kinde Dame the Exercise,
Hate is her Chapman, Blood her Marchandise.
Praxitiles, and Myron (workmen rare)
Apelles skilde, learnde Homer (famous wight)
Were these aliue, the Picture of my Faire
To carue, to cut, to paint, and thereof write,
In marble, brasse, boord, or in bookes at large,
They sone would faint, ore prest with so great charge.
Apelles skilde, learnde Homer (famous wight)
Were these aliue, the Picture of my Faire
To carue, to cut, to paint, and thereof write,
In marble, brasse, boord, or in bookes at large,
They sone would faint, ore prest with so great charge.
And yet may be her beautious Countenance,
With chisell, toole, with pensell and with pen,
They rightly might haue shadowed (though by chance)
Because they, in their Age were rarest Men.
But had they come the nobler part to show,
Their cunning then had soone tooke th' ouerthrow.
With chisell, toole, with pensell and with pen,
They rightly might haue shadowed (though by chance)
Because they, in their Age were rarest Men.
But had they come the nobler part to show,
Their cunning then had soone tooke th' ouerthrow.
If my bright Sunne (renowmd per Excellence,
Through the illustrious splendar of her gleames)
Doth dimme and darken our Intelligence,
By vertue of her more then radiant beames:
What Hand or Thought in hand could euer take,
A worke so endles, with good end to make?
Through the illustrious splendar of her gleames)
Doth dimme and darken our Intelligence,
By vertue of her more then radiant beames:
What Hand or Thought in hand could euer take,
A worke so endles, with good end to make?
Deare Alba I by thee am still forbid,
By Statue, Image, Picture, or by Verse,
To shew the Vertues rare within thee hid,
As not being able least part to rehearse,
It shall suffice (as sacred) I admire,
Thy spotles life, thy more then chast Desire.
By Statue, Image, Picture, or by Verse,
To shew the Vertues rare within thee hid,
As not being able least part to rehearse,
It shall suffice (as sacred) I admire,
Thy spotles life, thy more then chast Desire.
To thee farre off (from me) these sighs I send,
To thee farre off from Loue, I, neere to die,
To know if thou thy selfe will minde wilt mend,
Desisting from thy hatefull Crueltie.
Beautie if it be milde, it is renound;
If it be proud, a foule reproch tis found.
To thee farre off from Loue, I, neere to die,
To know if thou thy selfe will minde wilt mend,
Desisting from thy hatefull Crueltie.
Beautie if it be milde, it is renound;
If it be proud, a foule reproch tis found.
Thou makst a shew as if thou wouldst be kinde:
But tis a shadow, not a substance right:
For comming vnto triall straight I finde,
Thy sdainfull chast lookes puts my Hope to flight:
Whilst thou dost seeme at these my Woes to grieue,
Yet them with succour neuer dost relieue.
But tis a shadow, not a substance right:
For comming vnto triall straight I finde,
Thy sdainfull chast lookes puts my Hope to flight:
Whilst thou dost seeme at these my Woes to grieue,
Yet them with succour neuer dost relieue.
Thy Griefe (for me) a passion's in a play,
Which men doth rauish with Melancholy:
But acted once, and out of sight away,
In minde, no longer there doth stay, but dy:
Thou art the Actor playing such a part,
My griefes neere deeply pearce into thy hart.
Which men doth rauish with Melancholy:
But acted once, and out of sight away,
In minde, no longer there doth stay, but dy:
Thou art the Actor playing such a part,
My griefes neere deeply pearce into thy hart.
O would I could from Reasons Court obtaine,
A Supersedeas, Love for to remoue,
From out my Breast to thee to ease my paine,
That thou the force thereof a while mightst proue.
But Destnie wils that I thy slaue do stay,
And so I will, who bound is, must obey.
A Supersedeas, Love for to remoue,
From out my Breast to thee to ease my paine,
That thou the force thereof a while mightst proue.
But Destnie wils that I thy slaue do stay,
And so I will, who bound is, must obey.
Why haue the Heauens thus changed mine Estate?
Deseruing well to complot my Decay?
Why rather was not so ordainde my fate,
That Alba nere should wend from me away?
I neuer changing my first vowed Loue,
Why should (vnconstant she) from me remoue?
Deseruing well to complot my Decay?
Why rather was not so ordainde my fate,
That Alba nere should wend from me away?
I neuer changing my first vowed Loue,
Why should (vnconstant she) from me remoue?
(Fond man) is she vnconstant to be calde,
Who after course of world doth runne her race?
Are not all men by fortune puld and halde,
Neuer to bide (still) in one certaine place?
Nothing is more commended in the Sea,
Then th' often Ebbings, and the Flowings bee.
Who after course of world doth runne her race?
Are not all men by fortune puld and halde,
Neuer to bide (still) in one certaine place?
Nothing is more commended in the Sea,
Then th' often Ebbings, and the Flowings bee.
Ah Alba, if thou shouldst continue still
In one selfe place, t'would be a Paradise:
But thou (t'allay our proud Affections will)
T'eclipse thine owne perfections dost deuise,
Thinking it is enough, if but with eye
We ioy a small glimse of thy Maiestie.
In one selfe place, t'would be a Paradise:
But thou (t'allay our proud Affections will)
T'eclipse thine owne perfections dost deuise,
Thinking it is enough, if but with eye
We ioy a small glimse of thy Maiestie.
Then to encrease our Griefes, thou dost decrease
Our pleasures, and thy selfe from vs dost hide,
When we for nothing lookt but peace and ease,
Euen at thy Best, and in thy Beauties pride.
But why talke I, where I cannot be hard?
Or heard she me, she would not me regard.
Our pleasures, and thy selfe from vs dost hide,
When we for nothing lookt but peace and ease,
Euen at thy Best, and in thy Beauties pride.
But why talke I, where I cannot be hard?
Or heard she me, she would not me regard.
Where are my Vowes withouten number now?
My teares withouten measure that I shed?
My skalding sighs to make proud Alba bow?
They all are gone, forgot, quite banished.
Yet though they not deserue her loue they craue,
Me thinks some better fortune they should haue.
My teares withouten measure that I shed?
My skalding sighs to make proud Alba bow?
They all are gone, forgot, quite banished.
Yet though they not deserue her loue they craue,
Me thinks some better fortune they should haue.
But if the Gods in iudgement partiall sit,
Vnequall viewers of each iniurie:
And with condigne reuenge seeke not to quit
So monstrous wrong, such nere heard Crueltie:
Why then I Reason none for Louers see,
That they should bide such paine for loyaltie.
Vnequall viewers of each iniurie:
And with condigne reuenge seeke not to quit
So monstrous wrong, such nere heard Crueltie:
Why then I Reason none for Louers see,
That they should bide such paine for loyaltie.
Yet neither Hopes preferment, were it great,
Nor feare of punishment, though to my paine:
Nor counsell of the Wisest that entreat,
Nor company of best where I remaine,
Shall euer make me once my Humour change,
Nor from my first deuoted Vow to range.
Nor feare of punishment, though to my paine:
Nor counsell of the Wisest that entreat,
Nor company of best where I remaine,
Shall euer make me once my Humour change,
Nor from my first deuoted Vow to range.
My youths chiefe Flower (of all my life the prime)
In melancholy passion I will spend:
Careles behauiour shall my latter time
(Because (forsooke) she cares not for me) end.
Thus will I still continue during breath,
Doting on her, who doth deuise my death.
In melancholy passion I will spend:
Careles behauiour shall my latter time
(Because (forsooke) she cares not for me) end.
Thus will I still continue during breath,
Doting on her, who doth deuise my death.
Fond that I am like Greekish Wrastler vaine,
Striuing to lift a waight impossible,
I caught so strange incurable a straine,
As thereby (brused sore) I brainsick fell:
Fixing my thoughts aboue my reach, I fall
Into Disease, without recure at all.
Striuing to lift a waight impossible,
I caught so strange incurable a straine,
As thereby (brused sore) I brainsick fell:
Fixing my thoughts aboue my reach, I fall
Into Disease, without recure at all.
The stately Cedar whose tops seeme in show,
For height, to reach vnto the azur'd skie,
Neuer his head bowes to the shrubs below,
That in the deepe and hollow Valleys lie.
Th' yule that climing vp by th' elme doth runne,
Neuer can get hold of the beames of Sunne.
For height, to reach vnto the azur'd skie,
Neuer his head bowes to the shrubs below,
That in the deepe and hollow Valleys lie.
Th' yule that climing vp by th' elme doth runne,
Neuer can get hold of the beames of Sunne.
Alba I honor in humilitie,
Whom none ought, or should dare venter to loue:
Though I presume with importunitie,
Sometimes my sute (in vaine) to her to moue:
For her affections be immortall, rare,
Her vertues such as infinite they are.
Whom none ought, or should dare venter to loue:
Though I presume with importunitie,
Sometimes my sute (in vaine) to her to moue:
For her affections be immortall, rare,
Her vertues such as infinite they are.
Then suffer me to gaze on Alba mine,
With my mindes eyes, though absent now she be:
I knew when I enioyde her sight (ah happie time)
That time (I feare) I neuer more shall see.
But tis all one, for were the Cruell here,
I of my purpose should be nere the neere.
With my mindes eyes, though absent now she be:
I knew when I enioyde her sight (ah happie time)
That time (I feare) I neuer more shall see.
But tis all one, for were the Cruell here,
I of my purpose should be nere the neere.
Am I so mad, to thinke that such a Toy,
As Sorcerie is, should ought preuaile for me,
That witchcraft power hath for to make me ioy;
And cause me here, mine absent Mistres see?
I cannot chuse but thinke all to be tales,
And that Enchantment little here preuailes.
As Sorcerie is, should ought preuaile for me,
That witchcraft power hath for to make me ioy;
And cause me here, mine absent Mistres see?
I cannot chuse but thinke all to be tales,
And that Enchantment little here preuailes.
What though the Sunne is darkened by this skill,
And Moone's remoude from out her setled cours;
Wilde beasts made stand, amazed, tame, and still,
And waters turnde from their first wonted sours:
Yet cannot Art, by force make setled Loue,
From his first Center (where he resteth) moue.
And Moone's remoude from out her setled cours;
Wilde beasts made stand, amazed, tame, and still,
And waters turnde from their first wonted sours:
Yet cannot Art, by force make setled Loue,
From his first Center (where he resteth) moue.
The Gods, not men, do rule the inward Hart,
They can appoynt Affection as they please;
Stones, Yearbs, and Words, may vsen be by Art;
Yet these the Louers griefes can smalely case,
Not Exorsisms, Spels, Mettals, Planets, Fire,
Can alter once the setled firme Desire.
They can appoynt Affection as they please;
Stones, Yearbs, and Words, may vsen be by Art;
Yet these the Louers griefes can smalely case,
Not Exorsisms, Spels, Mettals, Planets, Fire,
Can alter once the setled firme Desire.
Then Ile with Discontent be satisfied,
And hopeles liue in hope, though Hope in vaine:
Resoluing all base coynes to abide,
Since I despaire her grace for to obtaine:
Vnhappie I, my case ore desperate,
No Skill nor cunning can my paine abate.
And hopeles liue in hope, though Hope in vaine:
Resoluing all base coynes to abide,
Since I despaire her grace for to obtaine:
Vnhappie I, my case ore desperate,
No Skill nor cunning can my paine abate.
Hard hap had I, to fall into thy hand,
Who giu'st thy selfe to endles crueltie;
When to thy flintie heart wilt giue command,
To change his wont, and somewhat gentler be?
Wilt thou thy Beautie faire, adulterise,
And seekst thou still on me to tiranise?
Who giu'st thy selfe to endles crueltie;
When to thy flintie heart wilt giue command,
To change his wont, and somewhat gentler be?
Wilt thou thy Beautie faire, adulterise,
And seekst thou still on me to tiranise?
Ist possible thy yeares so few and small,
So many ancient mischiefes should containe,
Thy swelling pride, I long haue borne withall,
Because that Beautie thereof is to blame.
Which still the more in fairenes it exceedes,
The more it ioyes in coy disdained deedes.
So many ancient mischiefes should containe,
Thy swelling pride, I long haue borne withall,
Because that Beautie thereof is to blame.
Which still the more in fairenes it exceedes,
The more it ioyes in coy disdained deedes.
I grieue at thy deuises gainst me wrought,
And sorrow, that wits sharper that they show,
The shroder and vnhappier should be thought,
Prone vnto ill, but vnto Goodnes slow.
But for so seeke to murther (through disdaine)
A harmeles heart, is worse then Murderers staine.
And sorrow, that wits sharper that they show,
The shroder and vnhappier should be thought,
Prone vnto ill, but vnto Goodnes slow.
But for so seeke to murther (through disdaine)
A harmeles heart, is worse then Murderers staine.
What moues thee then, thy selfe thus to disgrace,
Vnfitting for thy Sex, where nought should be
But kindenes milde; far altring from thy face,
Where nothing but rare beautie we can see?
If then so faire a Sunne, such foule cloudes hide,
Let me still in eternall Darkenes bide.
Vnfitting for thy Sex, where nought should be
But kindenes milde; far altring from thy face,
Where nothing but rare beautie we can see?
If then so faire a Sunne, such foule cloudes hide,
Let me still in eternall Darkenes bide.
The bitter plaints wherewith my soule I wound,
With skalding sighs which smoke from forth my breast:
My cheekes through griefe, pale wan and hollow found,
My troubled Thoughts which reaue me of my rest:
Salt watrie teares, which raine from blubbring eye,
Warme blood from Hart distilling inwardly.
With skalding sighs which smoke from forth my breast:
My cheekes through griefe, pale wan and hollow found,
My troubled Thoughts which reaue me of my rest:
Salt watrie teares, which raine from blubbring eye,
Warme blood from Hart distilling inwardly.
The seruile yoke which did my freedome breake,
My willing minde to doe what wild Command,
The state wherein I brought my selfe most weake,
The frost and fire wherein I still did stand,
The snare in which Love wrapt me so about,
As from the same I nere (yet) could get out.
My willing minde to doe what wild Command,
The state wherein I brought my selfe most weake,
The frost and fire wherein I still did stand,
The snare in which Love wrapt me so about,
As from the same I nere (yet) could get out.
All these, and many another worser griefe,
Are no such plagues as is that Marble Hart,
(That Marble Hart) that yeelds me no reliefe,
Nor euer sought some comfort to impart.
The reuolution of the Heauens, nor any Time,
Can make (that Breast) to yeeld to my Designe.
Are no such plagues as is that Marble Hart,
(That Marble Hart) that yeelds me no reliefe,
Nor euer sought some comfort to impart.
The reuolution of the Heauens, nor any Time,
Can make (that Breast) to yeeld to my Designe.
Vertue doth hinder it, in my despight,
Chaste Honestie maintaines her in her force:
Then Love farewell, all Hope Ile banish quite,
I see in Flint is found no kind remorse.
If Teares, Vowes, Gifts, Prayers, Othes no good can doe,
Nor Loue obtaine; in vaine tis then to sue.
Chaste Honestie maintaines her in her force:
Then Love farewell, all Hope Ile banish quite,
I see in Flint is found no kind remorse.
If Teares, Vowes, Gifts, Prayers, Othes no good can doe,
Nor Loue obtaine; in vaine tis then to sue.
Deare to my Soule (for Deare I may thee call,)
Since thou farre dearer then my selfe I holde,
When wilt thou rid me from this loathed thrall,
In which I am through Fancies bandes enrold?
When wilt thou keepe thy promise vnto mee?
Whereof no deedes, but words I yet can see.
Since thou farre dearer then my selfe I holde,
When wilt thou rid me from this loathed thrall,
In which I am through Fancies bandes enrold?
When wilt thou keepe thy promise vnto mee?
Whereof no deedes, but words I yet can see.
Why (doubtfull still) doest thou my ioyes prolong?
And driuste me of, in dalliance without cause?
Me and thy selfe, why doest thou double wrong?
To keepe thy word, why, so long doest thou pause?
Thus for to lose thy golden Time, tis sin,
Which once being past, againe, thou canst not win.
And driuste me of, in dalliance without cause?
Me and thy selfe, why doest thou double wrong?
To keepe thy word, why, so long doest thou pause?
Thus for to lose thy golden Time, tis sin,
Which once being past, againe, thou canst not win.
Matters of state we vse to politize,
Procrastinating for aduantage great,
Love, lingring hates, and lothes to temporize,
Delaie's too colde, for his orewarmed heate:
Ah, doe not driue me of thus (still) in vaine,
Still for to lose tis much, once let me gaine.
Procrastinating for aduantage great,
Love, lingring hates, and lothes to temporize,
Delaie's too colde, for his orewarmed heate:
Ah, doe not driue me of thus (still) in vaine,
Still for to lose tis much, once let me gaine.
Dearer to me then th' apple of mine eyes,
Let word and deede, but once for all agree,
Not any can in face thee equalize,
If but a little more thou kinde wouldst be.
Then with allusiue Sightes, feede not me still,
But graunt (at last) for to performe my will.
Let word and deede, but once for all agree,
Not any can in face thee equalize,
If but a little more thou kinde wouldst be.
Then with allusiue Sightes, feede not me still,
But graunt (at last) for to performe my will.
Ye lukewarme Teares which from my neredride eyes,
Streame downe amaine like fountaines day and night,
Wende to my Lady in most humble wise,
And shew to her, my most vnhappie plight:
Wende vnto her, who outwardly in shew,
Seemes pittifull, but (inward) is not so.
Streame downe amaine like fountaines day and night,
Wende to my Lady in most humble wise,
And shew to her, my most vnhappie plight:
Wende vnto her, who outwardly in shew,
Seemes pittifull, but (inward) is not so.
Weepe you to her and say; Ist possible
A Creature that so courteous seemes to all,
Shoulde haue a hart more cruell and more fell
Then Tiger, harder then a stony wall?
Ah why seemes she not inwardly as kinde,
As she death outward shew, the world to blinde?
A Creature that so courteous seemes to all,
Shoulde haue a hart more cruell and more fell
Then Tiger, harder then a stony wall?
Ah why seemes she not inwardly as kinde,
As she death outward shew, the world to blinde?
This my Icarian soaring (boue my reach)
(Through Beautie, serenising fals my Hart)
How I ore bolde, may headlong fall doth teach,
Whilest Love doth play gainst me a subtile part:
Yet Beauties Birth I am, by her I breath,
Though liue against her fauour and her leaue.
(Through Beautie, serenising fals my Hart)
How I ore bolde, may headlong fall doth teach,
Whilest Love doth play gainst me a subtile part:
Yet Beauties Birth I am, by her I breath,
Though liue against her fauour and her leaue.
Wilde fire with milke is quencht, rigor with teares;
Yet naught her stubborne minde can mollifie,
Vnto my prayers she stops her deafened eares,
And with Despayre requites my Courtesie,
Thus am I still starre crossed in my Loue,
As one be witcht, with whom no good doth proue.
Yet naught her stubborne minde can mollifie,
Vnto my prayers she stops her deafened eares,
And with Despayre requites my Courtesie,
Thus am I still starre crossed in my Loue,
As one be witcht, with whom no good doth proue.
How long shall I diue in this vastie Sea,
To finde this Perle, this Orient Margarite!
How long this bottome founding shall I be?
Yet nere attaine this precious lewell bright?
My labors (like to Hercules) abound,
Who more he did, the more to doe, stil found.
To finde this Perle, this Orient Margarite!
How long this bottome founding shall I be?
Yet nere attaine this precious lewell bright?
My labors (like to Hercules) abound,
Who more he did, the more to doe, stil found.
I am too weake with Ospraies eyes to looke,
Against the fierie beames of this faire Sun,
Too great a Burthen haue I fondly tooke,
For my weake shoulders long since ouercome.
The more I seeke, the farther I, to finde,
Like to the wretch, that of his sight is blinde.
Against the fierie beames of this faire Sun,
Too great a Burthen haue I fondly tooke,
For my weake shoulders long since ouercome.
The more I seeke, the farther I, to finde,
Like to the wretch, that of his sight is blinde.
My brused Bulwarke is not strong enough,
For to resist this beautious Batterie,
My yoke too small, to draw so huge a plough,
Mine eyes too dimme, such Brightnes to descrie:
This shewes, that as vnluckie I was borne,
To die vnfortunate I must not scorne.
For to resist this beautious Batterie,
My yoke too small, to draw so huge a plough,
Mine eyes too dimme, such Brightnes to descrie:
This shewes, that as vnluckie I was borne,
To die vnfortunate I must not scorne.
Yet Ile not leaue to intercessionate,
To her hard Breast, for my too gentle Hart:
That if her Rigor she'le not mitigate,
At least she'le somewhat ease me of this Smart:
I onely craue, if she'le not yeelde reliefe,
T'adiourne my paine, and to proroge my Griefe.
To her hard Breast, for my too gentle Hart:
That if her Rigor she'le not mitigate,
At least she'le somewhat ease me of this Smart:
I onely craue, if she'le not yeelde reliefe,
T'adiourne my paine, and to proroge my Griefe.
Thrise trebble blessed Bracelet, rich in prise,
I enuie not thy perlie fret, nor golde,
But fortune thine, because in happie wise,
The place of perfect pleasure thou dost holde.
About that wrist thou turnst and windst so oft,
More white then Snow, then thistle down more soft.
I enuie not thy perlie fret, nor golde,
But fortune thine, because in happie wise,
The place of perfect pleasure thou dost holde.
About that wrist thou turnst and windst so oft,
More white then Snow, then thistle down more soft.
Base mindes loue Golde, tis not thy Golde I steeme,
For this I onely value thee at much,
Because an Ornament th' art to be seene,
Of her white Hand yclept of right, Nonesvcm,
Nonesvch indeede, whose Beautie is so rare,
As nere the like, attainde the perfects Faire.
For this I onely value thee at much,
Because an Ornament th' art to be seene,
Of her white Hand yclept of right, Nonesvcm,
Nonesvch indeede, whose Beautie is so rare,
As nere the like, attainde the perfects Faire.
This is the cause so highlie I thee rate,
As all the golden Mines of Indian ground,
Nor Seas of Pearle can counteruaile thy state,
Wherein thou art this present to be found.
And, if that trueth I shall confesse indeede,
The wealth of all the world thou dost exceede.
As all the golden Mines of Indian ground,
Nor Seas of Pearle can counteruaile thy state,
Wherein thou art this present to be found.
And, if that trueth I shall confesse indeede,
The wealth of all the world thou dost exceede.
But when I marke, how by strange cunning Art,
Faire louelie Haires, with Pearle and Golde conioyne,
A pleasing ioy doth seaze vpon my Heart,
Whilest with strange pleasures, Fancie feeds my mind:
So as (sweete Bracelet) thou dost rightly proue,
To be th' enchantment of bewitching Love.
Faire louelie Haires, with Pearle and Golde conioyne,
A pleasing ioy doth seaze vpon my Heart,
Whilest with strange pleasures, Fancie feeds my mind:
So as (sweete Bracelet) thou dost rightly proue,
To be th' enchantment of bewitching Love.
Liue Louely Fame, which when thou first didst take,
Possession of my Heart, wert stony colde,
And bashfull; but when entrance thou didst make,
Then, as Triumphant thou didst keepe thy holde:
Changing both Thought & state, that where before
Colde chillie Yce was, hot Desire burnt sore.
Possession of my Heart, wert stony colde,
And bashfull; but when entrance thou didst make,
Then, as Triumphant thou didst keepe thy holde:
Changing both Thought & state, that where before
Colde chillie Yce was, hot Desire burnt sore.
If I thee honor, worship, serue, and loue,
He knowes, who guides the restles Globe on high,
But enuious Fates on me their force doe proue,
And me, from thee haue banisht spitefully.
So that more paine I doe each houre abide,
Then if that thousands sorts of deaths I dide.
He knowes, who guides the restles Globe on high,
But enuious Fates on me their force doe proue,
And me, from thee haue banisht spitefully.
So that more paine I doe each houre abide,
Then if that thousands sorts of deaths I dide.
But fore that peereles matchles shape of thine,
(The better part wherein my Soule doth rest)
Shall out of minde, or memory of mine,
(Whereby I only happy liue and blest,)
All things shall chaunce, impossible that be,
My selfe, forget my selfe will I, fore thee.
(The better part wherein my Soule doth rest)
Shall out of minde, or memory of mine,
(Whereby I only happy liue and blest,)
All things shall chaunce, impossible that be,
My selfe, forget my selfe will I, fore thee.
The Sunne shall lose his power, and darke become,
The Skies shall melt, and into horror fall,
The earth shall sinke, the world be quite vndone,
And fore this chance, all strange things happen shall.
Though (now) thou bidste in Albions fruitfull land,
And I, where Mantuan Duke, his Court doth stand.
The Skies shall melt, and into horror fall,
The earth shall sinke, the world be quite vndone,
And fore this chance, all strange things happen shall.
Though (now) thou bidste in Albions fruitfull land,
And I, where Mantuan Duke, his Court doth stand.
Such as do liggen in Delight and ioy,
And haue what Hart can wish, or Thought deuise,
Spending their time withouten dire Annoy,
Liuing amongst their friends in iocondwise,
And who with Loue of Ladies theirs are blest,
May in Eternam Requiem, happie rest.
And haue what Hart can wish, or Thought deuise,
Spending their time withouten dire Annoy,
Liuing amongst their friends in iocondwise,
And who with Loue of Ladies theirs are blest,
May in Eternam Requiem, happie rest.
Me, sillie Trauailer (a pilgrim poore)
(Who through hard hap these blessings all do misse)
Care doth become, since want I do endure
Of Countrie, Friends, and Loue, my chiefest blisse:
And yet this Care not Ill, but well, with mee,
Obseruing still Decorum doth agree.
(Who through hard hap these blessings all do misse)
Care doth become, since want I do endure
Of Countrie, Friends, and Loue, my chiefest blisse:
And yet this Care not Ill, but well, with mee,
Obseruing still Decorum doth agree.
A Trauailer, farre from his Natiue coast,
With Care doth rise, with Care him downe doth lay:
And though from piller tost he be to poste,
When All him leaue, yet Care with him doth stay.
Not like vaine pleasure, who away doth peake,
When he his Bark through want perceiues to leake.
With Care doth rise, with Care him downe doth lay:
And though from piller tost he be to poste,
When All him leaue, yet Care with him doth stay.
Not like vaine pleasure, who away doth peake,
When he his Bark through want perceiues to leake.
Thanks then to Care, of Poore the comfort chiefe,
The best companion that we Strangers finde,
In Countries strange forlorne, without reliefe,
Who quiet, gentle, patient is and kinde.
Then constant Care, not Comfort I do craue,
And (might I chuse) I Care with L. would haue.
The best companion that we Strangers finde,
In Countries strange forlorne, without reliefe,
Who quiet, gentle, patient is and kinde.
Then constant Care, not Comfort I do craue,
And (might I chuse) I Care with L. would haue.
This Tower, this Castle, this huge Prison strong,
Begirt with high and double fenced Wall,
(Where I to be kept prisoner, thus haue wrong)
Can neuer hurt, nor do me harme at all:
Since I was pent here, I am (nothing changde)
But as before, when I abrode still rangde.
Begirt with high and double fenced Wall,
(Where I to be kept prisoner, thus haue wrong)
Can neuer hurt, nor do me harme at all:
Since I was pent here, I am (nothing changde)
But as before, when I abrode still rangde.
This place restraines my Bodies libertie,
But hath no power ouer my Thoughts or Minde,
VVhich is the cause I count my selfe most free,
Though I my selfe in greatest Bondage finde,
I can so feede on Fancie, and subdue
Enuie, by sweet Imagination true.
But hath no power ouer my Thoughts or Minde,
VVhich is the cause I count my selfe most free,
Though I my selfe in greatest Bondage finde,
I can so feede on Fancie, and subdue
Enuie, by sweet Imagination true.
No sweeter Musick to the Miserable,
Than is Despayre: therefore the more I feele
Of bitternes, of sorrow sower and fell,
The more of Sweetnes it doth seeme to yeeld.
Vaine esteeme my life, all libertie,
Since I do want mine Albas Companie.
Than is Despayre: therefore the more I feele
Of bitternes, of sorrow sower and fell,
The more of Sweetnes it doth seeme to yeeld.
Vaine esteeme my life, all libertie,
Since I do want mine Albas Companie.
Vse, Miserie hath made familiar now
VVith me, that I count sorrow chiefest Ioy:
And him the welcomst Guest I do alow,
That saddest tales can tell of bloodiest Noy.
Then (Cruell) think what life I still haue led,
Since so in post away from me th' art fled.
VVith me, that I count sorrow chiefest Ioy:
And him the welcomst Guest I do alow,
That saddest tales can tell of bloodiest Noy.
Then (Cruell) think what life I still haue led,
Since so in post away from me th' art fled.
Thrice precious purse, by daintie Hand ywrought,
Of Beauties First Borne, Fauours rightfull Heire,
Not for a world of wealth, purchast or bought,
But freely giuen (for Loue) by Alba faire:
Giuen to me, vnworthie of the same,
As one not meriting so great a Gaine.
Of Beauties First Borne, Fauours rightfull Heire,
Not for a world of wealth, purchast or bought,
But freely giuen (for Loue) by Alba faire:
Giuen to me, vnworthie of the same,
As one not meriting so great a Gaine.
Tis not the richnes hereof, though tis much,
Nor rarenes of the worke surpassing skill,
That I account of, though that it be such,
As euery eye, with masement it doth fill:
But cause t'was made by that Alconquering Hand,
Whose becke, euē Loues own self doth countermād.
Nor rarenes of the worke surpassing skill,
That I account of, though that it be such,
As euery eye, with masement it doth fill:
But cause t'was made by that Alconquering Hand,
Whose becke, euē Loues own self doth countermād.
Dan Fortunatus Bagge, which Histories
Affirme, endles to be for golden store,
And that it helde of Quoyne Infinities,
To this my purse is needy, base and poore,
Golde in the inside (onely) of his purse was seene,
But mine, hath (alwaies) Golde without and in.
Affirme, endles to be for golden store,
And that it helde of Quoyne Infinities,
To this my purse is needy, base and poore,
Golde in the inside (onely) of his purse was seene,
But mine, hath (alwaies) Golde without and in.
Pure gold tis wrought with, yet her Haires more bright,
Saft is the Silke, more saft her snowie skinne,
Orient the Perle, yet are her teeth more white,
The Cullers rare; her cheekes the prise, tho winne:
Ah precious Purse, where what I doe beholde,
Are Cullours rare, fine Perle, saft Silke, pure Golde.
Saft is the Silke, more saft her snowie skinne,
Orient the Perle, yet are her teeth more white,
The Cullers rare; her cheekes the prise, tho winne:
Ah precious Purse, where what I doe beholde,
Are Cullours rare, fine Perle, saft Silke, pure Golde.
Warme showers raine fast from forth my blubbred eyes,
My heauie Thoughts are Clowdes replete with woes:
Hot liuely Flames from out my breast arise,
My skalding sighs the wind's that forth them blowes:
Fire burning Cancer and Aquarius cold,
Ore me their powers predominant do hold.
My heauie Thoughts are Clowdes replete with woes:
Hot liuely Flames from out my breast arise,
My skalding sighs the wind's that forth them blowes:
Fire burning Cancer and Aquarius cold,
Ore me their powers predominant do hold.
The flames, themselues vp to the heauens lift,
Where they by thousands round about doe turne:
The waters runne like to a Torrent swift;
Hence comes it that my selfe I drowne and burne,
By reason of two spitefull Qualities,
(Moysture and Heate) my life in danger lies.
Where they by thousands round about doe turne:
The waters runne like to a Torrent swift;
Hence comes it that my selfe I drowne and burne,
By reason of two spitefull Qualities,
(Moysture and Heate) my life in danger lies.
My teares a great streame make, they so abound,
A quenchles burning this my secret Fire:
Hope doth despaire, and there her selfe hath drownde,
And Hart to cinders burnes through hot Desire:
Fancie doth frolike, and doth still reuiue,
Reason's so sick, not long sheele keepe aliue.
A quenchles burning this my secret Fire:
Hope doth despaire, and there her selfe hath drownde,
And Hart to cinders burnes through hot Desire:
Fancie doth frolike, and doth still reuiue,
Reason's so sick, not long sheele keepe aliue.
Alba my Teares accounteth as a Toy,
And for a sport mine ardent Heat she holds:
For in her eyes, Cocitus (me to noy)
And Phlegeton in breast she fierce enfolds.
Thus she my Hart doth still anatomise,
With keenest rasor of her Crueltise.
And for a sport mine ardent Heat she holds:
For in her eyes, Cocitus (me to noy)
And Phlegeton in breast she fierce enfolds.
Thus she my Hart doth still anatomise,
With keenest rasor of her Crueltise.
Haires louely Browne immur'd with pearle and gold,
How ill fits you this Ribbon Carnatine,
Since I no more your Mistris now behold,
Of my disaster, most vnlucky signe,
Who to me gaue this Bracelet for a Favovr,
A work by Beautie framde through Loves true labour.
How ill fits you this Ribbon Carnatine,
Since I no more your Mistris now behold,
Of my disaster, most vnlucky signe,
Who to me gaue this Bracelet for a Favovr,
A work by Beautie framde through Loves true labour.
How often would she, bout my Wrist still prie,
And vnderminde me (by deuise) as twere,
Making a shew of Doubt and Ielousie,
As if I it forgot bout me to beare?
But now I feare me, through her staying ore long,
Both Love, Her self, and Me, she much doth wrong.
And vnderminde me (by deuise) as twere,
Making a shew of Doubt and Ielousie,
As if I it forgot bout me to beare?
But now I feare me, through her staying ore long,
Both Love, Her self, and Me, she much doth wrong.
VVho euer saw a Beautie such, so faire,
Lodgde in a subiect so vnconstant found?
Who euer saw more loyall Louer rare,
To such hard Fortune (causeles) to be bound?
Ah why is not (as is her face) her Minde?
Th' one's Faire, the other, I Forgetfull finde.
Lodgde in a subiect so vnconstant found?
Who euer saw more loyall Louer rare,
To such hard Fortune (causeles) to be bound?
Ah why is not (as is her face) her Minde?
Th' one's Faire, the other, I Forgetfull finde.
Then louely Haires, my dearest Harts best Ease,
You must from Handwrist mine to Hatband black:
There must you bide, though me it doth displease,
Since whom I would, I most of all do lack.
This sable place doth fit you best to mourne,
Where you vnseene, shall lie till she returne.
You must from Handwrist mine to Hatband black:
There must you bide, though me it doth displease,
Since whom I would, I most of all do lack.
This sable place doth fit you best to mourne,
Where you vnseene, shall lie till she returne.
Ah happie Handkercher, that keepst the signe,
As only Monument vnto my Fame)
How deare my Loue was to sweet Alba mine,
VVhen (so) to shew my Loue she did me blame.
Relique of Love I do not enuie thee,
Though whom thy Master cannot, thou dost see.
As only Monument vnto my Fame)
How deare my Loue was to sweet Alba mine,
VVhen (so) to shew my Loue she did me blame.
Relique of Love I do not enuie thee,
Though whom thy Master cannot, thou dost see.
Only let me intreat this Fauour small,
VVhen in her chamber all alone by chance,
Open her pretie Casket for some work she shall,
And hap her eye on thee vnwares to glance:
Ah, then the colour of her face but marke,
And thou by that shalt know her inward hart.
VVhen in her chamber all alone by chance,
Open her pretie Casket for some work she shall,
And hap her eye on thee vnwares to glance:
Ah, then the colour of her face but marke,
And thou by that shalt know her inward hart.
If she shall blush, and grieue, thee so to view,
And wistly cast on thee a piteous eye,
It is a signe her loue continues true,
And that her faith she doth not falsifie.
Ah, then (a fresh) (her faith more firme to moue)
Bleed thou againe, for to reuiue her Loue.
And wistly cast on thee a piteous eye,
It is a signe her loue continues true,
And that her faith she doth not falsifie.
Ah, then (a fresh) (her faith more firme to moue)
Bleed thou againe, for to reuiue her Loue.
But if she (seeing thee) no account doth make,
Flinging thee here and there without regard:
Know then expired is my louing Date,
My Hope deceiu'd, my Fortune ouer hard.
Yet if she doth but sighing say to thee,
(Saftly) (Farewell deare Servant) happie mee.
Flinging thee here and there without regard:
Know then expired is my louing Date,
My Hope deceiu'd, my Fortune ouer hard.
Yet if she doth but sighing say to thee,
(Saftly) (Farewell deare Servant) happie mee.
Those ebbon windowes sweete, those cheerfull eyes,
Where Love (at Lavvgh and sweete looke on) doth play,
Are on the sudden changde in strangie wise,
And do Disdaines Ensigne (gainst me) display:
Darke now they seeme, and sower, ore passing bad,
Making my life seeme to me black and sad.
Where Love (at Lavvgh and sweete looke on) doth play,
Are on the sudden changde in strangie wise,
And do Disdaines Ensigne (gainst me) display:
Darke now they seeme, and sower, ore passing bad,
Making my life seeme to me black and sad.
Those cheerfull eyes, which wont to comfort me,
And to mine hungrie soule yeeld nourishment,
Denie me food, nor will they pleased be,
But mew me vp, as starueling closely pent.
My walks I vsde, which faire and easie were,
Are stopt with blood-drawing brābles euery where.
And to mine hungrie soule yeeld nourishment,
Denie me food, nor will they pleased be,
But mew me vp, as starueling closely pent.
My walks I vsde, which faire and easie were,
Are stopt with blood-drawing brābles euery where.
My crased hart thus skorned for his Loue,
And plagude with proud disdaine and sdainfull Pride,
Wailes so as would a Rock (though flintie) moue:
Nor better course hath this Disgrace to bide,
Then sighs and Teares, which forth he sends apace,
And damned like) still begs, but nere finds grace.
And plagude with proud disdaine and sdainfull Pride,
Wailes so as would a Rock (though flintie) moue:
Nor better course hath this Disgrace to bide,
Then sighs and Teares, which forth he sends apace,
And damned like) still begs, but nere finds grace.
Sweet stay of my weake tottring life nie falne,
Balme to my wounds, and Cordiall to my griefe,
Light to my darknes, to my storme, milde Calme,
Ease to my paine, and to my want, Reliefe.
Ah who hath now (and that so suddenly)
Of pitie thee depriu'd, to make me die?
Balme to my wounds, and Cordiall to my griefe,
Light to my darknes, to my storme, milde Calme,
Ease to my paine, and to my want, Reliefe.
Ah who hath now (and that so suddenly)
Of pitie thee depriu'd, to make me die?
Poore wafted Hart that wandrest not astray,
Although thy Pearle her orient colour change:
Thou, which in thy first Faith vnstaind dost stay,
Although she from her plighted vow doth range.
Ah, where are now thy cheerfull daies of Hope?
Thy Liues line, Loue, what wretched hād hath broke?
Although thy Pearle her orient colour change:
Thou, which in thy first Faith vnstaind dost stay,
Although she from her plighted vow doth range.
Ah, where are now thy cheerfull daies of Hope?
Thy Liues line, Loue, what wretched hād hath broke?
Alas, poore soule, how badly art thou vsde,
For thy much louing (louing ouer long?)
Causeles without desert to be refusde,
And for thy right to be repaid with wrong?
(Fond) do betimes from Fancies Fort retire,
Reason retaine, and banish rash Desire.
For thy much louing (louing ouer long?)
Causeles without desert to be refusde,
And for thy right to be repaid with wrong?
(Fond) do betimes from Fancies Fort retire,
Reason retaine, and banish rash Desire.
What meanst thou careles thus to seek thy Care?
Call home thy Wits, giue ore although with losse:
Els like one blindfold art thou caught in snare,
And wilt too late returne by weeping crosse.
Seest not that shut is Loues sweet passage plaine,
That opens wide the path of proud Disdaine?
Call home thy Wits, giue ore although with losse:
Els like one blindfold art thou caught in snare,
And wilt too late returne by weeping crosse.
Seest not that shut is Loues sweet passage plaine,
That opens wide the path of proud Disdaine?
If so, why shouldst thou beg (in vaine) for grace?
Rather demaund thy pasport and away:
Better at first giue ore in midst of Race,
Then lose in th' end, though longer time thou stay.
Then if she'le not admit thee as a frend,
Let her thee manumit (as Free) to wend.
Rather demaund thy pasport and away:
Better at first giue ore in midst of Race,
Then lose in th' end, though longer time thou stay.
Then if she'le not admit thee as a frend,
Let her thee manumit (as Free) to wend.
O that I were where bides mine Alba faire,
VVhose person to possesse is pleasure such,
As driues away all melancholy Care,
Which doth the Hart through Griefs impression touch
Whose louely Locks All do more curious deeme,
When they most careles to be dressed seeme.
VVhose person to possesse is pleasure such,
As driues away all melancholy Care,
Which doth the Hart through Griefs impression touch
Whose louely Locks All do more curious deeme,
When they most careles to be dressed seeme.
Her sweet Lookes most alluring be, when they
Most chaste do seeme in modest glancing show:
Her words, the more they vertuously do way,
The more (in count) for amorous they go:
Her dressings such, as when neglected most,
She's thought as then to haue bestowd most cost.
Most chaste do seeme in modest glancing show:
Her words, the more they vertuously do way,
The more (in count) for amorous they go:
Her dressings such, as when neglected most,
She's thought as then to haue bestowd most cost.
Sweet Fortune, when I meet my louely Treasure,
Dash my Delights with some small light disgrace,
Lest I (enioying sweetnes boue all measure)
Surfet without recure on that faire face.
Her wonted coynesse let her vse a while,
My fierce Desire by Diet to beguile.
Dash my Delights with some small light disgrace,
Lest I (enioying sweetnes boue all measure)
Surfet without recure on that faire face.
Her wonted coynesse let her vse a while,
My fierce Desire by Diet to beguile.
Lest with the fulnes of my ioyes, abate
The sweetnes, and I perish straight before
I do possesse them, at too deare a rate.
But soft (Fond Icarus) how high wilt soare?
Thou dreamst I think, or foulie dost mistake,
I dreame indeed, Ah might I neuer wake.
The sweetnes, and I perish straight before
I do possesse them, at too deare a rate.
But soft (Fond Icarus) how high wilt soare?
Thou dreamst I think, or foulie dost mistake,
I dreame indeed, Ah might I neuer wake.
Like as the Hawke cast from the Faulkners fist,
Freed from the Mew doth (ioyfull) take his flight,
Soaring aloft in th' aire as best him list,
Now here, now there, doth finde no small delight,
Enioying that, which Treasures all doth passe,
(His libertie) wherefore he prisoner was.
Freed from the Mew doth (ioyfull) take his flight,
Soaring aloft in th' aire as best him list,
Now here, now there, doth finde no small delight,
Enioying that, which Treasures all doth passe,
(His libertie) wherefore he prisoner was.
But when th' acquainted Hollow he doth heare,
And seeth the Lure cast forth him home to traine,
As one obedient full of awfull feare,
He leaues his flight, and backward turnes againe,
Chusing in ancient bonds for to be bound,
Fore faithles to his Lord he will be found:
And seeth the Lure cast forth him home to traine,
As one obedient full of awfull feare,
He leaues his flight, and backward turnes againe,
Chusing in ancient bonds for to be bound,
Fore faithles to his Lord he will be found:
So (Alba) though I wanton, otherwhile,
Do runne abrode, and other Ladies court,
Seeking the time with pleasures to beguile,
And oft my selfe with words of course do sport,
Dissembling with Dissemblers cunninglie,
As is the guise, with tongue, with hand, and Eye.
Do runne abrode, and other Ladies court,
Seeking the time with pleasures to beguile,
And oft my selfe with words of course do sport,
Dissembling with Dissemblers cunninglie,
As is the guise, with tongue, with hand, and Eye.
Yet when I thinke vpon thy face diuine,
Thy Beautie cals me home, straight as a Lure,
All other banishing from Hart of mine,
And in Loves Bands to thee doth binde me sure.
And since my Faith, and Fates do so ordaine,
I am content thy prisoner to remaine.
Thy Beautie cals me home, straight as a Lure,
All other banishing from Hart of mine,
And in Loves Bands to thee doth binde me sure.
And since my Faith, and Fates do so ordaine,
I am content thy prisoner to remaine.
Where are those Haires so louely Browne in show?
Where is that snowy Mount of Iuorie white?
With damaske Rose where do the Lillies grow?
Whose Colours & whose sweetnes All delight?
Where are those cheerfull Lights, Lamps of cleere Loue,
Wherein, a beautious Heauen doth alwaies moue
Where is that snowy Mount of Iuorie white?
With damaske Rose where do the Lillies grow?
Whose Colours & whose sweetnes All delight?
Where are those cheerfull Lights, Lamps of cleere Loue,
Wherein, a beautious Heauen doth alwaies moue
Where are those Margarite Pearles withouten prise,
And Rubies rich (my matchles Treasures store)
With other Graces, wonders to the Wise,
Worthy that euery Lawrell them adore?
I know not I, vnles in her they be,
In Her who's Faire, Alas too Faire for me.
And Rubies rich (my matchles Treasures store)
With other Graces, wonders to the Wise,
Worthy that euery Lawrell them adore?
I know not I, vnles in her they be,
In Her who's Faire, Alas too Faire for me.
VVhy haue not then my Stars so courteous bin,
In this to me, as they are in the rest,
That I by loftie stile might Beautie win,
And blaze abrode her praise deseruing best?
VVhy haue not I the Gift, her Gifts to thunder,
And make the world thereat admire and wonder!
In this to me, as they are in the rest,
That I by loftie stile might Beautie win,
And blaze abrode her praise deseruing best?
VVhy haue not I the Gift, her Gifts to thunder,
And make the world thereat admire and wonder!
Could I (but as she doth deserue aright)
Sing as a Cignet sweete with pleasing vaine,
Her Vertues rare, her staining Beauties sight,
As I am blunt in Wit, and dull in Braine,
I then should see, her Courteous, Gentle, Milde,
VVhere now I finde her, Cruell, Proud and Wilde.
Sing as a Cignet sweete with pleasing vaine,
Her Vertues rare, her staining Beauties sight,
As I am blunt in Wit, and dull in Braine,
I then should see, her Courteous, Gentle, Milde,
VVhere now I finde her, Cruell, Proud and Wilde.
Needes must I Alba leaue, yet she'le not part,
Though I doe loue her, yet still my Desire,
Seekes her to keepe in Closet of my Hart;
And though she doth against me thus conspire,
Yet with my Soule, I must her Error moane,
Since so vnkindelie she her selfe hath showne.
Though I doe loue her, yet still my Desire,
Seekes her to keepe in Closet of my Hart;
And though she doth against me thus conspire,
Yet with my Soule, I must her Error moane,
Since so vnkindelie she her selfe hath showne.
My secret griefes Ile in my selfe disiest;
The world shall neuer know her hatefull Pride,
Her shame (my Bane) I will conceale in brest,
And as a Monument there shall it bide.
Alba farewell, all pittie now is fled,
And since tis so, Adew, I am but Dead.
The world shall neuer know her hatefull Pride,
Her shame (my Bane) I will conceale in brest,
And as a Monument there shall it bide.
Alba farewell, all pittie now is fled,
And since tis so, Adew, I am but Dead.
But thou (my Hart) come thou from her thy way;
Tis time (I thinke) to leaue that witching face,
Where too too much vnkindenes still doth stay;
For Loyall Loue, there is no resting place.
Simple Goodwill, to soiourne findes it vaine,
Where Thoughts are falls, and Double do remaine,
Tis time (I thinke) to leaue that witching face,
Where too too much vnkindenes still doth stay;
For Loyall Loue, there is no resting place.
Simple Goodwill, to soiourne findes it vaine,
Where Thoughts are falls, and Double do remaine,
My nere stainde Faith, my life shall testifie,
To future Age, that shall hereafter come,
To shew the world my spotles Loyaltie:
And yet perhaps againe may shine the Sunne,
When as my Trueth vnto her being knowne,
She may at last receiue me for her owne.
To future Age, that shall hereafter come,
To shew the world my spotles Loyaltie:
And yet perhaps againe may shine the Sunne,
When as my Trueth vnto her being knowne,
She may at last receiue me for her owne.
The Conclusion of the second Part.
If
I should count the spending of my time,
Since Her I lost, with whom I left my life;
How I in Griefe without reliefe doe pine,
My seldome Pleasures, and my Corsies rife,
If I should take vpon me, these to tell,
It were in vaine, for t'were impossibell.
Since Her I lost, with whom I left my life;
How I in Griefe without reliefe doe pine,
My seldome Pleasures, and my Corsies rife,
If I should take vpon me, these to tell,
It were in vaine, for t'were impossibell.
Yet still the more I suffer for her sake,
The more my Hart doth studie to endure,
The world shall know the Pennance he doth make,
And how his Thoughts are loyall, chaste, and pure.
So small account he maketh for to die,
As his owne Death he seeketh wilfully.
The more my Hart doth studie to endure,
The world shall know the Pennance he doth make,
And how his Thoughts are loyall, chaste, and pure.
So small account he maketh for to die,
As his owne Death he seeketh wilfully.
Of Her he still doth buzze me in the eare,
And wilt me make a Iournie to that place,
To haue a sight of Her, (to him so deare)
Whose beautious shape all Beauties doth disgrace.
Alas I would full faine, Her selfe doth know.
But Danger to offend, doth still say No.
And wilt me make a Iournie to that place,
To haue a sight of Her, (to him so deare)
Whose beautious shape all Beauties doth disgrace.
Alas I would full faine, Her selfe doth know.
But Danger to offend, doth still say No.
Then since poore Hart, thou canst not haue thy will,
But longst for what thou neuer shalt obtaine,
Consume thy selfe with thy recureles ill,
As Women, that with Longing breede their bane.
And as thou diest, let this thy Comfort be,
Thy Love was Vertve, hers was Chastitie.
But longst for what thou neuer shalt obtaine,
Consume thy selfe with thy recureles ill,
As Women, that with Longing breede their bane.
And as thou diest, let this thy Comfort be,
Thy Love was Vertve, hers was Chastitie.
R. T.
| Alba. The Months Minde of a Melancholy Lover, diuided into three parts | |