Ivvenilia :: :: University of Virginia Library

First Love, the same I here the first do call,
Because that Passion is most naturall;
And of it selfe could not be discommended,
Wert not with many a foule Abuse attended.
Or so much out of measure, as we see
By those in whom it reignes it oft will be.
For, look where't grows into extremity,
It soon becometh Vertues Lethargie;
Makes them set light by Reasons sound direction,
And beares them headlong by untam'd affection.
Counsel's in vain; cause when this fit doth take them,
Reason and Vnderstanding both forsake them,
It makes them sometimes merry, sometimes sad;
Vntam'd men milde, and many a milde man mad.
To fools it wisedome gives, and makes the witty
To shew thēselves most fools (the more's the pitty.)

Some it makes purblinde, that they do not know
The snow-white Cygnet from the cole-black Crow.
And one to gold compares his Mistris haire,
When 'tis like Fox-fur; and doth think shee's faire,
Though she in beauty be not far before
The swart West-Indian or the tawny Moore.

Oh, those faire star-like eyes of thine! one saies,
When to my thinking, she hath look't nine waies;

And that sweet breath; when I think (out upon't)
Twould blast a flower if she breathed on't.

Another having got a dainty peece,
(Prouder than Iason with his golden Fleece)
Commēds her vertues (which must needs have many
Because she never maketh use of any;)
Yea, swears shee's chast, and takes her for no lesse,
When all that know her, know her ficklenesse.

Another groweth carelesse of his health,
Neglects his credite, and consumes his wealth;
Hath found a pretty Peat, procur'd her favour,
And sweares that he, in spight of all, will have her;
Well, let him take her, sith they are contented,
But such rash matches are the soon'st repented.

Then there is one who having found a peere
In all things worthy to be counted deere,
Wanting both art and heart his minde to break,
Sits sighing (Woe is me) and will not speak.
All company he hates, is oft alone,
Growes melancholy, weeps, respecteth none,
And in despaire, seeks out a way to dye,
When he might live and finde a remedy.

But how now; Wast not you (sayes one) that late
So humbly begg'd a Boon at Beauties gate?
Was it not you that to a female Saint
Indited your Philaretes complaint,
With many dolefull Sonnets? was't not you?
Sure twas, saies he: but then how comes it now
You carp at Love thus in a Satyr's vain?
Take heed you fall not in t'her hands again:
Sure if you do, you shall in open Court,
Be forc't to sing a Palinodia for't.
What? are your brains drie, or your bloud grown cold?
Or are you on a sudden waxen old,

To flout at Love, which men of greatest wit
Allow in youth as naturall and fit?
What reason have you for't else? what pretence
Have you to make excuse for this offence?

To him I answer, That indeed, even I
Was lately subject to this maladie:
Lik't what I now dislike; imploy'd good times
In the composing of such idle Rimes
As are objected: From my heart I sent
Full many a heavy sigh, and sometimes spent
Vnmanly teares. I thought, I must confesse,
If she I lov'd had smil'd, no happinesse
Might equalize it, and her frown much worse
(O God forgive me!) than the Churches curse.

I did (as some do) not much matter make,
To hazard soule and body for her sake.
Having no hope, sometime I did despaire,
Sometime (too much) built Castles in the aire.
In many a foolish humour I have been
As well as others. Look where I have seen
Her (whom I lov'd) to walk when she was gone,
Thither I often have repair'd alone;
As if I thought the places did contain
Some poore contentment, (Oh exceeding vain!)

Yet, what if I have been thus idly bent,
Shall I be now ashamed to repent?
Moreover I was in my Childehood then,
And am scarce yet reputed for a man.
And therefore neither cold, nor old, nor dry,
Nor cloy'd with any foule disease am I,
Whereby the strength of nature is declin'd,
'Tis no such cause that made me change my minde:
But my affection, that before was blinde,
Rash, and unruly, now begins to finde

That it had run a large and fruitlesse race,
And thereupon hath given Reason place.
So that by Reason, what no Reason might
Perswade me from before, I have out-right
Iustly forsaken; for because I see
'Twas vain, absurd, and nought but fooler
Yet for all this, look where I lov'd of late,
I have not turn'd it in a spleen to hate;
No; for 'twas first her vertue and her wit,
Taught me to see how much I wanted it.
Then as for Love, I do allow it still,
I never did dislik't, nor never will;
So it be vertuous, and contain'd within
The bounds of reason: but when 'twill begin
To run at randome, and her limits break,
I must, because I cannot chuse but speak.

But I forget my selfe: Wherefore am I
So tedious in my own Apologie?
It needed not at all; I'le on again,
And shew what kinde of Lovers yet remain.

One sort I finde yet of this loving crew,
Whose quality I think, is known to few;
These seek by all the means they can to gain
Each Virgins liking: Sometime not in vain.
The thing they would, they have, but when 'tis got.
Sorry they are, and wish they had it not:
For peradventure they have plac't their love,
So as it cannot, or it must not move.
And yet if they should faile but to procure it,
'Twould grieve them so they hardly would endure it.
Yea, though in shew (at least) they have said nay,
Their loves with like affection to repay,
If they perceiv't abate, as it will doe,
Both this and that will make them sorry too.

But such as do into that weaknesse fall,
Vnsteady and unconstant I may call.

Moreover, some such humours do infect,
That the same man doth diversly affect:
Now he the Faire approves, anon the grace
Appeares not in the colour of a face.
He spies the Brown, and then that most esteems,
Cause the proportion much more pleasant seems.
Then, he the Wanton likes; then modest Eyes;
Then loves the simple Lasse; and then the Wise:
One for her pase; and for her gesture one
Must be the Mistresse he adores alone;
Yet peradventure ere a little while,
Another wins her from him with a smile.

This, with a look nigh languishing, moves pitty:
That, he commends because shee's bold and witty.
And longs for what anon again he loaths.
Because she seem'd faire in her gaudy clothes.

True worth moves few: but sure I am, not many
Have for bare Vertues sake affected any.
Wealth wins the most, yet they by triall prove,
Though it breeds liking, yet it gains not love.

Then to obtain his Mistresse one man tries
How he can strain his wits to Poetize:
His Passion to relate, his skill he proves?
But in this blockish age it little moves:
Nor do I wonder much true meaning fails,
And wit so little in this case avails,
Sith Dunces can have Sonnets fram'd, and send them
As their inventions, when some others pen'd them.

Another seeks by valour to obtain
His wished prize; but now that triall's vain.

The third brings wealth, and if he do not speed,
The Woman's worth the suing for indeed.

Then he that's neither valorous nor wise,
Comes ruffling in with shamelesse brags and lies,
Making a stately, proud, vain-glorious show
Of much good matter, when tis nothing so.
In stead of lands, to which he neere was heire,
He tells her tales of Castles in the ayre:
For martiall matters, he relates of fraies,
Where many drew their swords, and ran their waies:
His Poetry is such as he can cull
From Plaies he heard at Curtain, or at Bull;
And yet his fine coy Mistresse, Mary-Muffe,
The soonest taken with such broken stuffe.

Another shallow brain hath no device,
But prates of some strange casts he had at Dice;
Brags of his play; yea, sure it doth befall,
He vaunts oft times of that which marreth all.

But some I note (now fie on such a man)
That make themselves as like them as they can,
Thereby to win their loves: they fain their pase,
Order their looks, and strive to set their face
To be demure. Some woe by nods and looks;
Some by their sighs, and others by their books.

Some have a nature must not be denaid,
And will grow furious if they be delaid.
Other again have such a fancy got,
If they soon speed, then they esteem them not.

When women woo some men do most affect them,
And some again for wantons do suspect them:
Besides, we see that fools themselves they make,
What toyes they count of for their Wenches sake.

One, for some certain months, or weeks, or daies,
Weares in his hat a branch of wither'd Bayes;
Or sweareth to imploy his utmost power,
But to preserve some stale neglected flower.

He weares such colours as for Lovers be,
Drinks vowed healths upon his bared knee:
Sues mainly for a shoo-string, and doth crave her
To grant him but a busk-point for a favour.
And then to note (as I have seen) an Asse
That by her window whom he loves must passe,
With what a fained pase the Woodcock stalks;
How scurvily he fleareth as he walks:
And if he ride, how he rebounds and trots,
As if his horse were troubled with the bots:
'Twould make one swell with laughing. In a day
He makes more errands than he needs that way,
Bearing himselfe as if she still espide him;
When as perhaps she flouts, or looks beside him.

Nay, should I tell you all the Vanitie
I have observed in this maladie,
I should shame Lovers: bus Ile now be husht,
For had I said more, I my selfe had blusht.
Yet know; although this passion I have tide
To love of Women, it concludes beside
All whatsoever kinde of loves there be,
Vnlesse they keep the minde from troubles free;
And yeeld to Reason: but of such-like Lovers,
My Muse hereafter other feats discovers.