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Epitaphes, Epigrams, Songs and Sonets

with a Discourse of the Friendly affections of Tymetes to Pyndara his Ladie. Newly corrected with additions, and set out by George Turbervile
 

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To his absent Friend the Louer writes of his vnquiet and restlesse state.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


[29]

To his absent Friend the Louer writes of his vnquiet and restlesse state.

Though curious skill I want to wel endite,
And I of sacred Nymphes and Muses nine
Was neuer taught wt Poets pen to write,
Nor barrain braine to learning did incline
To purchase prayse, or with the best to shine:
Yet cause my Friend shall finde no want of will,
I write, let hir accuse the lack of skill.
No lesse deserues the Lambe to be imbrast
Of lowring Ioue at sacred Altar slaine,
If with good zeale it offred be at last
By Irus, that doe Cræsus Bullocks twaine:
For no respect is to be had of gaine
In such affayres, but to the giuers hart
And his good will our Senses must conuart.
Wherfore to thee (my Friend) these lines I send
As perfite proufe of no dissembling minde,
But of a hart that truely doth intend
To shew it selfe as louing and as kinde,
As woman woulde hir Louer wish to finde:
And more than this my Paper can declare,
I loue thee (Friend) and wishe thee well to fare.
I would thou wist the torment I sustaine
For lack of hir that should my wo redresse,
And that you knew some parcell of my paine,

30

Which none may well by deeming iudgemēt gesse,
Nor I with quill haue cunning to expresse:
I know thou couldst but rue my wofull chaunce,
That by thy meanes was brought into this traunce
The day doth breede my doole, and ranckling rage
Of secret smart in wounded breast doth boyle,
No pleasant pangue my sorrowes may asswage,
Nor giue an ende vnto my wofull toyle:
The golden Sunne that glads the earthly soyle,
And erie other thing that breedes delight
Of kinde, to mee are forgers of my spite.
I long for Phœbus glade and going downe,
My drearie teares more couertly to shed:
But when the night with vglie face doth frowne,
And that I am yplaste in quiet bed,
In hope to be with wished pleasure fed:
A greater griefe, a worser paine ensues.
My vaporde eies their hoped sleepe refues.
Then rowle I in my deepe dispayring brest
The sweete disdaines, and pleasant anger past,
The louely strifes: when Stars doe counsell rest
Incroching cares renue my griefe as faste,
And thus desired night in wo I waste:
And to expresse the harts excessiue paine,
Mine eies their deawie teares distill amaine.
And reason why they should be moysted so,
Is for they bred my hart this bitter bale:
They were the onely cause of cruell wo

[30]

Unto the hart, they were the guilefull stale.
Thus day and night ytost with churlish Gale
Of sighes in Sea of surging brine I bide
Not knowing how to scape the scowring Tide.
At last the shining Rayes of Hope to finde
Your friendship firme, these cloudy thoughts repel,
And calmed Skie returnes to mistie minde:
Which deepe dispaire againe eftsoone compels
Too fade, and ease by Dolours drift expels:
That Gods themselues (I iudge) lament my fate,
And doe repine to see my wofull state.
Wherefore to purchace prayse, and glorie gaine,
Do ease your Friend that liues in wretched plight,
Doe not to death a louing hart constraine,
But seeke with loue his seruice to requight,
Doe not exchaunge a Fawcon for a Kite:
Refuse him not for any friendship nue
A worse may chaunce, but none more iust and true
Let Cressed myrror bee that did forgo
Hir former faythfull friend King Priams Sonne,
And Diomed the Greeke imbraced so,
And left the loue so well that was begonne:
But when hir Cards were tolde and twist ysponne
She found hir Troian Friend the best of both
For he renounst hir not, but kept his oth.
This don, my griping griefs will sōwhat swage
And sorrow cease to grow in pensiue breast,
Which otherwise will neuer blin to rage

31

And crush the hart within his carefull Cheast
Of both for you and mee it were the best,
To saue my life and win immortall fame,
And thus my Muse shall blase your noble name
For ruine on my wofull case.