The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
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Daffodils and Primroses.
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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
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1. Daffodils and Primroses.
Part 1st: POEMS from ‘Phœnix Nest’ and ‘England's Helicon.’
3
I.—From ‘The Phœnix Nest:’
1593.
The Preamble to N. B. His Garden Plot.
Sweete fellow whom I sware, such sure affected loue,
As neither weale, nor woe, nor want, can from my minde remoue.
To thee, my fellow sweete, this wofull tale I tell,
To let thee see the darke distresse, wherein my minde doth dwel.
As neither weale, nor woe, nor want, can from my minde remoue.
To thee, my fellow sweete, this wofull tale I tell,
To let thee see the darke distresse, wherein my minde doth dwel.
On loathêd bed I lay, my lustlesse lims to rest,
Where still I tumble to and fro, to seeke which side were best:
At last I catch a place, where long I cannot lie,
But strange conceits from quiet sleepes, do keep awake mine eie.
Where still I tumble to and fro, to seeke which side were best:
At last I catch a place, where long I cannot lie,
But strange conceits from quiet sleepes, do keep awake mine eie.
The time of yeere me seemes, doth bid me (slouen) rise,
And not from shew of sweete delight, to shut my sleepie eies:
But sorrow by and by, doth bid me, slaue, lie still,
And slug amonst the wretchèd souls, whom care doth seek to kil.
And not from shew of sweete delight, to shut my sleepie eies:
But sorrow by and by, doth bid me, slaue, lie still,
And slug amonst the wretchèd souls, whom care doth seek to kil.
For sorow is my spring, which brings forth bitter teares,
The fruits of friendship all forlorne, as feeble fancie feares.
The fruits of friendship all forlorne, as feeble fancie feares.
A Strange Description of a Rare Garden Plot. Written by N. B. Gent.
My garden ground of griefe; where selfewils seeds are sowne,
Whereof comes vp the weedes of wo, that ioies haue ouergrown:
With patience palèd round, to keep in secret spright;
And quickset round about with care, to keepe out all delight.
Whereof comes vp the weedes of wo, that ioies haue ouergrown:
With patience palèd round, to keep in secret spright;
And quickset round about with care, to keepe out all delight.
Foure quarters squarèd out, I finde in sundrie sort;
Whereof according to their kindes, I meane to make report:
The first, the knot of loue, drawne euen by desier,
Like as it were two harts in one, and yet both would be nier.
Whereof according to their kindes, I meane to make report:
The first, the knot of loue, drawne euen by desier,
Like as it were two harts in one, and yet both would be nier.
The herbe is calde Isop, the iuice of such a taste,
As with the sowre, makes sweete conceits to flie away too fast:
The borders round about, are set with priuie sweete,
Where nueer bird but nightingale, presumde to set hir feete.
As with the sowre, makes sweete conceits to flie away too fast:
The borders round about, are set with priuie sweete,
Where nueer bird but nightingale, presumde to set hir feete.
From this I stept aside, vnto the knot of care,
Which so was crost with strange cōceits, as tong cannot declare:
The herbe was callèd Time, which set out all that knot.
And like a Maze me thought it was, when in the crookes I got.
Which so was crost with strange cōceits, as tong cannot declare:
The herbe was callèd Time, which set out all that knot.
And like a Maze me thought it was, when in the crookes I got.
The borders round about, are Sauerie vnsweete:
An herbe not much, in my conceit, for such a knot vnmeete:
From this to friendships knot, I stept and tooke the view,
How it was drawne, and then againe, in order how it grew.
An herbe not much, in my conceit, for such a knot vnmeete:
From this to friendships knot, I stept and tooke the view,
How it was drawne, and then againe, in order how it grew.
The course was not vnlike, a kinde of hand in hand:
But many fingers were away, that there should seeme to stand:
The herbe that set the knot, was Pennie Riall round:
And as me seem'd, it grew full close, and nere vnto the ground.
But many fingers were away, that there should seeme to stand:
The herbe that set the knot, was Pennie Riall round:
And as me seem'd, it grew full close, and nere vnto the ground.
And parchèd heere and there, so that it seemèd not
Full as it should haue been in deed, a perfect friendship knot:
Heerat I pawsd awhile, and tooke a little view
Of an od quarter drawne in beds, where herbs and flowers grew.
Full as it should haue been in deed, a perfect friendship knot:
Heerat I pawsd awhile, and tooke a little view
Of an od quarter drawne in beds, where herbs and flowers grew.
The flowres were buttons fine, for batchelors to beare,
And by those flowres ther grew an herb, was callèd maiden hear.
And by those flowres ther grew an herb, was callèd maiden hear.
Amid this garden ground, a Condit strange I found,
Which water fetcht from sorows spring, to water al the ground:
To this my heauie house, the dungeon of distresse,
Where fainting hart lies panting still, despairing of redresse.
Which water fetcht from sorows spring, to water al the ground:
To this my heauie house, the dungeon of distresse,
Where fainting hart lies panting still, despairing of redresse.
Where from this window loe, this sad prospect I haue,
A piece of ground whereon to gaze, would bring one to his graue:
Lo thus the welcome spring, that others landes delight,
Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drownèd in despight.
A piece of ground whereon to gaze, would bring one to his graue:
Lo thus the welcome spring, that others landes delight,
Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drownèd in despight.
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That vp I cannot rise, and come abrode to thee,
My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee:
And thus in haste, adieu, my hart is growne so sore;
And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee:
And thus in haste, adieu, my hart is growne so sore;
And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
An Excellent Dreame of Ladies and their Riddles: By N. B. Gent.
In Orchard grounds, where store of fruit trees grew,
Me thought a Saint was walking all alone,
Of euerie tree, she seemd to take hir view,
But in the end, she pluckèd but of one:
This fruit quoth she, doth like my fancie best:
Sweetings are fruit, but let that apple rest.
Me thought a Saint was walking all alone,
Of euerie tree, she seemd to take hir view,
But in the end, she pluckèd but of one:
This fruit quoth she, doth like my fancie best:
Sweetings are fruit, but let that apple rest.
Such fruit (quoth I) shall fancie chiefly feede:
Indeede tis faire, God grant it prooue as good,
But take good heede, least all to late it breede
Ill humors, such as may infect your blood:
Yet take, and taste, but looke you know the tree:
Peace, foole quoth she, and so awakèd mee.
Indeede tis faire, God grant it prooue as good,
But take good heede, least all to late it breede
Ill humors, such as may infect your blood:
Yet take, and taste, but looke you know the tree:
Peace, foole quoth she, and so awakèd mee.
What was this ground, wherein this dame did walke?
And what was she, that romèd to and fro?
And what ment I, to vse such kinde of talke?
And what ment she, to checke and snib me so?
But what meane I? alas, I was asleepe:
Awake I sweare, I will more silence keepe.
And what was she, that romèd to and fro?
And what ment I, to vse such kinde of talke?
And what ment she, to checke and snib me so?
But what meane I? alas, I was asleepe:
Awake I sweare, I will more silence keepe.
Well thus I wakte and fell asleepe againe:
And then I fell into another vaine.
And then I fell into another vaine.
Great wars me thought grew late by strange mishap,
Desire had stolne out of Dianaes traine,
Her darling deere, and laid on Venus lap,
Who, Cupid sware should neuer backe againe.
Ere he would so loose all his harts delight,
He vow'd to die, wherewith began a fight.
Desire had stolne out of Dianaes traine,
Her darling deere, and laid on Venus lap,
Who, Cupid sware should neuer backe againe.
Ere he would so loose all his harts delight,
He vow'd to die, wherewith began a fight.
Diana shot, and Cupid shot againe:
Fame sounded out hir trumpe with heauenly cheare:
Hope was ill hurt, despite was onely slaine:
Diana forst in fine for to retire.
Cupid caught fame, and brought hir to his frend.
The trumpet ceast, and so my dreame did end.
Fame sounded out hir trumpe with heauenly cheare:
Hope was ill hurt, despite was onely slaine:
Diana forst in fine for to retire.
Cupid caught fame, and brought hir to his frend.
The trumpet ceast, and so my dreame did end.
Thus scarce awake, I fell asleepe againe,
And then I was within a garden ground,
Beset with flowres, the allies euen and plaine:
And all the banks beset with roses round,
And sundrie flowres so super sweete of smell,
As there me thought it was a heauen to dwell.
And then I was within a garden ground,
Beset with flowres, the allies euen and plaine:
And all the banks beset with roses round,
And sundrie flowres so super sweete of smell,
As there me thought it was a heauen to dwell.
Where walking long, anon I gan espie
Sweete pretie soules, that pluckt ech one a flowre:
When from their sight I hid me by and by,
Behinde a banke within a brier bowre.
Where after walke, I saw them where they sat:
Beheld their hues, and heard their pretie chat:
Sweete pretie soules, that pluckt ech one a flowre:
When from their sight I hid me by and by,
Behinde a banke within a brier bowre.
Where after walke, I saw them where they sat:
Beheld their hues, and heard their pretie chat:
Sister quoth one, how shall we spend this day?
Deuise (quoth she) some pretie merie iest:
Content quoth one, beshrew them that say nay:
Some purposes or riddles I thinke best:
Riddles cried all, and so the sport begun:
Forfet a fillop, she that first hath done.
Deuise (quoth she) some pretie merie iest:
Content quoth one, beshrew them that say nay:
Some purposes or riddles I thinke best:
Riddles cried all, and so the sport begun:
Forfet a fillop, she that first hath done.
Loe thus awhile was curtsey to propound;
Yet in the end this order did they take,
By two and two, they should sit close and round;
And one begin, another answere make:
Where ridling sports in order as I can,
I will recite; and thus the first began.
Yet in the end this order did they take,
By two and two, they should sit close and round;
And one begin, another answere make:
Where ridling sports in order as I can,
I will recite; and thus the first began.
The First Riddle.
Within a gallant plot of ground,
There growes a flowre that hath no name,
The like whereof was neuer found,
And none but one can plucke the same:
Now where this ground or flowre doth growe,
Or who that one, tis hard to knowe.
There growes a flowre that hath no name,
The like whereof was neuer found,
And none but one can plucke the same:
Now where this ground or flowre doth growe,
Or who that one, tis hard to knowe.
The Answere.
Sister (quoth she) if thou wouldst knowe,
This ground, this flowre, and happle man,
Walke in this garden to and fro:
Here you shall see them now and than:
Which when you finde to your delight,
Then thinke I hit your riddle right.
This ground, this flowre, and happle man,
Walke in this garden to and fro:
Here you shall see them now and than:
Which when you finde to your delight,
Then thinke I hit your riddle right.
The Second Riddle.
Within a field there growes a flowre,
That decks the ground where as it growes,
It springs and falls, both in an howre,
And but at certaine times it showes:
It neuer dies, and seldome seene,
And tis a Nosegay for a Queene.
That decks the ground where as it growes,
It springs and falls, both in an howre,
And but at certaine times it showes:
It neuer dies, and seldome seene,
And tis a Nosegay for a Queene.
The Answere.
This field is fauor, Grace the ground,
Whence springs the flowre of curtesie,
Soone growne and gone, though somtime found,
Not dead, but hid, from flattrers eie,
That pickthanks may not plucke the same:
Thus haue I red your riddle Dame.
Whence springs the flowre of curtesie,
Soone growne and gone, though somtime found,
Not dead, but hid, from flattrers eie,
That pickthanks may not plucke the same:
Thus haue I red your riddle Dame.
The Third Riddle.
Within a flowre a seede there growes,
Which somtime falls, but seldome springs,
And if it spring, it seldome blowes,
And if it blowe, no sweete it brings,
And therefore counted but a weede:
Now gesse the flowre, and what the seede.
Which somtime falls, but seldome springs,
And if it spring, it seldome blowes,
And if it blowe, no sweete it brings,
And therefore counted but a weede:
Now gesse the flowre, and what the seede.
The Answere.
In fancies flowre is sorrowes seede,
Which somtimes fall, but springs but seeld,
And if it spring, tis but a weede,
Which doth no sweete, nor sauor yeeld;
And yet the flowre, both faire and sweete,
And for a Princes garden meete.
Which somtimes fall, but springs but seeld,
And if it spring, tis but a weede,
Which doth no sweete, nor sauor yeeld;
And yet the flowre, both faire and sweete,
And for a Princes garden meete.
The Fourth Riddle.
Within a seede doth poison lurke,
Which onely Spiders feede vpon,
And yet the Bee can wisely woorke,
To sucke out honie, poison gone:
Which honie, poison, Spider, Bee,
Are hard to gesse, yet eath to see.
Which onely Spiders feede vpon,
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To sucke out honie, poison gone:
Which honie, poison, Spider, Bee,
Are hard to gesse, yet eath to see.
The Answere.
In sorrowes seede is secret paine,
Which spite, the Spider, onely sucks,
Which poison gone, then wittie braine
The wilie Bee, hir honie plucks,
And beares it to hir hiue vnhurt,
When spider trod, dies in the durt.
Which spite, the Spider, onely sucks,
Which poison gone, then wittie braine
The wilie Bee, hir honie plucks,
And beares it to hir hiue vnhurt,
When spider trod, dies in the durt.
Gramercie, wench (quoth she) that first begoon,
Each one me seemes hath quit hir selfe right well,
And now since that our riddles all are doon,
Let vs go sing the flowre of sweetest smell:
Well may it fare, wherewith each tooke a part,
And thus they soong, all with a merie hart.
Each one me seemes hath quit hir selfe right well,
And now since that our riddles all are doon,
Let vs go sing the flowre of sweetest smell:
Well may it fare, wherewith each tooke a part,
And thus they soong, all with a merie hart.
Blest be the ground that first brought forth the flowre,
Whose name vntolde, but vertues not vnknowne:
Happie the hand, whom God shall giue the powre,
To plucke this flowre, and take it for his owne:
Oh heauenly stalke, that staines all where it growes:
From whom more sweet, than sweetest hony flowes.
Whose name vntolde, but vertues not vnknowne:
Happie the hand, whom God shall giue the powre,
To plucke this flowre, and take it for his owne:
Oh heauenly stalke, that staines all where it growes:
From whom more sweet, than sweetest hony flowes.
Oh sweete of sweetes, the sweetest sweete that is:
Oh flowre of flowres, that yeelds so sweete a sent:
Oh sent so sweete, as when the head shall misse:
Oh heauens what hart but that will sore lament:
God let thee spring, and flourish so each howre,
As that our sweetes may neuer turne to sowre.
Oh flowre of flowres, that yeelds so sweete a sent:
Oh sent so sweete, as when the head shall misse:
Oh heauens what hart but that will sore lament:
God let thee spring, and flourish so each howre,
As that our sweetes may neuer turne to sowre.
For we with sweetes doe feede our fancies so,
With sweetes of sight, and sweetnes of conceit,
That we may wish that it may euer groe,
Amid delights where we desire to wait,
Vpon the flowre that pleaseth euerie eie,
And glads each hart; God let it neuer die.
With sweetes of sight, and sweetnes of conceit,
That we may wish that it may euer groe,
Amid delights where we desire to wait,
Vpon the flowre that pleaseth euerie eie,
And glads each hart; God let it neuer die.
Wherewith me thought alowd I cride, Amen:
And therewithall I started out of sleepe:
Now what became of these faire Ladies then,
I cannot tell, in minde I onely keepe
These ridling toies which heere I do recite:
Ile tell ye more perhaps another night.
And therewithall I started out of sleepe:
Now what became of these faire Ladies then,
I cannot tell, in minde I onely keepe
These ridling toies which heere I do recite:
Ile tell ye more perhaps another night.
The Chesse Play. Very aptly deuised By N. B. Gent.
A Secret many yeeres vnseene,
In play at Chesse, who knowes the game,
First of the King, and then the Queene,
Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name,
Of euerie Pawne I will descrie,
The nature with the qualitie.
The King.
In play at Chesse, who knowes the game,
First of the King, and then the Queene,
Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name,
Of euerie Pawne I will descrie,
The nature with the qualitie.
The King himselfe is haughtie Care,
Which ouerlooketh all his men,
And when he seeth how they fare,
He steps among them now and then,
Whom when his foe presumes to checke,
His seruants stand, to giue the necke.
Which ouerlooketh all his men,
And when he seeth how they fare,
He steps among them now and then,
Whom when his foe presumes to checke,
His seruants stand, to giue the necke.
The Queene.
The Queene is queint, and quicke Conceit,
Which makes hir walke which way she list,
And rootes them vp, that lie in wait
To worke hir treason, ere she wist:
Hir force is such, against hir foes,
That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes.
Which makes hir walke which way she list,
And rootes them vp, that lie in wait
To worke hir treason, ere she wist:
Hir force is such, against hir foes,
That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes.
The Knight.
The Knight is knowledge how to fight
Against his Princes enimies,
He neuer makes his walke outright,
But leaps and skips, in wilie wise,
To take by sleight a traitrous foe,
Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe.
Against his Princes enimies,
He neuer makes his walke outright,
But leaps and skips, in wilie wise,
To take by sleight a traitrous foe,
Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe.
The Bishop.
The Bishop he is wittie braine,
That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace,
And euermore he pries with paine,
To see who seekes him most disgrace:
Such straglers when he findes astraie,
He takes them vp, and throwes awaie.
That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace,
And euermore he pries with paine,
To see who seekes him most disgrace:
Such straglers when he findes astraie,
He takes them vp, and throwes awaie.
The Rookes.
The Rookes are reason on both sides,
Which keepe the corner houses still,
And warily stand to watch their tides,
By secret art to worke their will,
To take sometime a theefe vnseene,
Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene.
Which keepe the corner houses still,
And warily stand to watch their tides,
By secret art to worke their will,
To take sometime a theefe vnseene,
Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene.
The Pawnes.
The Pawne before the King, is peace,
Which he desires to keepe at home,
Practise, the Queenes, which doth not cease
Amid the world abroad to roame,
To finde, and fall vpon each foe,
Whereas his mistres meanes to goe.
Which he desires to keepe at home,
Practise, the Queenes, which doth not cease
Amid the world abroad to roame,
To finde, and fall vpon each foe,
Whereas his mistres meanes to goe.
Before the Knight, is perill plast,
Which he, by skipping ouergoes,
And yet that Pawne can worke a cast,
To ouerthrow his greatest foes;
The Bishops, prudence, prieng still,
Which way to worke his masters will.
Which he, by skipping ouergoes,
And yet that Pawne can worke a cast,
To ouerthrow his greatest foes;
The Bishops, prudence, prieng still,
Which way to worke his masters will.
The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,
Which seeldome serue, except by hap,
And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines,
To catch a great man, in a trap:
So that I see, sometime a groome
May not be sparèd from his roome.
Which seeldome serue, except by hap,
And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines,
To catch a great man, in a trap:
So that I see, sometime a groome
May not be sparèd from his roome.
The Nature of the Chesse men.
The King is stately, looking hie;
The Queene, doth beare like maiestie:
The Knight, is hardie, valiant, wise:
The Bishop, prudent and precise:
The Rookes, no raungers out of raie,
The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie.
The Queene, doth beare like maiestie:
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The Bishop, prudent and precise:
The Rookes, no raungers out of raie,
The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie.
Lenvoy.
Then rule with care, and quicke conceit,
And fight with knowledge, as with force;
So beare a braine, to dash deceit,
And worke with reason and remorse:
Forgiue a fault, when yoong men plaie,
So giue a mate, and go your way.
And fight with knowledge, as with force;
So beare a braine, to dash deceit,
And worke with reason and remorse:
Forgiue a fault, when yoong men plaie,
So giue a mate, and go your way.
And when you plaie beware of Checke,
Know how to saue and giue a necke:
And with a Checke, beware of Mate;
But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:
Loose not the Queene, for ten to one,
If she be lost, the game is gone.
Know how to saue and giue a necke:
And with a Checke, beware of Mate;
But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:
Loose not the Queene, for ten to one,
If she be lost, the game is gone.
A Most Excellent Passion. Set Downe By N. B. Gent.
Com yonglings com, that seem to make such mone,
About a thing of nothing God he knowes:
With sighes and sobs, and many a greeuous grone,
And trickling teares, that secret sorow shewes,
Leaue, leaue to faine, and here behold indeed,
The onely man, may make your harts to bleed.
About a thing of nothing God he knowes:
With sighes and sobs, and many a greeuous grone,
And trickling teares, that secret sorow shewes,
Leaue, leaue to faine, and here behold indeed,
The onely man, may make your harts to bleed.
Whose state to tell; no, neuer toong can tell:
Whose woes are such; oh no, there are none such:
Whose hap so hard; nay rather halfe a hell:
Whose griefe so much: yea God he knowes too much:
Whose wofull state, and greeuous hap (alas),
The world may see, is such as neuer was.
Whose woes are such; oh no, there are none such:
Whose hap so hard; nay rather halfe a hell:
Whose griefe so much: yea God he knowes too much:
Whose wofull state, and greeuous hap (alas),
The world may see, is such as neuer was.
Good nature weepes to see hir selfe abused;
Ill fortune shewes hir furie in hir face:
Poore reason pines to see hir selfe refused:
And dutie dies, to see his sore disgrace.
Hope hangs the head, to see dispaire so neere;
And what but death can end this heauie cheere?
Ill fortune shewes hir furie in hir face:
Poore reason pines to see hir selfe refused:
And dutie dies, to see his sore disgrace.
Hope hangs the head, to see dispaire so neere;
And what but death can end this heauie cheere?
O cursèd cares, that neuer can be knowne:
Dole, worse than death, when neuer tong can tell it:
The hurt is hid, although the sorow showne,
Such is my paine, no pleasure can expell it.
In summe, I see I am ordainèd I:
To liue in dole, and so in sorow die.
Dole, worse than death, when neuer tong can tell it:
The hurt is hid, although the sorow showne,
Such is my paine, no pleasure can expell it.
In summe, I see I am ordainèd I:
To liue in dole, and so in sorow die.
Behold each teare, no token of a toy:
But torments such, as teare my hart asunder:
Each sobbing sigh, a signe of such annoy,
That how I liue, beleue mee tis a wonder.
Each grone, a gripe, that makes me gaspe for breath:
And euerie straine, a bitter pang of death.
But torments such, as teare my hart asunder:
Each sobbing sigh, a signe of such annoy,
That how I liue, beleue mee tis a wonder.
Each grone, a gripe, that makes me gaspe for breath:
And euerie straine, a bitter pang of death.
Loe thus I liue, but looking still to die:
And still I looke, but still I see in vaine:
And still in vaine, alas, I lie and crie:
And still I crie, but haue no ease of paine.
So still in paine, I liue, looke, lie, and crie:
When hope would helpe, or death would let me die.
And still I looke, but still I see in vaine:
And still in vaine, alas, I lie and crie:
And still I crie, but haue no ease of paine.
So still in paine, I liue, looke, lie, and crie:
When hope would helpe, or death would let me die.
Sometime I sleepe, a slumber, not a sleepe:
And then I dreame (God knowes) of no delight,
But of such woes, as makes me lie and weepe
Vntill I wake, in such a pitious plight;
As who beheld me sleeping or awaking,
Would say my heart were in a heauie taking.
And then I dreame (God knowes) of no delight,
But of such woes, as makes me lie and weepe
Vntill I wake, in such a pitious plight;
As who beheld me sleeping or awaking,
Would say my heart were in a heauie taking.
Looke as thè dew doth lie vpon the ground,
So sits the sweate of sorrow on my face:
Oh deadly dart, that strooke so deepe a wound,
Oh hatefull hap, to hit in such a place:
The hart is hurt, and bleedes the bodie ouer:
Yet cannot die, nor euer health recouer.
So sits the sweate of sorrow on my face:
Oh deadly dart, that strooke so deepe a wound,
Oh hatefull hap, to hit in such a place:
The hart is hurt, and bleedes the bodie ouer:
Yet cannot die, nor euer health recouer.
Then he or she, that hath a happie hand,
To helpe a hart, that hath no hope to liue:
Come, come with speede, and do not staying stand:
But if no one, can any comfort giue,
Run to the Church, and bid the Sexton toule
A solemne knell, yet for a silie soule.
To helpe a hart, that hath no hope to liue:
Come, come with speede, and do not staying stand:
But if no one, can any comfort giue,
Run to the Church, and bid the Sexton toule
A solemne knell, yet for a silie soule.
Harke how it sounds, that sorrow lasteth long:
Long, long: long long: long long, and longer yet:
Oh cruell Death; thou doost me double wrong,
To let me lie so long in such a fit:
Yet when I die, write neighbors where I lie;
Long was I dead, ere death would let me die.
Long, long: long long: long long, and longer yet:
Oh cruell Death; thou doost me double wrong,
To let me lie so long in such a fit:
Yet when I die, write neighbors where I lie;
Long was I dead, ere death would let me die.
7
II.—From ‘England's Helicon:’
1600.
Phillida and Coridon.
In the merry moneth of May,In a morne by breake of day,
Foorth I walkèd by the Wood side,
Whenas May was in his pride:
There I spièd all alone,
Phillida and Coridon.
Much a-doo there was, God wot,
He would loue, and she would not.
She sayd neuer man was true,
He sayd, none was false to you.
He sayd, he had lou'd her long,
She sayd, Loue should haue no wrong.
Coridon would kisse her then,
She said, Maides must kisse no men,
Till they did for good and all.
Then she made the Sheepheard call
All the heauens to witnesse truth:
Neuer lou'd a truer youth.
Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as silly Sheepheards vse,
When they will not Loue abuse;
Loue, which had beene long deluded,
Was with kisses sweete concluded.
And Phillida with garlands gay:
Was made the Lady of the May.
N. Breton.
A Pastorall of Phillis and Coridon.
On a hill there growes a flower,
faire befall the dainty sweete:
By that flower there is a Bower,
where the heauenly Muses meete.
faire befall the dainty sweete:
By that flower there is a Bower,
where the heauenly Muses meete.
In that Bower there is a chaire,
frindgèd all about with gold:
Where dooth sit the fairest faire,
that euer eye did yet behold.
frindgèd all about with gold:
Where dooth sit the fairest faire,
that euer eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis, faire and bright,
shee that is the Sheepheards ioy:
Shee that Venus did despight,
and did blind her little boy.
shee that is the Sheepheards ioy:
Shee that Venus did despight,
and did blind her little boy.
This is she, the wise, the rich,
that the world desires to see:
This is ipsa quæ, the which,
there is none but onely shee.
that the world desires to see:
This is ipsa quæ, the which,
there is none but onely shee.
Who would not this face admire?
who would not this Saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
though he thought to see no more?
who would not this Saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
though he thought to see no more?
Oh faire eyes, yet let me see,
one good looke, and I am gone:
Looke on me, for I am hee,
thy poore silly Coridon.
one good looke, and I am gone:
Looke on me, for I am hee,
thy poore silly Coridon.
Thou that art the Sheepheards Queene,
looke vpon thy silly Swaine:
By thy comfort haue beene seene
dead men brought to life againe.
looke vpon thy silly Swaine:
By thy comfort haue beene seene
dead men brought to life againe.
N. Breton.
A sweete Pastorall.
Good Muse rock me asleepe,
with some sweet Harmonie:
This wearie eye is not to keepe
thy warie companie.
with some sweet Harmonie:
This wearie eye is not to keepe
thy warie companie.
Sweete Loue be gone a while,
thou knowest my heauines:
Beauty is borne but to beguile,
my hart of happines.
thou knowest my heauines:
Beauty is borne but to beguile,
my hart of happines.
See how my little flocke
that lou'd to feede on hie:
Doo headlong tumble downe the Rocke,
and in the Vallie die.
that lou'd to feede on hie:
Doo headlong tumble downe the Rocke,
and in the Vallie die.
The bushes and the trees
that were so fresh and greene:
Doo all their dainty colour leese,
and not a leafe is seene.
that were so fresh and greene:
Doo all their dainty colour leese,
and not a leafe is seene.
The Black-bird and the Thrush,
that made the woods to ring:
With all the rest, are now at hush,
and not a noate they sing.
that made the woods to ring:
With all the rest, are now at hush,
and not a noate they sing.
Sweete Philomele the bird,
that hath the heauenly throate,
Dooth now alas not one affoord
recording of a noate.
that hath the heauenly throate,
Dooth now alas not one affoord
recording of a noate.
8
The flowers haue had a frost,
each hearbe hath lost her sauour:
And Phillida the faire hath lost,
the comfort of her fauour.
each hearbe hath lost her sauour:
And Phillida the faire hath lost,
the comfort of her fauour.
Now all these carefull sights,
so kill me in conceite:
That how to hope vpon delights
it is but meere deceite.
so kill me in conceite:
That how to hope vpon delights
it is but meere deceite.
And therefore my sweete Muse
that knowest what helpe is best,
Doo now thy heauenly cunning vse,
to set my hart at rest.
that knowest what helpe is best,
Doo now thy heauenly cunning vse,
to set my hart at rest.
And in a dreame bewray
what fate shall be my friend:
Whether my life shall still decay
or when my sorrow end.
what fate shall be my friend:
Whether my life shall still decay
or when my sorrow end.
N. Breton.
Astrophell his Song of Phillida and Coridon.
Faire in a morne, (ô fairest morne)was neuer morne so faire:
There shone a Sunne, though not the Sunne,
that shineth in the ayre.
For of the earth, and from the earth,
(was neuer such a creature:)
Did come this face, (was neuer face,)
that carried such a feature.
Vpon a hill, (ô blessed hill,
was neuer hill so blessèd)
There stoode a man, (was neuer man
for woman so distressèd)
This man beheld a heauenly view,
which did such vertue giue:
As cleares the blind, and helps the lame,
and makes the dead man liue.
This man had hap, (ô happy man
more happy none then hee;)
For he had hap to see the hap,
that none had hap to see.
This silly Swaine, (and silly Swaines
are men of meanest grace:)
Had yet the grace, (ô gracious guest)
to hap on such a face.
He pitty cryed, and pitty came,
and pittied so his paine:
As dying, would not let him die,
but gaue him life againe.
For ioy whereof he made such mirth,
as all the woods did ring:
And Pan with all his Swaines came foorth,
to heare the Sheepheard sing.
But such a Song sung neuer was,
nor shall be sung againe:
Of Phillida the Sheepheards Queene,
and Coridon the Swaine.
Faire Phillis is the Sheepheards Queene,
(was neuer such a Queene as she,)
And Coridon her onely Swaine,
(was neuer such a Swaine as he)
Faire Phillis hath the fairest face,
that euer eye did yet behold:
And Coridon the constants faith,
that euer yet kept flocke in fold.
Sweete Phillis is the sweetest sweete,
that euer yet the earth did yeeld:
And Coridon the kindest Swaine,
that euer yet kept Lambs in field.
Sweete Philomell is Phillis bird,
though Coridon be he that caught her:
And Coridon dooth heare her sing,
though Phillida be she that taught her.
Poore Coridon dooth keepe the fields,
though Phillida be she that owes them:
And Phillida dooth walke the Meades,
though Coridon be he that mowes them.
The little Lambs are Phillis loue,
though Coridon is he that feedes them:
The Gardens faire are Phillis ground,
though Coridon be he that weedes them.
Since then that Phillis onely is,
the onely Sheepheards onely Queene:
And Coridon the onely Swaine,
that onely hath her Sheepheard beene.
Though Phillis keepe her bower of state,
shall Coridon consume away:
No Sheepheard no, worke out the weeke,
and Sunday shall be holy-day.
N. Breton.
Coridons supplication to Phillis.
Sweete Phillis, if a silly Swaine,may sue to thee for grace:
See not thy louing Sheepheard slaine,
with looking on thy face.
But thinke what power thou hast got,
vpon my Flock and mee:
Thou seest they now regard me not,
but all doo follow thee.
And if I haue so farre presum'd,
with prying in thine eyes:
Yet let not comfort be consum'd,
that in thy pitty lyes.
But as thou art that Phillis faire,
that Fortune fauour giues:
So let not Loue dye in despaire,
that in thy fauour liues.
The Deere doo brouse vpon the bryer,
the birds doo pick the cherries:
And will not Beauty graunt Desire,
one handfull of her berries?
If it be so that thou hast sworne,
that none shall looke on thee:
Yet let me know thou dost not scorne,
to cast a look on mee.
9
thinke then what is ordain'd:
The heauens haue neuer yet alow'd,
that Loue should be disdain'd.
Then least the Fates that fauour loue,
should curse thee for vnkind:
Let me report for thy behooue,
the honour of thy mind.
Let Coridon with full consent,
set downe what he hath seene:
That Phillida with Loues content,
is sworne the Sheepheards Queene.
N. Breton.
A Sheepheards dreame.
A Silly Sheepheard lately sateamong a flock of Sheepe:
Where musing long on this and that,
at last he fell asleepe.
And in the slumber as he lay,
he gaue a pitteous groane:
He thought his sheepe were runne away,
and he was left alone.
He whoopt, he whistled, and he call'd,
but not a sheepe came neere him:
Which made the Sheepheard sore appall'd,
to see that none would heare him.
But as the Swaine amazèd stood,
in this most solemne vaine:
Came Phillida foorth of the wood,
and stoode before the Swaine.
Whom when the Sheepheard did behold,
he straite began to weepe:
And at the hart he grew a-cold,
to thinke vpon his sheepe.
For well he knew, where came the Queene,
the Sheepheard durst not stay:
And where that he durst not be seene,
the sheepe must needes away.
To aske her if she saw his flock,
might happen pacience mooue:
And haue an aunswere with a mock,
that such demaunders prooue.
Yet for because he saw her come
alone out of the wood:
He thought he would not stand as dombe,
when speach might doo him good.
And therefore falling on his knees,
to aske but for his sheepe:
He did awake, and so did leese
the honour of his sleepe.
N. Breton.
A Report Song in a dreame, betweene a Sheepheard and his Nimph.
Shall we goe daunce the hay? The hay?
Neuer pipe could euer play
better Sheepheards Roundelay.
Neuer pipe could euer play
better Sheepheards Roundelay.
Shall we goe sing the Song? The Song?
Neuer Loue did euer wrong:
faire Maides hold hands all a-long.
Neuer Loue did euer wrong:
faire Maides hold hands all a-long.
Shall we goe learne to woo? To woo?
Neuer thought came euer too,
better deede could better doo.
Neuer thought came euer too,
better deede could better doo.
Shall we goe learne to kisse? To kisse?
Neuer hart could euer misse
comfort, where true meaning is.
Neuer hart could euer misse
comfort, where true meaning is.
Thus at base they run. They run,
When the sport was scarse begun:
but I wakt, and all was doo.
When the sport was scarse begun:
but I wakt, and all was doo.
N. Breton.
Another of the Same.
Say that I should say, I loue ye?
would you say, tis but a saying?
But if Loue in prayers mooue ye?
will you not be moou'd with praying?
would you say, tis but a saying?
But if Loue in prayers mooue ye?
will you not be moou'd with praying?
Think I think that Loue should know ye?
will you thinke, tis but a thinking?
But if Loue the thought doo show ye,
will ye loose your eyes with winking?
will you thinke, tis but a thinking?
But if Loue the thought doo show ye,
will ye loose your eyes with winking?
Write that I doo write you blessèd,
will you write, tis but a writing?
But if truth and Loue confesse it:
will ye doubt the true enditing?
will you write, tis but a writing?
But if truth and Loue confesse it:
will ye doubt the true enditing?
No, I say, and thinke, and write it,
write, and thinke, and say your pleasure:
Loue, and truth, and I endite it,
you are blessèd out of measure.
write, and thinke, and say your pleasure:
Loue, and truth, and I endite it,
you are blessèd out of measure.
N. Breton.
12
2. Daffodils and Primroses.
Part 2d: POEMS from Hitherto Unprinted MSS.
[_]
IN THE POSSESSION OF F. W. COSENS, Esq., London; and From the Tanner MSS., Bodleian, Oxford, etc.
13
1. [Elizabeth Regina.]
When nature fell to studie firste to frame a daintie peeceThat might put downe those painted toyes Appelles wrought in Greece;
When heavnelie powres were happlie mett, and did in counsell stande
To finishe vp a peece of wurke that Phisis had in hande;
The Sunne withhelde his wonnted course, the planettes made a staie,
The clowdes were gone, the windes were downe, time durst not steale away:
The Muses tunde their instrumentes, the Nightingale her throate,
The litle windes amidde the leaves did yeelde a heavnelie note,
The lambes and Rabbottes ranne at base, the fishes fell to playe,
Bothe Sainctes and men, beastes, fishe, and fowle, did ioye to see ye daye;
The dewes did giue so sweete an aire, the Sunne did shine so bright
That reason sawe that nature wrought the highest heavnes delight.
E The earthe whereon she shewde her art, was vertues (E) Excellence,
L The laboure that she layde thereon, was (L) loue with diligence,
I The compas of her heade conceite, was (I) Judgment of the wise,
Z Her harte she made of heavnely (Z) zeale, that hath no hollowe eyes:
A (A) Authoritie she made the marke, to shewe a Princesse face
B And (B) Beawtie was the heavnelie hue that gave the favor grace;
E (E) Entire good will that sawe this wurke whereon highe fancies fedd,
T Brought naked (T) Truthe to make the werke vnto this happie hedd.
H Her armes were bothe of (H) Honnors wrought, her handes were Natures Arte,
Whose fingers like the Spinners threddes will holde the strongest harte.
RE By (R) reason and (E) Endeuor then did nature drawe a breste
G That shewde an Angell for her shape, a (G) Goddesse for the rest.
I Her lower limmes were (I) Justice staies, that shuld dishonor hate,
N Her feete were (N) notes of vertues steppes, that doe vpholde her state.
A When these were (A) all in order plast, and finely putt togither,
The Aungells, and the heavnelie powres on heapes ran pressing thither;
And nature when she veiwde her wurke, did stande as in amaze,
The Sunne, the moone, and all the starres stood euerie one at gaze;
But as they stood was harde a voyce from out the loftie skie,
Bad haste awaie, for higher powres were cum̄ing by and by;
For happie fame throughe heavne and earth had it so far com̄ended
That Jove himselfe badd nature leave, itt colde not be amended.
And therewithall the Sunne and moone shone both at once so faire,
The starres did shoote, and made alofte such fier wurkes in the Aire,
The lightninges flashèd to and fro, throughe heavens was such a thunder
As if the gods came downe from heaven to see this Earthely wunder;
But thunder ceast, I harde a sounde singe Sola sancta cara,
The name of Natures finest wurke is Excellenza rara.
Who further seekes in plainer sence this blessèd Aungell's name
The substance wheron nature wrought will easelie shewe the same.
Thus with a sweete consort at length awaie the Muses goe
And lefte the wurke, before my face that did awake me so.
2. [In Sadness.]
The pretie Turtle dove that with no litle moane
When she hathe loste her loving make, sitts moorninge all alone;
The swanne that alwaies singes an howre before her deathe,
Whose deadlie gryves doe giue the groues that drawe awaie [her] breathe;
The Pellican that pecks the blud out of her brest
And by her deathe doth onlie feede her younge ones in the nest;
The harte emparkèd cloase within a plotte of grounde,
Who dare not ouerlooke the pale for feare of hunters hounde;
The hounde in kennell tyed that heares the chase goe by,
And bootles wishing foote abroade, in vaine doth howle and crye;
The tree with witherde topp, that hathe his braunches deade,
And hangeth downe his highest bowes, while other houlde vpp heade;
Endure not half the deathe, the sorrowe nor disgrace
That my poore wretched minde abids, where none can waile my case.
When she hathe loste her loving make, sitts moorninge all alone;
14
Whose deadlie gryves doe giue the groues that drawe awaie [her] breathe;
The Pellican that pecks the blud out of her brest
And by her deathe doth onlie feede her younge ones in the nest;
The harte emparkèd cloase within a plotte of grounde,
Who dare not ouerlooke the pale for feare of hunters hounde;
The hounde in kennell tyed that heares the chase goe by,
And bootles wishing foote abroade, in vaine doth howle and crye;
The tree with witherde topp, that hathe his braunches deade,
And hangeth downe his highest bowes, while other houlde vpp heade;
Endure not half the deathe, the sorrowe nor disgrace
That my poore wretched minde abids, where none can waile my case.
For truth hath loste his trust, more dere then turtle doue,
And what a death to suche a life, that suche a paine dothe proue;
The Swan for sorrow singes, to see her deathe so nye,
I die because I see my deathe, and yet I can not dye.
The Pellican doth feede her younge ones with her bludd,
I blede to death to feede desires yt doe me neuer good;
My hart emparkèd rounde, within the grounde of greif,
Is so besett with howndes of hate, yt lookes for no releif;
And swete desire my dogg is cloggèd so with care,
He cries and dies to here delightes and come not wher they are;
My tree of true delight is sokde with sorrow soe,
As but the heavnes do sooner helpe, wilbe his ouerthrowe;
In summe, my dole, my deathe, and my disgrace is suche
As neuer man that euer lyvde knewe euer halfe so muche.
And what a death to suche a life, that suche a paine dothe proue;
The Swan for sorrow singes, to see her deathe so nye,
I die because I see my deathe, and yet I can not dye.
The Pellican doth feede her younge ones with her bludd,
I blede to death to feede desires yt doe me neuer good;
My hart emparkèd rounde, within the grounde of greif,
Is so besett with howndes of hate, yt lookes for no releif;
And swete desire my dogg is cloggèd so with care,
He cries and dies to here delightes and come not wher they are;
My tree of true delight is sokde with sorrow soe,
As but the heavnes do sooner helpe, wilbe his ouerthrowe;
In summe, my dole, my deathe, and my disgrace is suche
As neuer man that euer lyvde knewe euer halfe so muche.
3. [Love Rejected.]
Goe muse vnto the bower, whereas the mistress dwelles,And tell her of her servaunte's loue, but tell her nothing ells;
And speake but in her eare, that none maie heare but she,
That if she not the sooner helpe, there is no helpe for me.
Not that I feare to speake, but it is straunge to heare
That she will neuer looke on him, that howldes her loue so deere.
Perhaps she knows it not, or if she doe, she will not,
Yet let her kindnes haue a care that thoughe she hurte she kill not;
And thoughe it be so straunge, yet let her this beleue me
That dead men lyve, yet I am dead yet liue, if she releue me.
For yet are not so coulde the coles of kinde desire,
But in the ashes liues a sparke to kindle love a fyer;
Wch fier his fuell hathe but from those fairest eies,
Where faithe doth burne and fauncie flame, and fauor neuer dyes.
4. [My Lady-Love.]
Neuer thinke vpon anoye,
Where the harte hath suche a Joye.
Where the harte hath suche a Joye.
But head leave akinge,
Harte is in better takinge;
Eies leave your weepinge,
Loue hath sweete thoughtes in kepinge;
Harte howlde thine owne yitt,
Loue is not ouerthrowne yitt,
And the heavnes them selues haue sworne,
Loue shall neuer be forlorne.
Harte is in better takinge;
Eies leave your weepinge,
Loue hath sweete thoughtes in kepinge;
Harte howlde thine owne yitt,
Loue is not ouerthrowne yitt,
And the heavnes them selues haue sworne,
Loue shall neuer be forlorne.
See howe she chaunceth,
That all true loue advaunceth;
Sweete be that smile yitt,
That bydes me liue a-while yitt;
Euer be lyvinge
Those eyes suche comfort givinge;
That when loue was almost slaine,
Made him whole at harte againe.
That all true loue advaunceth;
Sweete be that smile yitt,
That bydes me liue a-while yitt;
Euer be lyvinge
Those eyes suche comfort givinge;
That when loue was almost slaine,
Made him whole at harte againe.
Oh heavnelie feature,
Was neuer suche a creature
Riche in best treasure;
Beawties pride, honors pleasure,
Faire with suche graces
As putteth downe all faces:
Oh she is the heavnelie[st] Quene
That the worlde hathe euer seene.
Was neuer suche a creature
Riche in best treasure;
Beawties pride, honors pleasure,
Faire with suche graces
As putteth downe all faces:
Oh she is the heavnelie[st] Quene
That the worlde hathe euer seene.
Quene of suche powre
As sweeteth euery sowre;
Heavnelie perfeccon,
All perfect loves dyrection;
Loue of that offence
That showes the only presence
Of those blessèd angells eyes,
Where loue lives and neuer dyes.
As sweeteth euery sowre;
Heavnelie perfeccon,
All perfect loves dyrection;
Loue of that offence
That showes the only presence
Of those blessèd angells eyes,
Where loue lives and neuer dyes.
5. [Breton's Resolution.]
If beawtie did not blinde the eies, it were a blessèd thinge to see,But when it spoiles the eye sight so, it is no looking glasse for me.
If riches did not fall to rust, then woulde I loue the gowlden heape,
But since that drosse dothe fall to duste I will not sowe & other reape.
If wisdome did not maze the wittes and all the sence of reason passe,
I wolde be wise, but hate the witt to make a wise man proue an asse.
15
But when that learning hathe no lucke I see the wise is but a foole.
Yf honor were not cause of pride, then woulde I wishe authoritie,
But since that pride is in such hate, I make no haste to dignitie.
If loue were not the deathe of life, then wolde I learne the life to love,
But since I finde the passion suche, I doe not care the paine to proue.
But since that beawtie, loue, welth, witt, bothe learning and the loftie powre,
And euery thought of euery sweete dothe carrie suche a secrett sowre;
I will resolue on this conceite, to sett my hart on none of these,
But on that heavnlie loue of His that harde misfortune cannot leese;
Whose face is fayrer then the sunne, whose brightest beawtie euer shineth,
And cleeres the eies, and cheeres the harte, that to His holy will enclineth.
Whose loue is suche a Joye of life, as lets the louer neuer dye,
Who dyed for loue, and liues with loue, wher loue doth liue eternallie;
Whose welth is such a worlde of ioyes, as neuer worlde can comprehende,
And doth in comfort still encrease when all the world shall have an ende.
Whose wisdome in the waie of truthe, doth so vnite the wites together,
As leades them to the havne of rest, that ranging were they know not whether.
Whose learning is the law of love, whose love is all the lawe of life,
Wher patience dothe by prayre find the happie end of euerie strife;
Whose powre is as farre from pride, as heavnlie from hellishe hate,
Who scorneth none but loueth all, as well the lowe as highe of state.
This is the Beawtie, loue, welthe, witt, the learninge and the living powr
That shewes the sowle the secrett sweete that neuer tasteth of the sowre;
And blessèd be that beawtie sweete, that is no swete vnto the sight,
But in the harte of highest love is founde the lampe of heavnlie light,
And ten times honor to that love, wher faithfull hope dothe euer liue
From whence the sowle receiues the sweete yt mercie doth repentaunce giue;
And euer liue that lovely store, that shewes the treasure of the minde,
Wher humble faithe doth winne the welthe that worldlie fortune cannot find,
And worship to that wisdome greate, that is the grace of highest witt
And shewes the humble sowle the sweete, where mercie doth in glorie sitt.
And glory to that heavnly grace, that giues the rule of perfect loue,
Which findes the onlie sweete of sweetes that neuer anie sorrow proue,
And praise vnto that highest powre, wher mercie is ye marke of grace
That he that hath no rest on earth in heavne shall haue a dwelling place.
This beawtie, loue, this welth, this witt, this learning and this living powre,
This summe of sweete which doth admitt no summe at all of anie sowre,
The wisdome how to knowe all these and powre to vse them to the best.
In these desires to liue and die doth Bretons resolucon rest.
6. [Faith Disdained.]
When fate decreeth,
Fortune agreeth
And fancie seeth.
But faithes distres
Of hart all hopeles,
And hope all hapeles,
The sorrow endles
Can none expresse.
When faithe vnfainèd
Shalbe disdainèd,
And fauor gainèd,
By fancyes treason,
The bitter pacience
That bids the absence
Of wishèd presence,
Is paste all reason.
Fortune agreeth
And fancie seeth.
But faithes distres
Of hart all hopeles,
And hope all hapeles,
The sorrow endles
Can none expresse.
When faithe vnfainèd
Shalbe disdainèd,
And fauor gainèd,
By fancyes treason,
The bitter pacience
That bids the absence
Of wishèd presence,
Is paste all reason.
And he that lyeth
And euer cryeth,
And neuer spyeth
How hope maie liue;
Must be contented
To be tormented,
Till harte relented
May fauor gyue.
Till when and euer
Revolting neuer,
I will perseuer
Where firste I stood.
Where faithe hath seruèd
To haue deseruèd,
The swete preseruȩd
To doe me good.
And euer cryeth,
And neuer spyeth
How hope maie liue;
Must be contented
To be tormented,
Till harte relented
May fauor gyue.
Till when and euer
Revolting neuer,
I will perseuer
Where firste I stood.
Where faithe hath seruèd
To haue deseruèd,
The swete preseruȩd
To doe me good.
Finis.
16
7. [The Rose the Queene.]
The feildes are grene, the springe growes on a-pace,And nature's arte beginns to take the ayre;
Each herb her sent, ech flowre doth shewe her grace,
And beawtie braggeth of her bravest fayre.
The lambes and Rabbottes sweetely runne at base,
The fowles do plume, and fishes fall to playe;
The muses all haue chose a settinge-place
To singe and play the sheppherdes rundeley.
Poore Choridon the onlie sillye swaine,
That only liues and doth but onlie liue;
Ys now become, to finde the heavnely vaine,
Where happie hope dothe highest comfort gyve.
The little wren that neuer sunge a note
Is peepinge nowe to proue how she can singe;
The nightingale hath sett in tune her throte,
And all the woodes with little Robins ringe.
Loue is abroade as naked as my nayle,
And litle byrdes doe flycker from their nestes;
Diana sweete hath sett aside her vaile,
And Phillis shewes the beawtie of her brestes.
Oh blessèd brestes, the beawtie of the Springe!
Oh blessèd Springe that suche a beawtie showes!
Of highest trees the hollye is the Kinge,
And of all flowres faire fall the Quene the Rose.
8. [Let Love kill me.]
Oh eies, leave of your weepinge,
Loue hath the thoughtes in keepinge,
That maie content yee;
Let not this misconceivinge
Where comfortes are receyving,
Causles torment yee.
Loue hath the thoughtes in keepinge,
That maie content yee;
Let not this misconceivinge
Where comfortes are receyving,
Causles torment yee.
Clowdes threaten but a showre,
Hope hath his happie howre
Thoughe longe in lastinge:
Time nedes must be attended,
Loue must not be offended
With to muche hastinge.
Hope hath his happie howre
Thoughe longe in lastinge:
Time nedes must be attended,
Loue must not be offended
With to muche hastinge.
Yitt oh the painefull pleasure,
Wher loue attendes the leizure
Of loves wretchednes;
Where hope is but illusion,
And feare but a confusion
Of loues happines.
Wher loue attendes the leizure
Of loves wretchednes;
Where hope is but illusion,
And feare but a confusion
Of loues happines.
Yitt happie hope that seeth
Howe loue and life agreeth,
Of life depriue me;
Or let me be assurèd,
When life hath death endurèd
Loue will revive me.
Howe loue and life agreeth,
Of life depriue me;
Or let me be assurèd,
When life hath death endurèd
Loue will revive me.
But if I be that louer
That neuer shall recouer
But spight shall spill me,
Then let thus much suffize me,
That heavnes this death deuise me,
That loue shulde kill me.
That neuer shall recouer
But spight shall spill me,
Then let thus much suffize me,
That heavnes this death deuise me,
That loue shulde kill me.
Finis.
9. [Mine only Princesse.]
Faire, fairer then the fairest!
Oh hart how thow dispairest!
Yitt beawtie is not pitiles
And therefore be not comfortles.
Oh hart how thow dispairest!
Yitt beawtie is not pitiles
And therefore be not comfortles.
Oh eies that starres resemble!
Oh sences, howe ye tremble!
Yitt neuer feare your blindnes,
They are but lightes of kindnes.
Oh sences, howe ye tremble!
Yitt neuer feare your blindnes,
They are but lightes of kindnes.
Oh face of heavnely feature!
Oh dye not wretched creature!
The comfort neuer dyeth
That in her favor lyeth.
Oh dye not wretched creature!
The comfort neuer dyeth
That in her favor lyeth.
Oh gracious heavnely goddesse!
Evne of thy heavnely goodnesse
Cast one good looke vppon me,
That am thus wo begon̄ me.
Evne of thy heavnely goodnesse
Cast one good looke vppon me,
That am thus wo begon̄ me.
That I may saie and vowe itt,
And reason may allow itt;
If anie helpe the helpeles
It is mine only Princesse.
And reason may allow itt;
If anie helpe the helpeles
It is mine only Princesse.
Finis.
10. Choridon's Dreame.
Fast by a fountaine sweete and clere
Within a quechy springe;
Mine eyes did see, myne eares did heare,
A heavnely aungell singe.
Within a quechy springe;
Mine eyes did see, myne eares did heare,
A heavnely aungell singe.
Her face to faire was to beholde,
Yet had I oft a glaunce;
But when I sought to be so boulde
I fell into a traunce.
Yet had I oft a glaunce;
But when I sought to be so boulde
I fell into a traunce.
For as vpon the siluer streames
Hath Phœbus fairest grace;
Euen so beholde the sunny beames
That sitt vpon her face.
Hath Phœbus fairest grace;
Euen so beholde the sunny beames
That sitt vpon her face.
And for her voyce, it was no sounde
That humaine creatures make;
For where the eccho did rebounde
Itt makes the earth to shake.
That humaine creatures make;
For where the eccho did rebounde
Itt makes the earth to shake.
And when she gan for to divide
The musicke of her thoughte;
Then Philomelas note was tride
To be a thinge of noughte.
The musicke of her thoughte;
Then Philomelas note was tride
To be a thinge of noughte.
Now when I harde the songe so sweete,
I drewe me somewhat nere her;
And close on handes and feete did creepe,
To sitt where I might heare her.
I drewe me somewhat nere her;
And close on handes and feete did creepe,
To sitt where I might heare her.
17
And secretlie awhile vnseene
Harde by this heavnely springe
I satt, whereas I sawe this Queene,
And harde this Angell singe.
Harde by this heavnely springe
I satt, whereas I sawe this Queene,
And harde this Angell singe.
Ah Phillida, poore Phill, quothe shee
This mourning is but vaine;
Thy ioy is so farre gon fro thee
It cannot come againe.
This mourning is but vaine;
Thy ioy is so farre gon fro thee
It cannot come againe.
Thy Shepperd dead, thy flocke do feede
Vpon the barren hills:
And thy best herb is but a reede
That all thy garden spilles.
Vpon the barren hills:
And thy best herb is but a reede
That all thy garden spilles.
Thy daintie springe is dryed awaye
That dyd thy garden nourishe;
And when thy flowres did all decaye,
How can thy garden flourishe.
That dyd thy garden nourishe;
And when thy flowres did all decaye,
How can thy garden flourishe.
No Phillis, now farewell to love
Thy life is dead and gon;
And all the hope of thy behofe,
Is heavne to thinke vpon.
Thy life is dead and gon;
And all the hope of thy behofe,
Is heavne to thinke vpon.
Base is the riche, blinde are the wise,
Vnfortunate the fayre;
And honor in discomfort dyes
When loue is in dispaire.
Vnfortunate the fayre;
And honor in discomfort dyes
When loue is in dispaire.
But to despight dispaire, quothe shee,
Death shalbe yet a frende;
When with a shrike she wakèd me,
And so my dreame did end.
Death shalbe yet a frende;
When with a shrike she wakèd me,
And so my dreame did end.
Finis.
11. Sr Ph. Sydney's Epitaph.
Deepe lamenting losse of treasure,
Showed tormentinge without measure;
Wisdome waylinge, honor cryinge,
Vertue weeping and loue dyinge;
All together doe betoken
Greater greife then can be spoken.
Showed tormentinge without measure;
Wisdome waylinge, honor cryinge,
Vertue weeping and loue dyinge;
All together doe betoken
Greater greife then can be spoken.
Losse of wealth may be recouered,
Deadlie perill soone discouered;
Mortall woundes may be endurèd,
And the deepest may be curèd;
But my hope of helpe is none
For both loue, and life, is gone.
Deadlie perill soone discouered;
Mortall woundes may be endurèd,
And the deepest may be curèd;
But my hope of helpe is none
For both loue, and life, is gone.
When I lyvèd, then I lovèd,
But my loue from life remouèd;
And dispaire discomfort givinge,
What is this but dyinge lyving?
Dying deathe a sorrow suche,
Neuer creature knewe so muche.
But my loue from life remouèd;
And dispaire discomfort givinge,
What is this but dyinge lyving?
Dying deathe a sorrow suche,
Neuer creature knewe so muche.
Reasons sence and learninges sweetinge
Where the muses had theire meetinge
Nature's grace and honors glory,
Of the worlde the wofull storye;
That with bitter teares be redd
Sweete Sr Phillipp Sydney dead.
Where the muses had theire meetinge
Nature's grace and honors glory,
Of the worlde the wofull storye;
That with bitter teares be redd
Sweete Sr Phillipp Sydney dead.
Dead? oh no, in heavne he liueth
Whom the heavnes suche honor giueth;
That thoughe heere his bodie lye
Yitt his sowle shall neuer dye;
But as fame can perish neuer,
So his faith shall liue for euer.
Whom the heavnes suche honor giueth;
That thoughe heere his bodie lye
Yitt his sowle shall neuer dye;
But as fame can perish neuer,
So his faith shall liue for euer.
Finis.
12. [Love Dead.]
Sitting late with sorrow sleepinge,
Where harte bledd and eies were weepinge;
I might see from heavnes descendinge,
Beawtie mourninge for loves endinge;
When with handes most wofull wringinge,
She entombes him with this singinge.
Where harte bledd and eies were weepinge;
I might see from heavnes descendinge,
Beawtie mourninge for loves endinge;
When with handes most wofull wringinge,
She entombes him with this singinge.
Muses now leave of enditinge,
Poettes all giue ouer writinge;
Nymphes come teare your tender heares,
Shepperdes all come shedde your teares;
Cupid now is but a warlinge,
Death hath wounded honors darling.
Poettes all giue ouer writinge;
Nymphes come teare your tender heares,
Shepperdes all come shedde your teares;
Cupid now is but a warlinge,
Death hath wounded honors darling.
Curste death, and all to cruell,
Hast thow stolne mine only Jewell?
Doe the heavnelie fates so spight me
As on earth shall nought delight me?
But of suche a Joye bereave me,
As no loue of life shall leave me!
Hast thow stolne mine only Jewell?
Doe the heavnelie fates so spight me
As on earth shall nought delight me?
But of suche a Joye bereave me,
As no loue of life shall leave me!
Goe then flocke, leave of your feedinge,
All your life lyes now a-bledinge;
When my Shepperde did attend yow,
Wolf nor Tygre colde offend yow;
But nowe he is dead and gone,
I shall loose yow euerie one.
All your life lyes now a-bledinge;
When my Shepperde did attend yow,
Wolf nor Tygre colde offend yow;
But nowe he is dead and gone,
I shall loose yow euerie one.
Sorrowes all come shewe your powres,
Earthe giue ouer bringing flowres;
Neuer trees nowe beare more fruite,
Lett all singinge birdes be mute;
And of loue no more be spoken,
For the harte of loue is broken.
Earthe giue ouer bringing flowres;
Neuer trees nowe beare more fruite,
Lett all singinge birdes be mute;
And of loue no more be spoken,
For the harte of loue is broken.
Therewithall as in a Clowde
She did all her shining shrowde;
When sweete Phillis gaue suche groanes
As did pearce the very stones,
That the Earth with sorrowe shakèd
And poore Choridon awakèd.
She did all her shining shrowde;
When sweete Phillis gaue suche groanes
As did pearce the very stones,
That the Earth with sorrowe shakèd
And poore Choridon awakèd.
Finis.
13. [Faithful unto death.]
Wytt whether will you?
Eyes what dothe ayle yee?
Harte what doth kill yowe?
Sences why fayle yee?
Eyes what dothe ayle yee?
Harte what doth kill yowe?
Sences why fayle yee?
18
Where haste thowe bene man
With thy sweete Phillis?
What hast thow seene man?
Nothinge that yll is.
With thy sweete Phillis?
What hast thow seene man?
Nothinge that yll is.
Loue will befreinde thee
If thow attend him;
And he will ende thee
If thowe offende him.
If thow attend him;
And he will ende thee
If thowe offende him.
Riche is the treasure
That the harte loveth;
Loue is the pleasure
That the harte proueth.
That the harte loveth;
Loue is the pleasure
That the harte proueth.
Beawtie enchaunteth
But the eies fauncy,
But when hart panteth
Ware of a frenzey.
But the eies fauncy,
But when hart panteth
Ware of a frenzey.
Yf she but eye thee
Comfort may rest gitt
Yf she denye thee
Hope of the best yitt.
Comfort may rest gitt
Yf she denye thee
Hope of the best yitt.
Thoughe she disdaine thee
Doe not giue ouer,
Thoughe she hath slayne thee
Dye yitt her louer.
Doe not giue ouer,
Thoughe she hath slayne thee
Dye yitt her louer.
Finis.
14. [Transitoriness.]
Tyme is but shorte, and shorte the course of tyme,
Pleasures doe pas but as a puffe of wynde,
Care hath accompte to make for euery cryme,
And peace abids but with the settled minde.
Pleasures doe pas but as a puffe of wynde,
Care hath accompte to make for euery cryme,
And peace abids but with the settled minde.
Of litle paine doth pacience great proceede,
And after sickenes helthe is daintie sweete;
A frende is best approuèd at a neede,
And sweete the thought where care and kindnes meete.
And after sickenes helthe is daintie sweete;
A frende is best approuèd at a neede,
And sweete the thought where care and kindnes meete.
Then thinke what comfort dothe of kyndnes breede,
To knowe thy sycknes sorrowe to thy frende;
And lett thy faithe vpon this favoure feede,
That loue shall liue when death shall haue an ende.
To knowe thy sycknes sorrowe to thy frende;
And lett thy faithe vpon this favoure feede,
That loue shall liue when death shall haue an ende.
And he that liues assurèd of thie loue,
Prayes for thy life, thy health and highest happe;
And hopes to see the hight of thy behove,
And in the sweete of loues deare lappe.
Prayes for thy life, thy health and highest happe;
And hopes to see the hight of thy behove,
And in the sweete of loues deare lappe.
Tyll when, take paines to make thie pillow softe,
And take a nap for natures better reste;
Hee lyves belowe, that yitt dothe look alofte,
And of a freinde doth not affecte the leste.
And take a nap for natures better reste;
Hee lyves belowe, that yitt dothe look alofte,
And of a freinde doth not affecte the leste.
Finis.
15. [The Nightingale and Phillis.]
Vpon a deintie hill sumtime,
Did feede a flocke of sheepe;
Where Coridon woulde learne to clyme,
His litle lambes to keepe.
Did feede a flocke of sheepe;
Where Coridon woulde learne to clyme,
His litle lambes to keepe.
Wher Roses, with the viollettes sweete,
Did growe amonge the bryres;
Where muses and the nymphes did meete,
To talke of loue's desires.
Did growe amonge the bryres;
Where muses and the nymphes did meete,
To talke of loue's desires.
There Choridon when corne was ripe
For his sweete Phillis' sake,
Wolde playe vpon his countrey pipe
And all his musicke make.
For his sweete Phillis' sake,
Wolde playe vpon his countrey pipe
And all his musicke make.
Now when he had but sounded owte
“The begger and the kinge”;
The birdes wold all be flockt aboute,
To helpe the Shepperde singe.
“The begger and the kinge”;
The birdes wold all be flockt aboute,
To helpe the Shepperde singe.
And euerie one began to frame
To sett in tune her throate;
Till daintie Philomela came
Who kild them with a note.
To sett in tune her throate;
Till daintie Philomela came
Who kild them with a note.
For she sweete mowse, had such a vaine
Within a hawthorne bushe;
As made the sellie Shepperde swayne
Himselfe to be at hushe.
Within a hawthorne bushe;
As made the sellie Shepperde swayne
Himselfe to be at hushe.
But as thus Philomela satt
Recordinge of a grownde;
And all the rest did murmere att
The sweetnes of her sownde;
Recordinge of a grownde;
And all the rest did murmere att
The sweetnes of her sownde;
Came Phillis sweete owte of the wood
And in her hand a lute;
Who when she playde but Robin Hoode
Strooke Philomela mute.
And in her hand a lute;
Who when she playde but Robin Hoode
Strooke Philomela mute.
And when she but began to singe
Of shepperdes and their sheepe;
She made the litle woodes so ringe
They wakte me from my sleepe.
Of shepperdes and their sheepe;
She made the litle woodes so ringe
They wakte me from my sleepe.
Finis.
16. [Heart-Pain.]
At my harte there is a paine,
Neuer paine so pincht my hart;
More then halfe with sorrowe slaine
And the paine will yitt not part.
Neuer paine so pincht my hart;
More then halfe with sorrowe slaine
And the paine will yitt not part.
Oh my harte how it dothe bleede
Into droppes of bitter teares!
While my faithfull loue dothe feede
But on fancyes only feares.
Into droppes of bitter teares!
While my faithfull loue dothe feede
But on fancyes only feares.
Ah poore loue why dost thow liue?
Thus to see thie service loste;
If she will no comforte giue
Make an end, giue vp the ghoste.
Thus to see thie service loste;
If she will no comforte giue
Make an end, giue vp the ghoste.
That she may at last approue
That shee hardly long beleued;
That the hart will die for love
That is not in time releived.
That shee hardly long beleued;
That the hart will die for love
That is not in time releived.
19
Oh that euer I was borne
Service so to be refusèd;
Faithfull loue to be forlorne
Neuer loue was so abusèd.
Service so to be refusèd;
Faithfull loue to be forlorne
Neuer loue was so abusèd.
But sweete loue, be still a while
She that hurte the soone may heale the;
Sweete I see within her smile
More then reason can reveale thee.
She that hurte the soone may heale the;
Sweete I see within her smile
More then reason can reveale thee.
For thoughe shee bee riche and faire
Yitt is she both wise and kinde;
And therfore doe not dispaire
But thy faithe may favor finde.
Yitt is she both wise and kinde;
And therfore doe not dispaire
But thy faithe may favor finde.
And althoughe shee be a Queene
That maie suche a make despise;
Yitt with silence all vnseene
Run, and hide thee in her eyes.
That maie suche a make despise;
Yitt with silence all vnseene
Run, and hide thee in her eyes.
Wher if she will lett the dye
Yitt at latest gaspe of breathe
Say that in a ladyes eye
Loue both tooke his lif and deathe.
Yitt at latest gaspe of breathe
Say that in a ladyes eye
Loue both tooke his lif and deathe.
Finis.
17. [Olden Love-making.]
In time of yor when Shepperds dwelt
Vpon the mountaine rockes;
And simple people neuer felte
The paine of louers mockes;
But litle birdes wowld cary tales
Twixte Susen and her Sweetinge;
And all the dainty Nightingals
Dyd singe at louers meetinge.
Then might you see what lookes did pas
Where shepperds dyd assemble;
And wher the life of true loue was,
When hartes could not dissemble.
Vpon the mountaine rockes;
And simple people neuer felte
The paine of louers mockes;
But litle birdes wowld cary tales
Twixte Susen and her Sweetinge;
And all the dainty Nightingals
Dyd singe at louers meetinge.
Then might you see what lookes did pas
Where shepperds dyd assemble;
And wher the life of true loue was,
When hartes could not dissemble.
Then yea and nay was thought an oathe
That was not to be dowted;
And when it came to faith & troathe
We were not to be flowted.
Then did they talke of Curds & creame,
Of butter cheese and milke:
There was no speach of sonny beame,
Nor of the golden silke.
Then for a guifte a rowe of pinnes,
A purse, a paire of Knyves;
Was all the waie that love begins,
And so the shepperd wyves.
But now we haue so muche adoe
And are so sore agreuèd;
That when we goe aboute to woe
We cannot be beleuèd.
Such choise of Jewells, ringes & chaines
That maie but fauor move;
And suche Intollerable paines
Ere one can hitt on love.
That if I still shall bide this life
Twixt loue and deadly hate;
I wyll goe learne the countrey life
or leave the louers state.
That was not to be dowted;
And when it came to faith & troathe
We were not to be flowted.
Then did they talke of Curds & creame,
Of butter cheese and milke:
There was no speach of sonny beame,
Nor of the golden silke.
Then for a guifte a rowe of pinnes,
A purse, a paire of Knyves;
Was all the waie that love begins,
And so the shepperd wyves.
But now we haue so muche adoe
And are so sore agreuèd;
That when we goe aboute to woe
We cannot be beleuèd.
Such choise of Jewells, ringes & chaines
That maie but fauor move;
And suche Intollerable paines
Ere one can hitt on love.
That if I still shall bide this life
Twixt loue and deadly hate;
I wyll goe learne the countrey life
or leave the louers state.
Finis.
18. Quatuor elementa.
The Aire with swete my sences doe delight,
The earthe with flowres, doth gladd my heavie eye,
The fier with warmth revives my dying spritt,
The water cooles that is too hott and drye:
The aire, the earthe, the water, and the fyre,
All doe me good; what can I more desire?
The earthe with flowres, doth gladd my heavie eye,
The fier with warmth revives my dying spritt,
The water cooles that is too hott and drye:
The aire, the earthe, the water, and the fyre,
All doe me good; what can I more desire?
Oh no, the Aire infected sore I finde,
The earthe her flowres do wither and decaye,
The ffire so hott, it dothe enflame the minde,
And water wasteth white, and all awaie:
The aire, the earth, fier, water, all anoie me:
How can it be but they must nedes destroye me.
The earthe her flowres do wither and decaye,
The ffire so hott, it dothe enflame the minde,
And water wasteth white, and all awaie:
The aire, the earth, fier, water, all anoie me:
How can it be but they must nedes destroye me.
Sweete Aire, do yett awhile thy swetnes holde,
Earth, lett thy flowres not fall awaie in prime,
Fire, doe not burne, my hart is not a colde,
Water, drye vpp vntill another tyme;
Or Aire, or earthe, fier, water heer my prayer,
Or plaine me one, fier, water, earthe, or Aire.
Earth, lett thy flowres not fall awaie in prime,
Fire, doe not burne, my hart is not a colde,
Water, drye vpp vntill another tyme;
Or Aire, or earthe, fier, water heer my prayer,
Or plaine me one, fier, water, earthe, or Aire.
Hark, in the Aire, what deadly thund'rs threateth,
See, on the earth how euery flower falleth,
Oh with the fier, how euerie sinow sweateth,
Ah, how the water, panting hart appalleth:
The aire, the earth, fier, water, all to greiue me,
Heavnes shewe yor powres, yitt sume way to releiue me.
See, on the earth how euery flower falleth,
Oh with the fier, how euerie sinow sweateth,
Ah, how the water, panting hart appalleth:
The aire, the earth, fier, water, all to greiue me,
Heavnes shewe yor powres, yitt sume way to releiue me.
This is not Aire that euery creature feedeth,
Nor this the earth, wher euery flower groweth,
Nor this the fire that cole and baven breedeth,
Nor this the water, that both ebth and flowthe:
These elementes are in a world enclosèd,
Wher happie hart hath heavnly rest exposèd.
Nor this the earth, wher euery flower groweth,
Nor this the fire that cole and baven breedeth,
Nor this the water, that both ebth and flowthe:
These elementes are in a world enclosèd,
Wher happie hart hath heavnly rest exposèd.
19. A Sonett vpon this worde in truth spoken by a Lady to her Servaunte.
In truth is trust, distrust not then my truthe,
Let vertue liue, I aske no greater love;
Of suche regarde, repentance not ensuthe,
And hope of heavne doth highest honor p've.
Let vertue liue, I aske no greater love;
Of suche regarde, repentance not ensuthe,
And hope of heavne doth highest honor p've.
In truthe, sume time it was a sweete conceite
To see how loue and life dyd dwell together;
But now in truthe there is so muche deceite
That truth in deede is gone I know not whether.
To see how loue and life dyd dwell together;
But now in truthe there is so muche deceite
That truth in deede is gone I know not whether.
Yitt liueth truthe and hath her secrett loue,
And loue in truthe deserves to be regarded;
And loves regard in reason doth approue,
Approuèd Truth can neuer be discarded.
And loue in truthe deserves to be regarded;
And loves regard in reason doth approue,
Approuèd Truth can neuer be discarded.
Then trie me first, and if that true yow p've me,
In truth you wronge me, if you do not love me.
In truth you wronge me, if you do not love me.
20. Againe vpon the same subiect.
Truthe shewes her selfe is secrett of her truste,
Wisdome her grace in honor of her love;
Vertue her life, wher loue is not vniust,
Loue in his sweetes that dothe no sorrow p've.
Wisdome her grace in honor of her love;
20
Loue in his sweetes that dothe no sorrow p've.
Truth hath in hate to heere a fainèd tale,
Wisdome doth frowne, when ffollie is in place;
Honor is gon, where beawtie is to sale,
And vertue dies where loue is in disgrace.
Wisdome doth frowne, when ffollie is in place;
Honor is gon, where beawtie is to sale,
And vertue dies where loue is in disgrace.
I leave yor truthe to yor desirèd truste,
Yor wisdome to the wounder of the wise;
Yor highest ioye to iudgment of the iust,
Wher vertue lives, and honor neuer dyes;
And hee vouchsafes yow that all truth p'serueth
What truth of loue, and loue of truthe deserueth
Yor wisdome to the wounder of the wise;
Yor highest ioye to iudgment of the iust,
Wher vertue lives, and honor neuer dyes;
And hee vouchsafes yow that all truth p'serueth
What truth of loue, and loue of truthe deserueth
Finis.
21. [Despondency.]
Ah poore conceite, pull downe delight, thy pleasant daies are done,The shadie vales muste be there walkes, that cannot see the sunne;
The world I not to witnes call, the heavnes my recordes be,
If euer I was false to loue, or louer true to me.
I knowe it now, I knowe it not, but all to late I rue it,
I rue not that I knowe it now, but that I euer knewe it.
My care is not a fonde conceite, that bredes a fainèd smarte,
My greives doe gripe me at the gall, and gnawe me at the heart;
My teares are not thos fainèd dropps, that fall from fancies eies,
But bitter streames of strange distres, wherin discomfort lyes.
My sighes are not those heavie haps, that shewe a sicklie breath,
My passions are the p'fect signes, and verie panges of death.
In some, to make a dolfull eye, I see my deathe so nye,
That sorrow bids me singe my last, and so my sences dye.
Finis.
22. [Melancholia.]
Some men will saie, there is a kinde of muse,
That helps the minde of each man to endite;
And some will saie (that many muses vse)
There are but nyne, that euer vsde to wryte.
Nowe of thes nyne, if I haue gotten one,
I muse what Muse it is, I hitt vpon.
That helps the minde of each man to endite;
And some will saie (that many muses vse)
There are but nyne, that euer vsde to wryte.
Nowe of thes nyne, if I haue gotten one,
I muse what Muse it is, I hitt vpon.
Some poetes write, there is a certaine hill,
Wher Pallas keepes, and that parnassus hight;
There muses sitt forsooth, and cutt the quill
That being framde, doth hidden fancyes write;
But all those dames do heavnly causes singe,
And all their pennes, are of a Phœnix winge.
Wher Pallas keepes, and that parnassus hight;
There muses sitt forsooth, and cutt the quill
That being framde, doth hidden fancyes write;
But all those dames do heavnly causes singe,
And all their pennes, are of a Phœnix winge.
But as for me, I neuer sawe the place,
Except in sleepe I dreamd of suche a thinge;
I neuer veiwde dame Pallas in the face,
Nor euer yet cold here her muses singe,
Wherby to frame a fauncy in such kinde;
Oh no my muse is of another mynde.
Except in sleepe I dreamd of suche a thinge;
I neuer veiwde dame Pallas in the face,
Nor euer yet cold here her muses singe,
Wherby to frame a fauncy in such kinde;
Oh no my muse is of another mynde.
Ffrom hellicon, no, no, from hell she came,
To write of woes, and miseries she hight;
Not Pallas but (alas) her ladies name,
Who neuer calls for ditties of delight;
Her pen is paine, and all her matter moane,
And paunting hartes, she paintes her mynde vpon.
To write of woes, and miseries she hight;
Not Pallas but (alas) her ladies name,
Who neuer calls for ditties of delight;
Her pen is paine, and all her matter moane,
And paunting hartes, she paintes her mynde vpon.
A harte (not harpe) is all her instrument,
Whose weakned stringes all out of tune she stranes;
And then she strikes a dumpe of discontent,
Till euery stringe be pluckt a too with pains;
Loe then in rage, she claps it vp in case,
That none maie see her instrumentes disgrace.
Whose weakned stringes all out of tune she stranes;
And then she strikes a dumpe of discontent,
Till euery stringe be pluckt a too with pains;
Loe then in rage, she claps it vp in case,
That none maie see her instrumentes disgrace.
Her musinge is (in sume) but sorrows songe,
Where discordes yeld a sounde of smale delight;
The dittie this, of life that lastes to longe,
To see desire so crossèd with despight;
No faithe on earth, alas I knowe no frend,
So with a sighe she makes a solenme end.
Where discordes yeld a sounde of smale delight;
The dittie this, of life that lastes to longe,
To see desire so crossèd with despight;
No faithe on earth, alas I knowe no frend,
So with a sighe she makes a solenme end.
Who can delight in suche a wofull sounde,
Or loues to here a lay of deepe lament?
What note is sweete, when greif is all the grounde?
Discordes can yeld but only discontent:
The wrest is wronge, that strayns eche stringe to farre,
And stryfes the stoppes that giue eche stroake a Jarre.
Or loues to here a lay of deepe lament?
What note is sweete, when greif is all the grounde?
Discordes can yeld but only discontent:
The wrest is wronge, that strayns eche stringe to farre,
And stryfes the stoppes that giue eche stroake a Jarre.
Harshe is alas, the harmony, god knowes,
When owte of Tune is almost euery stringe;
The sounde not sweete that all of sorrowe growes,
And sad the muse that so is forst to singe;
But some do singe, that but for shame wold cryē,
So dothe my muse, and so sweare do I.
When owte of Tune is almost euery stringe;
The sounde not sweete that all of sorrowe growes,
And sad the muse that so is forst to singe;
But some do singe, that but for shame wold cryē,
So dothe my muse, and so sweare do I.
Good nature weeps to see her selfe abusèd,
Yll fortune shewes her fury in her face;
Poore reasone pynes to see him selfe refusde,
And dutie dyes to see his sore disgrace;
Hope hanges the head, to see dispaire so neere,
And what but deathe can end this heavie cheere
Yll fortune shewes her fury in her face;
Poore reasone pynes to see him selfe refusde,
And dutie dyes to see his sore disgrace;
Hope hanges the head, to see dispaire so neere,
And what but deathe can end this heavie cheere
Behold each teare, no token of a toye,
But torment suche as teare my hart asunder;
Each sobbing sighe, a signe of suche anoye
As how I liue, beleue me till a wunder;
Each groane a grype, that makes me gaspe for breath,
And euery strain a bitter pange of deathe.
But torment suche as teare my hart asunder;
Each sobbing sighe, a signe of suche anoye
As how I liue, beleue me till a wunder;
Each groane a grype, that makes me gaspe for breath,
And euery strain a bitter pange of deathe.
Loe thus I liue, but looking still to dye,
And still I looke, but still I see in vayne;
And still in vaine, alas, I lye and crye
And still I cry but haue no ease of paine;
So still in paine I liue, looke, lie, and crye
When hope will helpe, or death will let me dye.
And still I looke, but still I see in vayne;
And still in vaine, alas, I lye and crye
And still I cry but haue no ease of paine;
So still in paine I liue, looke, lie, and crye
When hope will helpe, or death will let me dye.
Finis.
21
23. [Aspiration.]
Oh that desire colde leave to liue, that longe hath lookt to die,
Or sadd conceite might hope to see an end of miserye!
Or that the death of my desire wold thinke of my distres,
Or ells sume happie powre of heavne, wold send my soule redres;
But oh I crye, and so I lye, with sorrow torne a sunder,
That how I liue, the lord doth know, it is no litle wunder;
For had all pacience but the powre one passion to appease,
Or cold this feeble fainting harte, but find sume litle ease,
Or cold the smalest peece of thought, amidd my greatest greif,
But tell me once but of a hope, how hart might have releif;
Then might I liue, now must I die, or suche a deathe endure
As is the corzy of the care that neuer can haue cure.
Or sadd conceite might hope to see an end of miserye!
Or that the death of my desire wold thinke of my distres,
Or ells sume happie powre of heavne, wold send my soule redres;
But oh I crye, and so I lye, with sorrow torne a sunder,
That how I liue, the lord doth know, it is no litle wunder;
For had all pacience but the powre one passion to appease,
Or cold this feeble fainting harte, but find sume litle ease,
Or cold the smalest peece of thought, amidd my greatest greif,
But tell me once but of a hope, how hart might have releif;
Then might I liue, now must I die, or suche a deathe endure
As is the corzy of the care that neuer can haue cure.
But yow that rede this ruifull verse, consider of his care,
Who only knowes the cruell woes, wher comfortes neuer are;
And yow that see thes trickling teares, distilling downe thes eyes
Imagine of the dying life, that living euer dyes;
And yow that here thes sobbing sighes that from this hart ascend,
Diuine vpon the pangs of death, wher passions neuer end;
But if no reason can conceiue the ruine of my thought,
Nor deepest wisdome will discerne what hath my sorrow wrought,
Nor pittie can p'cure a meane to mittigate my paine,
But sorrow still must soke the hart, and venime euery vaine,
If nether hope, nor happe, nor heavne, nor fortune, fate, nor friend,
Will once releive, release, cutt of, nor cause one sorrow end:
What then can rest for me, poore wretch, but thus to lye and crye,
In heavene, in heavne must be my life, for in the world I dye.
Who only knowes the cruell woes, wher comfortes neuer are;
And yow that see thes trickling teares, distilling downe thes eyes
Imagine of the dying life, that living euer dyes;
And yow that here thes sobbing sighes that from this hart ascend,
Diuine vpon the pangs of death, wher passions neuer end;
But if no reason can conceiue the ruine of my thought,
Nor deepest wisdome will discerne what hath my sorrow wrought,
Nor pittie can p'cure a meane to mittigate my paine,
But sorrow still must soke the hart, and venime euery vaine,
If nether hope, nor happe, nor heavne, nor fortune, fate, nor friend,
Will once releive, release, cutt of, nor cause one sorrow end:
What then can rest for me, poore wretch, but thus to lye and crye,
In heavene, in heavne must be my life, for in the world I dye.
Finis.
24. [Dead Hopes.]
Yf heavne and earthe were bothe not fullie benteTo plauge a wretch with an Infernall payne;
To robbe the harte of all his hie contente
And leave a wounde that sholde not heale againe.
Yf cruell fortune did not seeke to kill
The carfull spiritt of my kinde affecte;
And care did not so crucifie me still
That loue had lefte no hope of his effecte.
Yf she whom most my hart hath ouerlovde
Were not vnkind in care of my distres;
And she by whom my greif might be removde
Did not hold backe the meane of my redres;
If all these thoughtes and manie thousande moe
To longe to tell, to deadlie to endure;
Did not consume my hart in sorrowe soe,
That care hath lefte no hope of any cure;
Then might I yet amidd my greatest greif
Perswade my pacience with some heavnly powre,
That when I most despaire of my releif
My hopeles harte might find some happie howre;
But since that Fortune so doth frowne vpon me
That care hath thus of comfortes all berefte me;
Thinke it not straunge to see me woe begone me,
When no good hope of no good happ is left me;
And since I see all kindnes so vnkinde,
And freindship growne to suche contrary thought;
And suche a thought the torment of the minde,
That care and sorrow hath consumde to nought;
I will resolue (thoughe pacience he p'force)
To sitt me downe and thus in secrett crye;
Dead is my harte, oh earth receiue my corse,
Heavne be my lif for in the worlde I dye.
Finis.
25. [Sweete Penelope.]
When Authors wryte, god knowes what thinge is true;
Old Homer wrot of fine Vlysses witt,
And Ovid wrote of Venus heavnly hue,
And Ariosto of Orlantos fitt,
One wrote his pleasure of Caliope:
I am to write of swete Penelope.
Old Homer wrot of fine Vlysses witt,
And Ovid wrote of Venus heavnly hue,
And Ariosto of Orlantos fitt,
One wrote his pleasure of Caliope:
I am to write of swete Penelope.
And where ech one did shewe a secret vaine
And whether that Vlysses were or not;
And thoughe that Ovid did but only faine,
And Ariosto sett downe manie a blott,
And some wrote lewdly of Caliope:
I write but truth of sweete Penelope.
And whether that Vlysses were or not;
And thoughe that Ovid did but only faine,
And Ariosto sett downe manie a blott,
And some wrote lewdly of Caliope:
I write but truth of sweete Penelope.
And if I had Vlysses skilfull skonce,
With Homers penne, and Ovids heavnly vaine;
I wold sett downe a wounder for the nonce,
To sett them all a new to wurke againe;
And he that wrote of his Caliope
Shold hushe to heere of this Penelope.
With Homers penne, and Ovids heavnly vaine;
I wold sett downe a wounder for the nonce,
To sett them all a new to wurke againe;
And he that wrote of his Caliope
Shold hushe to heere of this Penelope.
As true as shee that was Vlisses wif,
As faire as she whom some a goddesse faine;
A saincte of shape and of more vertuous life,
Then she for whom Orlandos knight was slaine;
In euerie thinge aboue Caliope,
There is none suche as swete Penelope.
As faire as she whom some a goddesse faine;
A saincte of shape and of more vertuous life,
Then she for whom Orlandos knight was slaine;
In euerie thinge aboue Caliope,
There is none suche as swete Penelope.
And for this time goe looke the world that wyll
For constant faire, for vertue and good grace;
For euery parte in whom no parte is ill,
For perfecte shape and for a heavnly face;
Angelica, Venus, Caliope
Are all but blowes vnto Penelope.
For constant faire, for vertue and good grace;
For euery parte in whom no parte is ill,
For perfecte shape and for a heavnly face;
Angelica, Venus, Caliope
Are all but blowes vnto Penelope.
22
26. [Beauty.]
All my sences stand amazèd,
While mine eies to longe haue gazèd
On a faire and heavnlie creature,
Half an angell for her feature;
Little Cupids onely darlinge,
All to good for suche a warlinge:
What although a god he bee,
Loue is blind and cannot see.
While mine eies to longe haue gazèd
On a faire and heavnlie creature,
Half an angell for her feature;
Little Cupids onely darlinge,
All to good for suche a warlinge:
What although a god he bee,
Loue is blind and cannot see.
Blind! alas it is no wounder,
Beawtie breakes the sight asunder;
Neuer hart that once dyd eye her,
But was fearfull to come nye her;
Only Loue a heavnly powre,
Thought to trie a happie howre;
Lookt so longe and starde so sore,
That at laste he sawe no more.
Beawtie breakes the sight asunder;
Neuer hart that once dyd eye her,
But was fearfull to come nye her;
Only Loue a heavnly powre,
Thought to trie a happie howre;
Lookt so longe and starde so sore,
That at laste he sawe no more.
But is beawtie so vnkind then
With her shining beames to blind men?
Are their eyesightes all depriuèd
That haue Beawties eies arrivèd?
If it be so, god preserve her,
Loue himselfe is gladd to serue her!
And lett simple men beware
Howe they doe on beawtye stare.
With her shining beames to blind men?
Are their eyesightes all depriuèd
That haue Beawties eies arrivèd?
If it be so, god preserve her,
Loue himselfe is gladd to serue her!
And lett simple men beware
Howe they doe on beawtye stare.
I of late but as it chauncèd
Stoode but wheras beawtie glauncèd;
As mine eies aside I turnèd,
Oh with what a flame they burnèd!
Lett not loue therfore be blamèd
That with beawtie is enflamèd;
Looke who list [and] loue who dare,
Blinde that doe on beawtie stare.
Stoode but wheras beawtie glauncèd;
As mine eies aside I turnèd,
Oh with what a flame they burnèd!
Lett not loue therfore be blamèd
That with beawtie is enflamèd;
Looke who list [and] loue who dare,
Blinde that doe on beawtie stare.
27. [Love-Rapture.]
All my witte hath will enwrappèd.
All my sence desire entrappèd,
All my faith to fancy fixèd,
All my joye to loue annexèd,
All my loue I offer thee.
Once for all yett looke one me.
All my sence desire entrappèd,
All my faith to fancy fixèd,
All my joye to loue annexèd,
All my loue I offer thee.
Once for all yett looke one me.
Let me see that heavnely feature
Oh heavnes, what a heavnelie creature!
All the powres of heavne preserue thee,
All the powres on earthe do serue thee,
Princesse' will, [and] goddesse' place,
Blessèd be that Angells face.
Oh heavnes, what a heavnelie creature!
All the powres of heavne preserue thee,
All the powres on earthe do serue thee,
Princesse' will, [and] goddesse' place,
Blessèd be that Angells face.
Looke oh Angell, looke vpon me,
See howe I am woe begone me!
Of both witt and sence depriuèd,
But of thee to be revivèd;
Thow that art the shepperdes story
In thy pittie shewe thy eye;
I can saie no more but this
In thie loue my livinge is.
See howe I am woe begone me!
Of both witt and sence depriuèd,
But of thee to be revivèd;
Thow that art the shepperdes story
In thy pittie shewe thy eye;
I can saie no more but this
In thie loue my livinge is.
Finis.
28. [Love almost Slaine.]
Will it neuer better be?
Do the heavnelie fates agree
There shall be no helpe for me?
Nor these eyes shall euer see
Fruite of my desirèd tree?
Do the heavnelie fates agree
There shall be no helpe for me?
Nor these eyes shall euer see
Fruite of my desirèd tree?
No, thoughe fortune haue forsworne me
And faire beawtie so do scorne me,
That suche hatefull thoughtes are borne me
As with cruell cares haue torne me;
Yett hath loue not quite forlorne me.
And faire beawtie so do scorne me,
That suche hatefull thoughtes are borne me
As with cruell cares haue torne me;
Yett hath loue not quite forlorne me.
Love? how (lord) am I deceyuèd?
Kindnes all amisse conceiuèd,
Where no comfort is receiuèd
But to plainlie is perceiuèd
Will of witt and reason reavèd.
Kindnes all amisse conceiuèd,
Where no comfort is receiuèd
But to plainlie is perceiuèd
Will of witt and reason reavèd.
But what doth this humor move?
Reason hathe no rule of loue;
Hee doth liue in heavne aboue,
Where he wurkes for their behouve,
That with sorrow pleasure proue.
Reason hathe no rule of loue;
Hee doth liue in heavne aboue,
Where he wurkes for their behouve,
That with sorrow pleasure proue.
Pleasure all to full of paine,
Swete yet be that heavnly vaine,
Wherin doth that hope remaine,
That when love was almost slaine
Made him whole at harte againe,
Swete yet be that heavnly vaine,
Wherin doth that hope remaine,
That when love was almost slaine
Made him whole at harte againe,
29. [Phillis in Sorrow.]
Pawse awhile my prittie muse,
Let me rest for I am werie;
All the musicke thou canst vse
Cannot make thy master merry;
For what hart can hold vp head
When the joye of lif is dead?
Let me rest for I am werie;
All the musicke thou canst vse
Cannot make thy master merry;
For what hart can hold vp head
When the joye of lif is dead?
See how Phillis faire and bright,
Beawties pride and Vertues pleasure;
Halfe depriuèd of her light
Sittes and sorrows out of measure;
And when she is woe begon,
Well a waie poore Choridon!
Beawties pride and Vertues pleasure;
Halfe depriuèd of her light
Sittes and sorrows out of measure;
And when she is woe begon,
Well a waie poore Choridon!
Bid my Phillis once but cease
Euer mourning, neuer endinge;
Reason shall my greife release,
Which ells, hopes of no amendinge;
For while shee doth hange the head
Coridon can be but dead.
Euer mourning, neuer endinge;
Reason shall my greife release,
Which ells, hopes of no amendinge;
For while shee doth hange the head
Coridon can be but dead.
And therfore let this suffize:
But in vaine thou doest devize.
While thow seest my Phillis sadd
How my comfort maie be hadd;
For but in her ioye or greif
Lives my death or my relief;
In her sorrow is my hell,
Bidd her laughe and I am well.
But in vaine thou doest devize.
While thow seest my Phillis sadd
How my comfort maie be hadd;
For but in her ioye or greif
Lives my death or my relief;
In her sorrow is my hell,
Bidd her laughe and I am well.
Finis.
23
30. [Fascination.]
Looke not to longe vpon thes lookes, that blindes the ouerlooker sore,And if you speake, speake not to muche, lest speaking once thou speak no more;
Thinke not, but what it is to thinke, to reach beyond the reach of thought,
And if yow doe do what you can when yow haue done yow can do nought;
But if yow see against yor will, looke but awaie and be not slaine,
And if a word goe vnawares, with care it may be calde againe;
And for a thought, it is no hurte, except it growe vnto a thinge
But end that hath bene done, is onlie conquest for a kinge;
But since in the, O sillie wretch, both sight, and speche, and thought, and deede,
By reason of a wronge conceyte, do but thine owne confusion breede;
Shutt vp thine eies, seale vp thie tongue, locke vp thy thoughtes, lay down thy head,
And let thy mistres see by this how loue hath stroke her servant dead;
And that but in her heavnlie eye, her word, her thought and only will
Doth rest the deede to kill the quite or ells [to salve and] cure this ill.
31. [Of Sir Philip Sidney.]
Perfeccon, peerles vertue without pride,Honor and learning linckt with highest loue;
For of the thought is trewe discrecon tryde,
Loue of the lif that highest honors prove;
In Angells armes with heavnely hands imbraced,
Paradise pleasde, and all the world disgraced.
Seeke all the world, oh seeke and neuer find
In earthly mowld the mownte of such a minde;
Diuinest guiftes that god on man bestoweth,
No glory suche as of suche glory groweth;
End of the joyes that hath all greife begone
Yitt lett me weepe when all the world hathe done.
32. [‘Perfection’ dead: Sidney.]
Poure downe poore eyes the teares of true distres,
Heare but oh heavnes, the horror of my crye;
Iudge of the care that can haue no redres,
Let mee not liue to see my louer dye;
In Sorrowes rules, like sorrow neuer redd,
Phillip, sweete knight, swete Philip Sydney dead.
Heare but oh heavnes, the horror of my crye;
Iudge of the care that can haue no redres,
Let mee not liue to see my louer dye;
In Sorrowes rules, like sorrow neuer redd,
Phillip, sweete knight, swete Philip Sydney dead.
Paine more then Arte or Nature can oppres
Hell to the world to loose a heavnly frende;
Ioy is become but sorrow and distres,
Lif with my loue, let death and dolor end;
In bitter teares hath harte of honor bledd,
Past hope of healpe, to see perfeccon dead.
Hell to the world to loose a heavnly frende;
Ioy is become but sorrow and distres,
Lif with my loue, let death and dolor end;
In bitter teares hath harte of honor bledd,
Past hope of healpe, to see perfeccon dead.
Finis.
33. [Choridon unhappy.]
Choridon vnhappie swaine,Whether doste thou driue thy flocke?
Litle foode is on the plaine,
Full of daunger is the rocke;
Wolfes and beares do kepe the woode
Forrestes full of furres and brakes,
Meadowes subiect to the fludds,
Moores are full of myry lakes;
Then if in nor wood nor hill
Pasture nor yet meadow ground,
To content a shepperde wyll,
Can a feeding place be founde,
What alas is to be sayde
Suche a sellie flocke to cherrish?
But the shepperde is dismayde
To behold his cattle perishe;
Yett my flocke before yow dye
Tell my dainty shepperdesse
In what case the man doth lye
That she lefte so comfortles?
And that in her only face
Doth remaine that heavnly foode
Which is all our hope of grace
To dispatche or doe vs good:
Wher, if you do find preserud
All your gearing fresh and grene;
Say that Phillis hath deservd
To be cald the shepperdes queene.
So adewe my sillie flocke
This is all in charge I leaue yow,
Kepe the path, and shune the rock
Lest the Country do receiue yow.
Finis.
1
From the Tanner MSS., Bodleian, Oxford.
1. Mr. Britton 1st Junii 1616.
Mr. Brittons verses.
twoe to one is odds: twoe with one makes oddes—twoe from one breakes oddes.and 2 alone is no oddes: pauvo paghato in mezzo.
3. I and U.
1617, Oct. 17.
A placed alone is but an idle worde.
E parce E, spells nothinge but it selfe;
I yet alone, maie lovely thoughtes afoorde:
but O, alas, dothe plaie the frowarde elfe:
to prove the Reason of this Riddle true:
not A, nor E, nor O, but I and yow.
4. My Witche.
Yor eies bewitchte my wit, yr wit bewitchte my will,Thus wth yor eies and wit you doe bewitche me still
And yet you are no witche, whose spirit is not evill,
And yet you are a witche, and yet you are no devill.
Oh witchinge eies, and wit, where wit and eies maie Reade,
A witche, and not a witche, and yet a witche indeede.
5. A passionate Son̄ett made by the Kinge of Scots uppon difficulties ariseing to crosse his proceedinge in love & marriage with his moste worthie to be esteemed Queene.
In sunny beames the skye dothe shewe her sweeteAnd with her flowers the earthe perfumes the aire
Amid the mountaynes doe the muses meete
And in the fountaynes make the fowle their faire
But all my skye with cares is overclouded
And weedes for flowers my blasted garden bringes
In mazes are my muses ever shrowded
And to my fountaynes sorrowes are the Springes
Woe to the darke where Love did loose his seeinge
Bare be the earthe that bringes me nought but weedes
Madd be the muse where mazes have their beinge
Curste be the Sea that of my sorrowe feedes
But shine sunne, growe flowers, singe muse, and springe faire fountaynes,
Or be no more Sea, Skye, Earthe, muse, nor mountaynes.
2
1. From ‘The Scvller, Rowing from Tiber to Thames with his Boat laden,’ &c., 1612, by John Taylor the Water Poet.
In laudem Authoris.
Wit, Reason, Grace, Religion, Nature, Zeale,Wrought all together in thy working braine
And to thy worke did set this certaine seale;
Pure is the colour that will take no staine.
What need I praise? the worke it selfe doth praise:
In words, in worth, in forme and matter to.
A world of wits are working many wayes,
But few haue done, what thou dost truly doe:
Was neuer Tailor shapt so fit a Coat,
Vnto the Corps of any earthly creature,
As thou hast made for that foule Romish Goat,
In true description of his diuellish nature.
Besides such matter of judicious wit,
With quaint conceits so fitting euery fancie;
As well may proue, who scornes and spights at it
Shall either shew their folly or their franzie.
Then let the Popes Buls roare, Bell, Booke & Candle
In all the Diuels circuit sound thy curse:
Whilst thou with truth dost euerie tryall handle.
God blesse thy worke, and thou art ne're the worse.
And while hels friends their hateful fo do proue thee,
The Saints on earth, & God in heauen will loue thee.
Thy louing friend Nicholas Breton.
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