University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania

Written by the right honorable the Lady Mary Wroath
Wroth, Mary (ca. 1586-ca. 1640)

collapse section 
[section]
collapse section 
Urania
  
[Vnseene, vnknowne, I here alone complaine]
  
[Here all alone in silence might I mourne]
  
[Heart drops distilling like a new cut-vine]
  
[Adieu sweet Sun]
  
[Beare part with me most straight and pleasant Tree]
  
[My thoughts thou hast supported without rest]
  
[Drowne me not you cruell teares]
  
[The Sunne hath no long iourney now to goe]
  
[Sweete solitarines, ioy to those hearts]
  
[Deare Loue, alas, how haue I wronged thee]
  
[Stay mine eyes, these floods of teares]
  
[Deare, how doe thy winning eyes]
  
[Loue what art thou? A vaine thought]
  
[Who can blame me if I loue?]
  
[Pray thee Diana tell mee, is it ill]
  
[Teares some times flow from mirth, as well as sorrow]
  
[How doe I finde my soules extreamest anguish]
  
[Gone is my ioy, while here I mourne]
  
[When I with trembling aske if you loue still]
  
[You powers diuine of loue-commanding eyes]
  
[You pure and holy fire]
  
[Loue peruse me, seeke, and finde]
  
[From victory in loue I now am come]
  
[I who doe feele the highest part of griefe]
  
[Blame me not dearest, though grieued for your sake]
  
[Loue among the clouds did houer]
  
[Infernall Spirits listen to my moanes]
  
[The ioy yon say the Heauens in motion trie]
  
[As these drops fall: so Hope drops now on me]
  
[You, who ending neuer saw]
  
[Cruell Remembrance alas now be still]
  
[Vnquiet griefe, search further in my heart]
  
[Losse my molester at last patient be]
  
[O that I might but now as senselesse bee]
  
[Deare, though vnconstant, these I send to you]
  
[Why doe you so much wish for raine, when I]
collapse section 
Lindamira's Complaint.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
 6. 
6
 7. 
7
  
[From a long way, and Pilgrimage for Loue]
  
[Did I boast of liberty?]
  
[Loue farewell I now discouer]
  
[Faithfull louers keepe from hence]
  
[Egypts Pyramid's inclose their Kings]
  
[If a cleere fountaine still keeping a sad course]
  
[That which to some their wishes ends present]
  
[Fond aged man, why doe you on me gaze]
  
[A Sheephard who no care did take.]
  
[Rise, rise from sluggishnes, fly fast my Deere]
  
[Haue I lost my liberty]
  
[Loue growne proud with victory]
  
[This no wonder's of much waight]
collapse section 
PAMPHILIA, TO AMPHILANTHVS.
 1. 
1
 2. 
2
 3. 
3
 4. 
4
 5. 
5
 6. 
6
  
Song. 1.
 7. 
7
 8. 
8.
 9. 
9.
 10. 
10.
 11. 
11.
 12. 
12.
  
Song. 2.
 13. 
13.
 14. 
14.
 15. 
15.
 16. 
16.
 17. 
17.
 18. 
18.
  
Song. 3.
 19. 
19.
 20. 
20.
 21. 
21.
 22. 
22.
 23. 
23.
 24. 
24.
  
Song. 4.
 25. 
25.
 26. 
26.
 27. 
27.
 28. 
28.
 29. 
29.
 30. 
30.
  
Song. 5.
 31. 
31.
 32. 
32.
 33. 
33.
 34. 
34.
 35. 
35.
 36. 
36.
  
Song. 6.
 37. 
37.
 38. 
38.
 39. 
39.
 40. 
40.
 41. 
41.
 42. 
42.
  
Song. 7.
 43. 
43.
 44. 
44.
 45. 
45.
 46. 
46.
 47. 
47.
 48. 
48.
  
Sonnet.
  
Song.
  
Song.
  
Song.
  
Song.
  
Song.
  
Song.
collapse section 
[section]
 1. 
Sonnet. 1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
 5. 
5.
 6. 
6.
 7. 
7.
 8. 
8.
 9. 
9.
  
Song.
  
Song.
  
[section]
collapse section 
A Crowne of Sonnets dedicated to Love.
 1. 
1
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
 5. 
5.
 6. 
6.
 7. 
7.
 8. 
8.
 9. 
9.
 10. 
10.
 11. 
11.
 12. 
12.
 13. 
13.
 14. 
14.
collapse section 
Song. 1.
 1. 
[subsection]
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
collapse section 
[section]
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
 5. 
5.
 6. 
6.
 7. 
7.
 8. 
8.
 9. 
9.

collapse section Collapse All | Expand All expand section
previous section The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania
next section

44.

How fast thou hast st O Spring with sweetest speed)
To catch thy water which before are runne,
And of the greater Riuers welcome woone,
Ere these thy new-borne streames these places feede.
24

Yet you doe well, lest staying here might breede
Dangerous flouds, your sweetest bankes t'orerunn,
And yet much better my distresse to shunn,
Which maks my tears your swiftest course succeed.
But best you doe when with so hasty flight
You fly my ills, which now my selfe outgoe,
Whose broken heart can testifie such woe,
That so orecharg'd, my life-bloud, wasteth quite.
Sweet Spring then keepe your way be neuer spent,
And my ill dayes, or griefes, assunder rent.
previous section The Countesse of Mountgomeries Urania
next section