Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

To thee the comfort of all mortall men,
Of all men liuing the most comfortlesse,
Health (if discomfort any such can send)
If any left, doth send with happinesse.

I wish no ease of all my ceaselesse paine,
If that a thousand times when I did take
In hand to write to thee, I left againe
My pen as oft, when hand and hart did quake.

I launch't into the maine and broadest seas,
Knowing no port, nor friendly land, or coast
To saile vnto (my shaken barke to ease,
With raging waues and furious tempests tost)

356

For on the one side if I thought to write,
To make thee knowe my paine which thou hast wrought:
Thy high desertes on th' other came in sight,
To beate downe such a far vnwoorthy thought.

My wearied torments did commaund an I,
Thy soueraine highnes did forbid a No,
And that commaund with reason did denie,
Such woorthinesse and glorie it did showe.

But after this proud boldnes came in place,
Perswading me I should doe well before
To write to thee: But feare did him disgrace,
And said I should but anger thee the more.

And therefore now as feare did ouercome
Braue boldnes, and had throwne it to the ground,
And now that all my senses waxed numme
By feare, which did my feeble hope confound.

Couragiously the God of Loue came in,
And said, vnwoorthy feare packe hence, away:
And come no more, for now thou shalt not win:
I doe commaund, Loue doth commaund I say.

And turning to me in this sort he saide,
As by commaund, nor gently by request,
The fire (when once it is in flames displaide)
Hides not it selfe, but makes it manifest:

Euen so it is impossible to hide
My firie flames, from being sometimes knowne,
And though I would not, yet on euery side
They issue out, that easily they are knowne.

Since then thy Nymph celestiall must knowe,
Either too soone or late thy cruell flame,
Let first thy mouth declare to her thy woe,
Then to thy hand and pen commend the same.

I answered (God wot with fainting hart)
To write to her, it is my chiefe desire;
But if she chaunce to frowne at this bold part,
O God defend my pen should cause her ire.

Thus Loue at last perceiuing what a faint
And hartlesse coward I was, in the end
He wrote to thee, by pitying of my plaint,
And in my name Loue doth this letter send.

357

And now bicause thy minde it may not mooue
To anger, by receiuing of the same:
And if thou think'st thy honour I doe prooue,
Knowe from a God, and from no man it came.

Euen from the God of Loue, who is a God
Of highest birth, whose power doth extend
In heauen, and earth, where he makes his abode,
Both paying tribute to him without end.

So that it is the mighty God of Loue
That erres (if that in writing he doth erre)
Against Loue therefore all thy anger mooue,
(If this to wrath thy modest minde may stirre.)

Harke well (my deerest Mistresse) what I say,
That if this letter breedeth thy offence,
Be thou reueng'd of Loue, which did assay
To write, and not of me for this pretence.

But by the way I tell thee as a friend,
That if with Loue thou dost begin to striue,
With nature and her lawes thou dost contend,
For making thee the fairest one aliue.

For if she haue of purpose giuen thee
Beautie, and grace, and in thy brest hath fram'd
The onely patterne of gentilitie,
That beauties Paragon thou maist be nam'd.

And to lay vp her riches all in one,
Of all her treasure she hath now despoild
The world, and made it poore in leauing none,
And to make thee the onely one hath toild.

Hath she not reason then to be offended,
If by the gemme, where she her vtmost tride,
She would haue seene and knowne how far extended
Her passing skill, which thou dost seeke to hide?

Hath she not reason to be angrie, when
The patterne of her skill and onely one
Hides from the world and buries in a den
Her treasures, which so faine she would haue knowne?

For sure I knowe, if that thou meanest not
To loue, thou buriest all her partes in thee:
And dost thou thinke, that anything is got
By flying Loue, and natures best decree?

358

And if thou think'st heerein to doe amisse,
Or hurt thy selfe by louing, yet at lest
Suffer thy selfe to be belou'd. And this
Fond error driue out of thy tender brest.

O suffer of thine owne accord and will,
For forced thou shalt be to this for euer:
While thou and I doe liue, and shalt be still
After thy death and mine, and ended neuer.

Then will me not (Dardanea) to forsake
My perfect loue, which now I haue bewraied:
For more thou dost commaund the lesse I make
Account of it, and lesse shalt be obaied.

And thinke thou art not wronged any whit,
Bicause what thou (faire Mistresse) dost commaund
Is not obaide, for heere it is not fit
Where life for loue and loue for life is pawn'd.

Leaue thou if that thou canst the same thou hast,
Yeelding to nature, what so much on thee
She hath bestowde, and change thy life that's past,
And leaue moreouer what thou mean'st to be.

Then shalt thou see thy most vniust desire
Fulfill'd, and will perform'd without defect,
Although thou didst the contrarie require,
As fearing colours with some vaine suspect.

But now why should'st thou leaue a perfect being,
By taking that which more imperfect is?
As first mens eies the like was neuer seeing,
The second voide of comfort, ioy and blisse.

So that (sweete Mistresse) it becomes thee not
To anger Loue, and Nature to offend,
For thou art bound (whom they haue not forgot)
Their lawes to loue, their essence to defend.

Since that thy beauties in the world resound,
And dost in vertue hold the highest place,
And dost in knowledge and in wit abound,
In modestie, and euery other grace:

Make them illustrous then by thy requiting,
Take heede, Ingratitude is full of hate,
Hate to reuenge is euer more inuiting,
And so reuenge waites at obliuions gate.

359

And thinke not, that I speake these wordes in iest,
For to a cruell Goddesse it belongs
This vice (which all the world doth so detest)
To punish, and torment ingratefull wrongs.

And Nemesis the angrie is her name,
Whose vnresisted might who doth not knowe?
Equall she is and neuer but the same,
Impartially to deale with friend or foe.

Alas I would she might not finde in thee
So great a fault, as none more great then this,
Since from all other faultes thou shalt be free,
If but this fault alone thou wilt dismisse.

But thou maist say, why should thy haplesse fare
Trouble my minde, or thy good please my will,
Or what haue I to doe to take such care,
Whether thy fortune fall out good or ill?

To answere this, I cannot well replie,
Let it suffice thee, that the lest suspect
Of any harme thou hast doth make me die,
And worse then death torments me in effect.

Deere Lady, then I would not haue thee prooue
The cruell shaft of angrie Nemesis:
For first let each infernall power mooue
Their plagues against me of eternall Dis.

But now I would be glad if thou wouldst tast
The sweete and golden flight of Cupids poure,
Bicause my torments, which are gone and past,
Pitie thou might'st and those I feele this howre.

For if thou knew'st my paines and pitious case,
With pitie and teares thou wouldst my life deplore,
Not for my merits, which are very base,
But for my loue, which well deserueth more.

Each thing that is created heere so fit,
An equall hauing in a diuers kinde,
In such like kinde a paiment doth admit,
By measuring the debt that is behinde,

But as fell loue no equall doth containe,
In such a diuers kinde and different,
By selfe same thing it paies it selfe againe:
Loue must be paid with loue of good intent.

360

Then since it is most euident and cleere,
That I doe prize thy loue at such a rate,
Thou must requite my loue againe so deere,
If Nemesis ingratitude doth hate.

But if thou dost not purpose to requite
The loue, that I haue borne, and beare thee still;
And with like loue to ease my heauie plight,
And greeuous paines for thy procuring ill:

My hands of life shall then vndoe the chaine,
But not of loue (by death to ease my death)
And so requite me, when no other meane
Is left, to make me still enioy this breath.

For sure if that my life be of this sort,
My life is death, and dying is my life:
My death is sweete, a pleasure, ioy and sport,
Liuing in such a world of amorous strife.

But now I cease, my teares fall in such store,
And painfull soule for greefe can write no more.