University of Virginia Library

LOVES OWLE.

In dialogue-wise betweene Loue, and an olde man.

The old man.
Tell me naked wretch of sin,
My gates are shut, how cam'st thou in,
Thou hast committed Burglarie,
To venture all so hardily into my gardin.
I thought my age and good aduise,
Had rid this garden long ere this
Of all thy baggage fooleries,
Thy weedes and briery fallaces, and sowre seeds of sin.
Goe to (sirrha) get you gone,
Let an aged man alone,
All retyred as you see
To record repentingly his youthes amisses.
Neither is this sap-lesse tree,
Fit for woonted iollitie:
Her fruites and floures are long agoe,
Withered in her root below all to anguishes.
All her greene, and sweetes are done,
Her shadowes dead for want of sonne:
All is bryer, and nettle now,
That whilom was a gallant bough, and faire flourished.
You come not now as earst you did
Into a garden beautifid:
With beds and Allies, hearbes and floures,
Faire Chrystall streames, and banquet-boures, like heauen ouer hed.
The Nightingale hath not been heere,
Heard to sing this many a yeere;
Frost and snow, and winters night,
Haue defac'd her beauty quight, and slaine her glory.
This house, whose battlements on hie,
Whilom faire, brau'd the lofty skie,
Towring in pride, and luxurie
The top of vaine felicity: such was my folly.
See now a cottage it is becoom
Of withered sedge, fearne, brake and broome,
Ay-me, a rotten reed I am,
A cripple, iuyce-lesse aged man, deceast to pleasure.
Then get thee gone thou wanton boy,
Seeke out some other place of ioy:
This garden is a solitude,
With ghostly sollaces indu'd; I haue no leasure
To entertaine nor thee, nor thine,
Fooles and furies of ruine.
Oh, how happy are they all
That neuer tasted of the gall of thy leud delights.
Wretched boy, I tell thee true,
Thou art a traitor to thy crue;
Protesting gracious complements,
Yet ministring but discontents, and all ill dispights.
These are thy trim benignities,
Incontinent desire of ease,
Enuie, disdaine, and ielosie,
Doubt, teares, and captiuitie, and all is foolerie.
Selfe-loue, vainglorie, passion,
Vnrest and desperation,
Intemperance, and enmitie,
Vaine hope, and melancholy, and impiety;
Griefe, brabble, waste and crueltie,
Effeminate solemnitie,
Treason, distrust, disloyaltie,
And after all comes beggerie, and late repentance;
These are thy balefull outrages,
And benefits of little ease;
Ramping rages against reason,
Neuer yet out of season among thy Orphans.

Loue.
These angry tearmes doe represent
You neuer skill'd my blandishment;
My peace, my sweetes, my lullabies,
Wherwith al soules I ciuillize, that bid me welcome.

Old.
Yes, well I ken thy stonishments,
And dangers by experience:
This same sin-writhled trunke of mine,
Is a fragment of thy ruine, and base martyrdome.
This night-shade garden well areeds
That all thy solaces are seeds,
And weeds of woe:thy sweets but snares
T'intangle soules in hell vnwares, ridiculously.
A gracious garden once it was,
Al ouer-floured with solace
Till that thy brutish barbarisme,
Through fallacies made entry in, such was my frailty.
And now it is, Oh now it is
A briery and weedy wildernes:
The map of infelicity,
A rag of all indignity: a badge of heauy chear.

Loue.
Good aged Father, for I see
Your tearmes are tearmes of iniurie,
And flint with flint affoordes but fire,
I list not answere you in ire. but will forbeare.
And all according to my name,
My language shall be free from blame:
How euer you in ignorance,
And chollericke misgouernance distaine your reuerence.

Old.
Adulterate synceritie,
Thy faire face is fallacie:
Thy speech is all hypocrisie,
And all thy drist is fellonie, and deadly vengeance.
As mildest Oyles are most of force,
To penetrate the stubborn'st corse,
So happily thou hop'st with sweetes,
To draw me downe into the deepes of all thy dangers.
Snakes and serpents oft haue I seene,
Faire-rowlling on the grassie greene,
Their peckles pleasant to the eye,
Yet haue they needles inwardly, to sting by-standers.
Not that I feare thy poisonous sting,
Or any danger thou canst bring:
For well I wot these hoary heares,
Are Mithredate against the feares of thy infection,

Loue.
Now that I proffer to replie,
Why stop yee your eares so iealously?

Old man.
The bird that sees & knowes the snare
Blame it not, if it beware, of apprehension.

Loue.
Be not so mis-preiudicate.

Old man.
Better now then all too late.
For though in shew thou seem a friend
Yet mischiefe is the latter end of thy dissignment.

Loue.
Yet heare a while what I wil say
Good for euill I will appay:
Thy disdaine, and contumelie,
I will recompence with glory, and most sweet content.
And though that you oppose your will
To contradict my kindnesse still;
Yet shall my gentle patience
Exemplify my good pretence, to make you blessed.

Old.
Oh what a medly haue we heer?
Poison mixt with dainty cheere;
Thy words and looks are good inough
But care and hell is in the-proofe therof possessed.
Then fie vpon thy pipe and thee,
I list not heare thy melodie,
I am too olde a Marriner,
For Syrenes songs to endanger, then prate no more.

Loue.
These fierce offences specify,
Your Natures harsh obliquitie;
Wherfore Ile leaue you to the same,
And in compassion of your blame, all to deplore.
The Judge to doome a wretch to die
Answerlesse, is iniurie:
Yet you condemne mine innocence,
Without admitting my defence, vngentle Father.

Old.
Nay, say not so, I am content
To listen to thy argument,
Condition that thou stand aloofe,
And interrupt not my disproofe, but heare my answere.
For I am willing in this case,
To doe thy trumperie due disgrace,
As wel by powre of argument,
As by the sprite of discontent and just rude-language,
Then ware th'infringe not my decree,
But prate thy prates aloofe from me,
For feare thy filth infect the aire,
And so possesse me vnaware with one or other rage.

Loue.
Alas you much mistake my might,
My powre it is no powre of spight,
Milde, and merry ciuility,
And arme in arme in vnitie is my Philosophy.
Which (for I see your good intent
Is now dispos'd to argument)
I hope so well to iustifie,
As you will thinke it honestie, and thanke me highlie.
Nor will I challenge for my paines,
Anie mercenarie gaines:
But onlie as you credite me,
So liue you euer merrilie, and I am pleased.
Now in the front of your aggriefe,
You tearme me a fellon and a theefe:
I say, he is no theefe that takes
That which another freely forsakes, to be so eased.
Besides, to take a thing away,
The owner gazing on the praie,
Nor contradicting, but agrees,
And claps his hands, and glad hee is, what theeuery is this?
Then heerin haue you wronged me,
To blot me with such infamie.

Old.
Nay, nay, that tearm is all too true,
How er'e I list not prooue it now for verie drowsinesse.
I feele a myst com'd ouer mine eies,
Fowle befall thy sorceries;
But well I wot to be aueng'd,
I'le sleepe thy prattle to an end: then prate thy heart out.

Loue.
I: so my swauetie assignes
Rest to rage and angrie mindes:
Then sleep your sleep in peace & blesse,
I hope you will heare me nearthelesse, I doe not doubt.
For why my speeches are a voice
Strong in powre, and not in noise,
Full possessing the hearers eare,
Deafe or dead although he were, so sweet it pierceth.
And since you cannot ease your mind,
With tearmes ynough of raging kind:
In sooth you can not better doe,
Then take a nap an houre or two, for rest remildeth.
Meane while I'le sing sweet Lullabies,
And warlble foorth my swauities,
To shew you as by argument,
How precious is my blandishment, and merrie bounties.

LOVES SONNET.

Old.
All me no alls, for all is naught,
Thy ioyes, and counter-ioyes are fraught
With heaps of hels; thy Lullabies
Are all accursed miseries, and foule befall men.
My eares are much too blame to heare
Such foule loue lust-polluted geere;
I wisse mine eies were better bent
To sleep out all thy babblement and full-a-lying.
But as thou dealest in this case,
My setled sences to amaze,
So all thy bosted benefits
Do but bereaue men of their wits, to ensuing yls.
Then so an errand theefe thou art,
To steale away mens wits by art,
Aswell as they are murtherers,
That drowne but willing marriners with their musickes wiles.
Thou also art a murtherer,
In giuing men false wings to houer,
About vntrue felicitie,
Whereby they fall into the sea of a thousand deathes.
Thou art that spirit that S. Powle,
Did feele to wrestle with his soule,
And pray'd our Lord to set him free
From such a peeuish enemie of his wel-wishes.
The Poets of Gentilitie,
Haue pen'd downe many a historie,
How that their gods were turn'd to beastes,
In executing thy behestes, and dishonestie.
Thou art the excrement of lust,
Thy first and last is all vniust,
From lust inrag'd to ill asswag'd,
So is, so endeth thy disparrage, and ignominie.
What louer yet did euer proue,
Other complement in loue
Then lust? which euery beast can doe,
Doing but that, that longs thereto, euen as well as man.
So then is it right euident,
Thou art but a disparagement,
And all thy grace indignity,
That so mankind doest beastifie with lustes pollution.
Oh what a heauie case is it,
Man for lust to loose his wit,
And leaue his true Nobility,
For brute-beastlie carnalitie, through thy base instinct.
King Salomon was passing wise.
Till loue and lust did him surprise:
And Sampson that most valiant Iue.
Was neuer weakened but by you, nor in chaines inlinckt
As for thy bosted vnitie,
Troy can witnesse that's a lie,
Her ten years warres and latter fall
Tels, that thou wert cause of all that topsie turuy.
What Natures consanguinity,
Deere friendship, or affinity,
Goodlaw or custome doth vnite,
Thou turn'st to discord and despight through thy scurrility.
Thou breed'st debate in heretages,
Bastardizing families:
Thou runst to witches and the deuill,
All to compasse thy foule euill, lust and luxurie.
Thou vsest poysons for to kill,
And to intoxicate the will,
Witnesse the Emperour Caligula,
So vsed by Cesonia. t'intice his amitie,
Rapes and incests are from thee,
Thou sparest not Vestality,
Nor any place of priuilege,
So shamelesse is thy sacrilege, and vile presumption.
There is no iust commandement,
Nor good obey in Loues intent;
For Loue and lust preuaricates
Awe, and reason in all estates with leud confusion.
And if thou make the miser free,
It is to buy more misery;
And if thou make the dotard wise,
T'is dotage turn'd to Ideotize, as dung to durt.
And if thou make the coward stout,
It is to compasse filth about,
His stoutnes is but shamelesnesse
To doe and boast his beastlinesse. a stout peece of worke.
If thou remilde the franticke man,
Thou mak'st him but a tame foole than,
If kings and Cesars thou subdue,
What mischiefes doe not then ensue to their common weales?
Did not King Rodericke of Spaine
Count Iulians bed with lust distaine?
From whence ensu'd 800. yeeres
Of Spannish warres altogethers, against infidels.
King Dauids case is scripturall,
What punishments did him befall,
And to his people from aboue,
For his vnlawfull lustie loue with faire Bersabe,
As for thy vaunted Taylery,
Thy stillings, and perfumerie,
Thy physicke and thy cookerie,
All's but abuse of honesty, and traines to foolerie.
Vpon a bad foundation,
All building's desolation,
No glorious guilt or gallant show,
Can warrant it from ouerthrow, the ground-work failing.
So nor thy brags can better thee,
Grounded on Lusts base infamie,
The mean-worke being passion,
The top a loath'd fruition after once obtayning.
Then in like sort is vanitie,
Thy Court-ship and thy country glee,
But specially thy priuities,
And all thy twinfold coplatiues in hugger mugger.
And where thou prat'st of miracles,
As fire infus'd int' yee-siccles:
The dead reuiu'd, the blind to see,
And such like cripple trumperie, I tell thee brother.
Such vile effectes are monstrous,
Not any whit miraculous;
For miracles are holy-doomes,
And monsters are all but hel-doomes and imperfections.
The Deuill I trowe is scandaliz'd,
To see a seuent-yeere man surpriz'd
With Lusts vndue lubricity,
In those yeares of philosophy, and tame fashions.
But say that Cesar, and the sage
And cripple age sometimes engage
It selfe to lust, that argueth
Their frailtie, and not thy noblenesse, the fact being foule.
Much lesse is heauen beautify'd
With any grace from thee deriu'd,
It being no fleshly creature,
But of a farre better feature, and a better soule.
Extreame is thy presumption,
To vaunt so high a function,
Heauen to be ordered by thee,
That art earths onlie infamy, and high dishonour.
But as thou art a naked wretch,
So is't thy nature to out-stretch
Thy limmes to lust, thy lips to lies,
Heauen and earth to scandalize, with th'one and th'other.
Oh that mankind would but refraine
His idle and delicious vaine
Of liuing, then were thy puissance
Quite quaild, or of pettie nuissance to our mortality.
For but in sloth and daintinesse,
Raignes thy lustfull wretchednesse;
Who-euer liueth otherwise,
Doth vanquish thee, and Cæsarize or'e all thy villanie.
Long and helthy liueth he,
Rich, happy, and merrily,
Nor botch, nor poxe, nor lewd vnrest
Doth betide his noble brest in paines and temprance.
He riots not in gluttony,
Nor carroling ebriety;
He skils no brabble, nor blasphemes,
Nor liues by any vngodly meanes, but with due maintenance.
His speech, his gesture, and attire,
Represent a stay'd desire;
No new-fangle, for me or fashion,
Or fantasticall passion taints his discretion.
His conuersation is vpright,
Shining through all despight:
Reason high dominioning
All his actions, as a king with reputation.
Reason is an Antelope,
That lust-full fellowes follow not,
With peace and order at her heele,
She guides men to the common-weele of glory and fame.
She is my lanterne and my light,
My Land-lady and my tergat bright,
By her I see, to her I fee,
By her I am defenc'd from thee, and from all thy shame.
She poynts me to a happy Loue
Faire and chast in heauen aboue,
Whose name is holie Charitie,
Grand-mother of all honesty and of all vertue.
In which faire loue I see a light
Far passing all this worlds delight,
T'is vertues retribution
When death hath done his function, which none can eschew.
Vpon which light and sweet delight
Whiles I but newly set my sight,
Resoluing to attaine thereto
By all the good that I can doe, what wind blew thee hether?
To interrupt so deere a thought
With thy Loue lust-polluted taulk,
As though I were some errand foole
Doctrinable in thy Schoole and baudy grammer,
Go get thee gone vnhallowed Elfe,
And leaue me alone vnto my selfe
T'attend my speculation
Of th'aforesaid contentation my soule aspires to.

Loue.
Now haue I heard with patience
All your chollericke offence,
And sooth to say there is amisse
Somewhat in my blessednesse, but I'le shew you how.
There is a kind of people, that
Being one halfe cold, th'other hot,
Know not how to choose the meane,
But loue in a vitious extreame, and so dishonour me.
Heerhence it is that some men call
Me franticke, and fantasticall,
Cruell, disloyall, quarrellous,
Vnconstant, blind, and impious, such being their frailty.
Wil we condemne the parent-bird
If that her yoong one vnaffeard
Trans-flie her safe prescription,
And so fall downe to destruction, skilling no caution?
Such is my case; God knowes I meane
That no man should loue-misdemeane
Himselfe to daunger or reproch;
Yet some men doe, and I for such sustaine detraction.
Not but that I must confesse,
There is a kind of heauinesse
In Loues pursuite, but that's to make
It (once obtain'd) more delicate to the paines-taker.
The more aduenture, the more gaines,
No pleasure's sweet without some paines
Who neuer wept, laughes sauour-lesse,
The fisher-man fisheth boot-lesse that feeles no water.
So is it then my propertie
To mixe some sowre with swauitie,
To make them know that sweete content
Is no fondelings base baublement, but of better worth.
The appetite that is foregon
With ouer-sweet commestion,
Tart meates recouer it againe
From out that ouer-fed famine with their prickle spurres.
And then as doth that appetit
Re-sauor euery dainty bit,
So all my sowre contraries
Are shooing-hornes to swaueties, and refining files.
Then maruel not, if now and then
You see my sowres among men,
The which heerby well may ye know,
That still a woman strikes the blow with her wyle-beguiles.
The Sunne is not so base a groome,
As to be ty'd to euery roome,
But heere and there, and as it listes,
It flits by selfe-fits and shiftes to shew his freedome.
And why not I to shew my state,
And make man-kind more kind & grate,
Should not likewise sometimes bestow
My frets and checkes, and ouerthrow on pleasures kingdome?
The fruite of ouer-much fruition,
Being of a loath'd condition,
I deeme it prudent policie
To turne familiaritie sometimes t' enmity.
That then as doth the Sunnes retorne
Fructifie and faire adorne
Each plaine fore-withred with winter,
So likewise may my faire re-enter renew all iollity.
Then (gentle Eld) admit me now,
Comming to re-enter you,
And with my sweetest sollaces
Ile cheere your ages anguishes, and all to blesse you.
I will quite renue your figure,
From cripple to youthfull vigure,
And on that crased tenement
I'le reare a loftie battlement, for all the world to view.
Your garden I will faire replant,
And set with flowres all aflant,
There shall no bryre abide therein,
No weed, nor any vnsauorie thing, but I'le plucke it vp.
Pleasant streames shall runne along
All your plantes and flowres among,
All manner sweet-throated birdes
Shall sit and sing in the arbors where you dine or sup,
Then yeeld your selfe to my awardes,
Proffering you so sweete rewardes,
Be pleas'd to change your churlish ire
To a delicious desire of all sweet sollace.

Old.
These latter reasons and protests
Win me to your sweet behests,
For that I note sincerity
In this so plaine discouery of your sweet-sowre case.
I feele within my conscience
Assurance of your innocence,
Besides your very nakednesse,
That bodes and warranteth no lesse, so shone it shineth,
Me thinkes there can no sad mischance
Lodge in so faire a countenance,
Nor can that tongue auouch vntruth,
Being as honey in the mouth, and so sweet sauoreth,
But be it true, or be it false,
I now recant my denials,
And pray you pardon my outrage
Imputing it to rude old-age and testie passion.
And if that you complie with me
In true professed iollitie;
Perhaps in time my seruices
May honour your benignities, in some good fashion.

Loue.
So well aduis'd I welcome thee,
Euen to my deerest facultie,
The which eftsoones thou shalt approue
With all the benefits of loue, Loue can affoord thee.
And now in honour of accord
Vnto this Lute I will record
A hymne of ioyfull Iubilie,
To rowse vp thy Senechdochie to Loues actiuitie.

LOVES SONNET.

Old.
Oh now embrace we with a kisse
And pardon my vnlouingnisse.

Loue.
I do.

Old.
Then heerwithall I vow
Eternall loyaltie to you, as to my Soueraigne.

Loue.
Now that we haue embrac'd & kist
Tell me how you feele your brist.

Old.
I feele a rauenous desire
Of lust, I feele a flaming fire through'out euery vaine.
I feele a fancie full of frets,
Rebellion in all my secrets,
I feele a fowle exalted yll
Quite preuail'd against my will, and against all reason.
I feele a wound, yet craue no cure,
But rather wish it may endure,
I feele it, yet I see it not,
So blind I am, or haue forgot my seeing function.

Loue.
I so: Now will I sit me downe
And beard thy gray-beard with a frowne
I'le laugh to thinke how all thy fame
Of Chastity will turne to shame through base luxurie.
Now where is all thy valiancie
And bosted prudence against me?
Is all thy Stoycal conceipt
So soone subuerted by deceipt, and turn'd to foolery?
Thou hast my kisse, now haue my curse,
Ner' shall thy loue deserue remorse:
Still sue and spend, and after all
Reape but disdaine and deniall at thy Maistresse hand.
And to th'end thou maist approue
Thy selfe the verrier foole in loue,
Thy Maistresse age must not surpasse
Full 15 yeeres by the houre-glasse, so is thy case scann'd.
The rest I leaue to her to doe,
Flouts, and freaks, and spights ynow,
And all the world to wonder at
Thee, as an errand Ideot to be so abus'd.
Oh what a goodly sight wil't be
To see thee in thy foolerie:
Cap and curt'sie to the ground,
And yet no fauour to be found, but be more misus'd.
How like a gallant wilt thou ride
With sword and dagger at thy side,
Cap and feather on thy crowne
With a little Cupid hanging downe thy breast before.
And then to heare thy graue requestes
Accompaned with deepe protestes
And many an anticke countenance
To grace each seuerall circumstance, still sighing euermore.
Besides thy inward anguishes,
Farre worse then all the premises,
Vaine hope, and desperation,
And doubtfull interpretation of euery occurrent.
Presumption and jelousie,
Care, passion, and captiuitie,
Errour, and indiscretion,
Vnrest, and vaine inuention, and thy wealth mispent.
These and such like absurdities
Shall Owlefie thee'n all mens eies:
Who whē they haue twitted thee to deth
Yet shall thy shame suruine vnneth, and thus thy Epitaph.

Old.
Why how now (Loue) is al thy blisse
And sweet protests return'd to this?
Then I reuoke my fealtie,
As vow'd to no such tyrannie and cruell skath.
I vow'd my vow to swaueties,
And not to infelicities;
Nor is it honorablie done
To tyrannize submission and poore cripple age

Loue.
Thy vow was not conditionall
To sweetes; but wholly personall
To me; in my proprietie
To vse thee well or wretchedly in my blesse, or rage.
Then art thou sure ynough a slaue
To rowe my galley in the waue
Of all accurse; thy contradiction
Meritting such malediction at my angry hands.
So art thou still a Marriner,
Nor I the foresaid murtherer,
Onlie thy hoary Mithredates
Haue prou'd themselues poore potēates in their weake withstands.
But yet (courage,) I am content
To be thus much indifferent,
Either that thou take a married wife,
And be a Cuckold all thy life, or bide thy present doome.

Old.
Nor that, nor this would I abide,
Were I againe vncaptiuy'd;
But often haue I heard it say,
Needs must that horse to hell away that the Deu'll rides on.
I slept a while, but now I see
That was thy charme and sorcerie,
Ther-hence thou didst comence my foyle
As Deere that's taken in a toyle, and so sent blind away.
But since I see no remedie,
I yeeld me to thy lenitie,
Whereby both thou the Conqueror,
And I thy poor Orator may honour enjoy.