University of Virginia Library

THE ENGLISH POEMS

1. Loues Lament

My loue allace is loathsum wnto me,
restles I liue in absence of my sweete.
The harde mishapis I have incurred latelye
hes wt dispaire our quhelm'd my weerie spreit.
Ohe loyell saull, is this ye fates decreete,
maȝ I not haue yr presens as befoir?
Adew, contentment, till thow me intreit,
so sall be sene ay till thow me restoir.
Knew I allace ye way I myt deploir,
not to ye world, but to thy self my teers.
Onlie by the maȝ cuirit be my soir,
ten thousannd heartes maȝ not sustene sic weeres.
No worldlie pleesure can expell my paine,
but presence of my deerest deere agane.

2. Ane Dyor

[Quhen diaphantus knew]

Quhen diaphantus knew
the destanyes decreete,
Quhenn he was forcet for to forgoe
his deere and loving sweit,
Ouervoited with ye vailles
of balme rebaiting trees,
Ourgazeinges grouflings on ye gronde
with death prent in his eyes,
Oft preeisit hee to speeke.
Ohe quhile hee did assaye
The agonizing dread of deathe
his wrastling voyce did stay.
At last as one quho stryues
aganes both woe and shame,
diere charridora can he crye
myne aȝ adoirit dame,
First I attest thy name
syne nixt the godds aboue,
But cheefe of thes, that boy that beeris,
ye staitely stile of loue.
Let thoese recoirds wt me,
what was my constante pairt,
And giue I did noucht honour the
with ane weell hallowit hairt
To sacreefice to the
my secreete chaist desyres
Vpoun thy bewties alter brunte
with neuer quenching fyeris.
Thow was that idole still
quhoes Image I adoirit,
The sanct to quhome I made my vowes
quhoes pities I imploirit,
The stare which saued my schipe
from tempest of dispair
Quhen the horizoun of my hoipe
ou'r cloudit was with cair.
Thow was that soueraigne balme
that sweet catholick saw
Quhilk couerit me of all my ills,
that did my heart ou'rthrow.
But now such strange event's
hes interveinit sen syne
That I dare not avow to saye
nor think that thow art myne,
Quhilk makes me to insert
in thois my sorrowing songes
The histories of my mishaps
my miseries and wronges.
Noucht that I can accuise
my charidora no,
I onlie execrate the Wierds
cheefe workeris of my woe.
Sould schoe quhom I haue seruit
sua mony lotsum ȝeeris,
For quhom my dew distelling eyes
hes sched suche storme of teirs,
Sould schoe, I say be made
ane pray to suche a one
Quho for her saike he never gave
not ane vntymely grone?
No suirelie swrelie no
the weirdes may doe me wrong
And mak her by there bade decreete
to quhom schoe suld belong,
Becaus the heavin dothe blenke on sum
moir blyther yen on me
And giue them giftes moir plawsible
to charme a churles eye.
Ȝet dare I weell compaire
yea peraduenture vaunte
That schoe is myne by richt of loue
thoucht luck in love I wante.
Albeit my horoscope
Invaide my worldlie thinges,
Ȝit into loue it gaue me liue
for to compair with kinges.
For giue I knew there were
beneathe the starrie skye
That durst avow to loue my loue
moir faithfullie then I,
I would ryue out this heart
which interteanes my breathe
And cast it doune befoir her feete
and dye a schamefull death.
But sen boith tyme and schoe
hes tryit me to be trew
And founde such faithfullnes in me
as salbe founde in few,
I rest secuire in that
and cair noucht wha pretend,
The mae presoome the mair my pairt
proues perfit to ye end
And wtheris faithless faythe
in ballaunce put with myne
Sall mak my treuth for to triumph
and lyke a sunne to schyne.
There sall no change of tyme,
of heavin, of soile, noir ayre,
Inforce me to forgett my vowes
maide to my fairest fair,
Quhilk now I heere renew
In solemne forme againe
That to witnes as I beganne
so sall I suire remaȝne.
I sweere by thy tuo eyne
my onlie dearest deare,
And by the stageoun stankes of hell
by which ye gods do sweir,
That thow arte onlie schoe
quhois countenance I crave,
That I salbe in lyfe and death
thy best affected slaue,
That I sall neither sighe nor sobe
nor ȝit sall greit nor grone
For one that euer sall tak lyfe,
saif the evin the allone,
That there sall no deceit
of lovelye laughing ene
Nor charmeing sounds of syrion songes
nor fare fetchit sighes betuene
Deface out of my mynde
whiche are so suire Imprest
Thy wordes soe wyse, thy luikes so grave,
thy maneris so modest,
That day sall nevir daw
nor sunne sall never schyne
Sall quarrell me for appostate
for naucht remayneing thyne.
And that which heere I sweere
least sylence suld it smoir
The verie trees sall testiefie
quhilk onlie are befoir,
And cheefe and aboue all
this holeine sade and grene
Into the quhilk thy name and myne
in graven maȝ be sene.
O happie happie tree
quhoes euer blessit barke
Sall ludge the trophie of our loue
for thy Immortall worke,
Quhilk hes the force to caus
the memorie remaȝne
Sequestrate from the bastard soirt
of trees which are prophane,
And quhenn the rest salbe
ouerpast with cairles eye
Ȝet sall thow be adorit and kist
for charidorais trei.
Ȝet peraduenture to
For diaphantus saike
Sum rectles bodie cumming by
will homage to the make.
Thus blisst sall thow remayne
quhenn I salbe agast
Into quhat corner of the eirth
poore wretch I salbe cast.
Indeid all is in doubt
saue this we mone depairt,
The bodye must in pilgrime be
and shee must haue ye hart,
The thoucht of quhilk exyle
and dolorous devoirce
Breedes sorrow sorrow heer in me
this eloquence perforce.
For quhill I was resoluit
to thesaurize my greeife,
Becaus that it sould move in men
moir mervell nor beleef,
The never ceassing feide
of melancounterous faites
Ouerhaistnit this abortiue birth
of Importune regrates
To witnes to the world
that my mishaps are suche
That thoucht I murne lyke man half mad
I cannot murne too much.
For giue of all mishaps
this be the first of all,
To haue bene happie happie anes
and fra yat hap to fall,
I wote I maȝ weell say
that diaphantus name
Is the sononyme of all mishaps
and signifies the same.
For giue there wer no hell
but out of heavin to bee,
Considder what her wante wald worke
whois syt wes hevin to me.
I think all thois that speekes
of sorrow sould think shame
Quhenn diaphantus salbe heard
for charidorais name.
Her bewtie was but bloote,
her treuth wes vnreprovit,
The ane deseruit for to liue
the vther for to be lovit.
Ȝit hes this deuilshe dame
of destanies ordanit
That he sall lois baith lyfe and loue
and schee a faytfull frende.
Quherefoir all ȝee that heeris
these amorous tragickt playes,
Bestow on me ane world of plantes,
on her a world of prais.

2a.

[When Diophantus knew]

When Diophantus knew
The destinies Decreete,
How he was forced to forgoe
His deare and Lovely sweete,
Ou'r volted with the vaile
Of Beame rebeating trees
And Ghostly gazeing on the ground
Even death struck in his eyes,
Oft pressed he to speake
But when he did Essay
The Agonizeing dreads of death
His wrastling voice did stay.
At last as one that strives
Against both woe and shame
Deare Charidora, ah, he cryes
My high adored Dame,
First I attest thy Name
And then the Gods above
But cheife of those the boy that beares
The stately styles of love.
Let those record with mee
What was my constant part
And if I did not honour thee
With an well hallowed heart.
I sacrafic'd to thee
My secreete chast desires
Vpon thy beauties Altar burnt
With never quenching fyres.
Thou was that Idoll still
Whose Image I ador'd,
The Saint to whom I made my vowes
Whose pittyes I implor'd,
The starr that sav'd my shipp
From tempest of Dispaire
When the Horizon of my hope
Ov'r clouded was with care.
Thou was that Soveraigne balme
That sweete Cathalicon
Which cured mee of all my cares
When I did greive and grone,
Though now such strange Events
Are interveen'd since syne
As I dare not avow to say
Or thinke that thou are myne,
Which makes mee thus insert
In those my sorrowing songs
The Histories of my misshapps,
My miseryes and wrongs.
Not that I can accuse
My Charidora, noe
I only execrate the Fates
Cheife worker of my woe.
Should she whome I have lov'd
Soe many Loathsome yeares,
For whome my due disstilling Eyes
Have shedd such streames of teares,
Should she I say be made
A prey to such a one
Who for her sake yet never gave
Not one vntymely grone?
Noe surely, surely noe
The Fates may doe me wrong
And make her by there badd decreete
To whome they please belong, [OMITTED]
Yet dare I boldly say
And peradventure vant
That she is myne by lott of love
Though luck in love I want,
And though my Horiscope
Invy my worldly things,
Yet into love it gave mee leave
For to compare with Kings.
And if I knew there were
Vnder the starry skie
That durst avow to love my Dame
More faithfully then I,
I should teare out this heart
Which Entertains my breath
And cast it downe before her feete
To dye a shamefull death.
But since both time and she
Have try'd mee to be true
And found such faithfullness in mee
As shall be found in few,
I rest secure in this
And cares not who pretend,
The moe persue the more my part
Proves perfect to the End,
And others faithless faiths
In ballance weigh'd with mine
Shall make my faith for to triumph
And as the Sunn to shine.
There shall noe change of things,
Of tyme, of soyle, of Ayre,
Inforce mee to forgoe the vowes
Made to my fayrest faire,
Which here I doe renew
In solemne forme againe
To wittness as I did begin
Soe shall I still remaine.
I sweare by these two Eyes
My only dearest deare,
And by the Stygian stankes of hell
Whereby the Gods did sweare.
That thou are only she
Whose countenance I crave
And shall be both in life and death
Thy best affected slave, [OMITTED]
That ther shall noe deceits
Of lovely laughing eyne,
Noe suggred sounds of Syren songs
With farr fetch'd sighes betweene
Deface out of my minde
What love did soe ingrave
Thy words thy lookes and such things Els
As none but Angells have. [OMITTED]
And this which here I sweare
And solemnly protest
Those trees which only present are
Shall wittness and attest,
But cheif and above all
This Holly sad and greene
On which the Cyphers of our Names
Charectered shall be seene.
O happy happy Tree
Into whose tender rynd
The Trophies of our love shall live
Eternally inshrin'd,
Which shall have force to make
Thy memory remaine
Sequestrat from the Bastard sort
Of Trees which are profane,
For when with careless lookes
The rest or'e past shall be
Then thou shall be ador'd and kist
For Charidoras tree.
And peradventure too
For Diophantus sake
Some civill person that comes by
Shall homage to the make.
Thus blest shall thou remaine
While I vnhappy prove
And doubtfull where I shall be left
When I shall leave my love.
Indeede all is in doubt
But this I must depart,
The body must a Pillgrime be
And she retaine the heart,
The thought of which Exile
And dolourous devorce
Workes sorrow, sorrow, doth from me
Those sadd complaints inforce.
For while I was resolv'd
To smoother vp my greife
Because it might but move in men
More marvaile then beleife,
The never seasing frownes
Of Malencountrous Fates
Extorted those Abortive birthes
Of importune regraits
To wittness to the world
That my misshapps are such
Although I mourne like one halfe madd
I cannot mourne to much.
For if of all misshapps
This be the first of all,
To have bin highly happy once
And from that height to fall,
I'm sure I may well say
That Diophantus Name
Is the Synonyme of misshapps,
Or els Exceedes the same.
Or if there be no hell
But out of Heaven to be,
Consider what her want should worke
Whose sight was such to mee.
I thinke all those that speake
Of sorrow should thinke shame
When Diophantus shall be heard
For Charidoras Name.
Her worth was without spott,
His truth was vnreprov'd,
The one deserv'd at least to live
The other to be lov'd.
Yet hath the Divelish doome
Of destinyes ordain'd
That he should loose both life and love
And she a Faithful freind.
Wherefore all you that heares
Those Amorous tragick playes,
Bestow on him a world of plaints
On her a world of praise.

3. Craiges passionado

Quhy did the god's ordaine
ane michtie monarchis mynde
Vithin the presoun of my corps
to be inclo'sd and pynde?
Quhy did they predecree
suche intestine debate,
Suche euill weeris to be betuixe
my calling and conceite?
Giue as sum say there be
ane transmigratioune thenn,
Evin at sum princes fall or deat
my balefull birth began,
And as he dyit his saull and spirit
hes flowin into me
Quhilk maks my munting mynde so fare
aboue my fate to flee.
Yit doubt I giue or no
my predecessoures gone
That vmquhile prince hes iuster caus
or I for to bemone.
Hee pleanes perhaps because
within a world so wylde
His princelie and heroike thouchts
suld daylie be defylde,
I murne againe becaus
my fonnde conceatid thoucht,
Doune weyit allace be my wnworthe,
resolues and turns to not.
Sine ane or bathe be plagued
I cannoucht weell defyne,
The punishement maȝ weell be his,
but all ye pane is myne.
Ȝit thinke secuirelie think,
tho thow be baslie borne,
Suppois the schell be cast away
ȝet will the perle be worne.
But heere ane freesche alarum
my heart does now assaill
To think and noucht reveele my thotis
me thinks cannot availl,
For quhereto can they serve
be they from her obscuired
For quhom my present and my past
displeasures I indured,
Sen schee even lyke the foule
quha liftes within her beake
The schell fische heiche into the air
that it may fall and breake,
Sen schee I say hes heysit
myne hearte aboue the skyes,
Sall schoe not knaw quhat's in my mynde?
I murmure and devyis.
Ȝes surelie ȝes but how,
by word by wryte or baith
Sall I reveell my hidin harmes
my long conceillit skayt?
By none of thois for quhy
my rivell for I see
Hes made ane dullfull interdyte
betuix my dame and me.
O happie happie he
to liue in suche estaite,
He come in tyme, curst be the tyme,
allace I come to late.
Ȝet let him beere with this,
sence fanncie maks me fonde,
He sall noucht loue her him allone
and he hade sworne vpound.
My richt's salbe als goode as heeis
I sweere by Iove above,
Althot hee war me fare in lucke
he wares me not in love.
He loues (allace) and findes
In loue rewairde againe,
I wate I loue alsweell as he
and finds no thing but pane.
I ade this meikle mair
that breids my hart releif,
Quhen schoe her bewtie doeth behold
in glasses of my greif,
My lynnes maȝ schaw my loue,
my loue may schow my pane,
And schoe within my panes may spye
her bewties force agane.
For giue I soucht rewairde,
schee wold replye, I knaw,
It wer ane great disgrace to her
for to descend sua law
To loue or reaffect
ane wretche ane puissante power,
By birth and bloode Ignoble borne,
inglorious and obscuire.
Ȝet were it noucht eneuche
I sould leive of to loofe
Ore from the worlds miracle
my mynde for to remove,
All thinges againe deformed
In chaos massd shalbe,
Befoir ane retrospiciante I
sall ceass from loving the.
First let omeriane blacke
eternall nicht ourvaill
The earthis circumference befoir
my fixit faithe sall faill.
Thes monomathicke Iarris
betuix my selff and the
Out of my mynde sall nawaȝes make
my fixit Idea flee.
My love quhere it is laid
sall grow and floorishe greene,
And suche apostasie in me
at no tyme shalbe seene.
For how cann I from love
or from my thoughts refraine,
And how can I but loue my thouchtes
and thinke on love agane?
Tuyse am I now reduceit
to my pretendit theame,
And giue my selffe, my thotis or her
I wate not quhat to blame.
Giue her, I wer vnwise,
or giue my thouchts or me,
O thenn are na caus for a caus
but caus sould quarrellit be.
But ohe as sum alledge
loue harboures aye the heart,
There is na plague beneth the pole
of quhilk I haue na pairt,
And all the duillefull dintes
that in despaire cann duell
Conglomerat's in armes hudge
my pleesures to expell.
Ȝit giue as I haue saide
ane transmigratioune be,
Quhy doe noucht these my raging thouchts
tak journey now & flee,
And seek sum saifer schoire
quherein at large to fleit?
For I haue deyed ten thousande deids
sen they and I did meit.
Wald god I anes had dyed,
thenn hade my fanncies flede,
But in suppoised death is lyfe
by thoucht susteint and fed.
Thenn sall I saye I liue
or sall I saye I dee?
I am noucht dead and giue I sould
alledge I liue I lie.
The babell of my mynde
hes drevin me so awaye
That, as I wate noucht quhat I think,
I wate not quhat I saye.
Ȝit weell I wate I love
and ȝit shee wates noucht this,
Thus is wyteles of my woe
and still bereav's my bless,
Ane paradoxe I graunte,
and ȝit ane theame must trew
Quhois certane groundes breeds surest greefes
quhilk I cannot eschew.
And ȝit giue trew loue might
trew loues rewarde obtene,
Thenn weell I wote my waiting on
wald not be wair't in vane.
But while my sanct espyes
in saddest songes my syte,
Schee thinkes I haue na mynde of love
but wryt's becaus I wryte.
But ȝet while schee on me
for to conferre wald call,
Oft haue I sworne by heavin and eirthe
my mistres warrs them all,
And oft have wee discouerit
what, quhy, quhairefoir, and how
I lou'd my dame, and oft wald schee
baith love and all allow.
Ȝet durst I not behold
her to her self to schow,
But thesawriz'd my hiddin harmes
and ay conceallit woe,
And as the fearefull babe
quho knawes his task perqueir,
And sett's the buike asyde befoir
the appoynted hour draw neir,
And ou'r and ou'r againe
his leassoune doeth repeate,
That hee may satisfie and pleis
the maister quhen they meit,
Ȝit quhenn ane compt is tane
all fleis from out his thot,
And quhat he knew he quyte foreȝet's,
feir setts his mynde aflot.
Evin sua it faires with me,
my harong clearlye cunde,
Hes presence hes obliterate
befoir I haue begunde.
And oft have I determened
my passiones to displaye,
And ȝit Immediatelie
I weiping went awaye.
O in my loveing lynes,
O blind with brusit teares,
Hes schee espyit my passiones strong,
my stryving hop's & feirs,
Oft hes schoe sweetlye said,
thy mistres were to blame,
Gif cruell schee, to the that soe
her praises doeth proclame.
And ware thow myne, said schoe,
I surelie wald be loath
Thy loue, thy hoip, thy faithe sould finde
or raip rewarde of wrat.
Thus cannoucht I but thinke
and half perswade my sell
Schee knawes I love her best of all
suppois I dare not tell.
Ȝit leist my name sould be
transsumpit heir and theire,
Inrol'd with foolische soulls who feides
on apprehensions bair,
I schaipe with spidie haist
to sett asyde all shame
And by sum meanes to manifest
my dule vnto my dame,
Quhois must renouned name
for me sall nevir be knowne,
But in my mynde sall still remaȝne
in bloodie figures drawne.
So sall my loue to her,
and with my love my paine,
May ather by my presence be
or poesie maid plaine.
I cease regraiting still
that wicked weirds hes wrot
Suche annalogicke descrepaunce
betuix me and my thot,
Quhilk maks me thus allace,
but pietie to be pyn'd,
Quhenn I beheld suche monsterous
greit greefis wtin my mynd.
And still sall I bewaill
till thouchts there actions breid
And mak ane ramigratioune there
from quhence they did proceid.
And sua till vengit tyme
my wish'd contentment bring,
I end and on ye heichts of hoip
my hovering thotis sall hing.

4.

[Let not the world beleive]

Let not the world beleive
the' accursing of my fate,
It endis to alluire and to condole
with me my tragicte state,
Nor that I have sent furthe
these stormie teeris of rage
So by disburding of my breast
my sorrowes to assuage.
No, no, that serves for noucht,
I crave no suche releef,
Nor will I ȝeild that any sould
be partiners of my greef.
My fantassie to feid,
I onlie spend thois teares
My plaintes playes me, no musick sound's
so sweetlie in my eares.
I wish that from my birth
I had acquanted beine
Still with mishap's and never had
but noyes and horrours seine,
Thenn Ignoraunte of Ioyes,
Lamenting as I doe,
As thinking all menn did the lyke
I micht content me to.
But ohe my fate was worse,
for it as in ane glas
Schow me throw lytle blenkes of bles
the state quherin I was,
Quhich wnperfyted Ioyes,
scairce constante for ane hour,
Was lyke but to ane waterie soonne
that schynnes befoir a schor,
For giue I euer thoucht
or rather dreem'd of Ioyes,
That lytle lichtning but foir shewde
a thunder of annoyes.
It was but lyke the fruite
that tantalus tormentes,
Quhich whill he sies and not attanes
his hunger but augments,
For sua the shaddow of
that but Imaginit mirth
Cald all the crosses to recoirde
I suffered since my birth,
Quhich are to be bewaill'd,
but hard to be redressit,
Quhois strange effect's may well be felt
but cannot be exprest.
Iudge what the feeling was
whenn thinking on thinges past,
I trimble at the torment ȝit
and stande ane tyme agast
Ȝit doe I noucht repent,
but will with patience pyne,
For thoucht I murne, I murmure not
lyke men yat doe repyne.
I grante I waile my lote,
ȝit I approve her will,
Quhat my saull oracle thinks gude
I never sall think ill.
Giue I had only sought
ane salue to ease my paines,
Long since I hade bewailled my lote
alongst the illisian plaines.
Ȝit mynde I noucht in this,
selff louer lyke to dyee,
As ane that cairt not for her lois
so I my self wer free.
No, may ten night's annoyes
mak her ane nicht secuire,
Ane day of dolour's vnto her
ane momentes mirth procure,
Ore may ane ȝeeres lament's
rejoyce her half ane hour,
May seavin ȝeir's sorrow's mak her glad,
I sall not think them sour.
And gif shee doeth delychte
to heere of my deseeis,
Thenn o, bleast I, quho soe maȝ haue
the occasioun her to pleas.
For now the caus I liue
is noucht for lufe of lyfe,
But onlie for to honour her
that holds me still in stryfe.
And ore these vowes I make
do vnperformit escaipe,
This world sall anes agane renverst
resoome her shaples shape,
But what, what haue I vowed,
my passiones wer too strong,
As giue the myldest of the world
delighted to doe wrong,
As schee quhom I adoire
with so devoite ane mynde
Could rest content to see me sterve,
be glade to see my pynde.
No, no, schee wailles my state
and wald appaȝs my caires,
Ȝet interdytit to the faites
confirmes her will to ther's.
Thenn O, vnhappie man,
whom evin thyne sanct wold saue,
And ȝit thy crewell destanie
doeth damne the to thy grave,
This sentence thenn may serve
for to confound my fear's,
Quhy brust I not my breist with sighis
and droune my eyes wt teirs?
Ohe I haif murnit sa muche
that I maȝ murne no moir,
My miseries pas numbring now,
plaintes perisch in yr scoir.
The meanes to vnloade my breast
does quyte begin to faill,
For being drunk with too much doole
I wate not how to waill.
And since I wante ane way
my anguishe to reveell,
Of force contented with my faite
I'll suffer and conceell,
And for to wishe the world
evin as my Loue wish'd me,
I vse ane countenance lyke to one
quhois mynde from greif wer free.
For quhenn shoe did disdaine,
shee schew'd ane smylling face,
Evin quhen that schoe denunc'd my deat,
schee sem'd to promeis grace.
So sall I seeme in schaw
my thoughtes for to repois,
Ȝit in the centure of my saull
sall shrow'd a world of woes.
Thenn wofull breast and eyes
ȝour restles cours controule,
And with na outward signes betraye
ye anguishe of my soule.
Eyes rayne ȝour shoures within,
arrouze ye eirth no moir,
Pas doune with a deludge of tear's
ye breast ȝe burnd befoir.
Breast arme ȝour seelf with sigh's,
giue ou'r waike to defend,
Thenn perishe by ȝour proper fyres
and mak ane honest end.

5. Ane dyor

[Evin as the dying swayne]

Evin as the dying swayne
almost bereft of breath
Sound's dulefull songes and dririe not's,
a presage of her deat,
Sua since my date of lyfe
almost expyr'd I find
My obsequeis I sadlie sing
as sorrow toounes my mynd.
And as the rairest bird
ane pyle of woode doeth frame,
Quhich being fyred by phebus rayes
sche falls into ye flame,
So by tuo sunnye eyes
I giue my fanncies fyre
And burne my self with bewties rayes
evin by my awin desyre.
Thus the angree gods at lenth
begin for to relent,
And anes to end my dathefull lyfe
for pietie are content.
For giue th'infernall poweris
the dampned saulls wold pyne,
Thenn let them send them to the light
to leid a lyfe lyke myne.
O giue I could receave
the crosses and the cairs
That from my cradle to my bear's
conduct me wt despair's,
Then hungrie tantalus
pleas'd with his lote wald stand,
I famishe for ane sweeter foode
quhilk still rest's in my hand.
Lyke Ixiones restles wheelle
my fancies rule about,
And Lyke a gwest that stolle heavins fyres
they tare my bowells out.
I worke ane endles taske
and lois my labour still,
Evin as the bloodye sisteris doe
that emptie as they fill.
As siciphus stone returnes
his guiltie ghoist to appaill,
I euer rais my hoip sua heiche
they bruse me wt there fall.
And giue I could in sume
my seuerall greefes relate,
All wold forget there proper harmes
and onlye waill my state.
So greivous is my paine,
so panefull is my greef,
That death whiche doeth the world affright
wold ȝeild me to releef.
I haue mishaps sua lang
as in ane habite hade,
I think I luik not lyke my self
but whenn that I am sade.
As bird's that flee but in the aire,
fishes in sea doe diue,
Sua sorrow's lyke an element
by which I onlie liue.
Ȝit this may be admired
as more then strange in me,
Althot in all my horoscope
not one poȝnt cleir I see.
Aganest my knowledge ȝit
I manye a tyme rebell,
And seek to gadder groundis of hoip
ane hevin amids a hell.
O poysonne of the mynde
that doeth the wittes bereave
And schrew'd it with ane cloake of loue
does all ye world deceave,
Thow arte the rock on whiche
my comfoirtes schip didst dashe,
It's thow that daylie in my woundes
thy hookit heids does washe.
Blind tyrante is, o thow
by whome my hoip's lye deid,
That whylls thraws furth a dert of gold,
and whils a lumpe of leid.
Thus oft thow woundes to,
but in tuo differente states,
Quhich treuth a strange antipathie,
one loues the vther heats.
O but I ere I graunte,
I sould noucht the vpbraid,
It's I to passiones tyrannie
that haue my self betraȝed
And ȝit this cannoucht be,
my iudgement aymes amiss,
Ohe deere aurora it is thow
that ruyn'd hes my bliss,
Ane fault that by thy sex
maȝ pairtlie be excuised,
Quhich still does lois quhat profer'd is
affect's quhat is refuised.
Quhills my distracted thoucht's
I stryu'd for to controill,
And with fain'd gestures did disguyis
the anguishe of my soull,
Thenn with inveiting lookes
and accent's stampt wt loue
The mask that was vpoun my mynde
thow labourst to remove.
And whenn that once ensnair'd
thow in thois net's me spy'de,
Thy smylles were shaddowit wt disdaines,
thy bewties clothed wt pryde.
To reateane thy grace
I wate noucht how to goe,
Sall I once fall befoir the feete
to pleid for favour soe?
No, no, I'le proudlie go,
my wraith for to asswage
And liberallie at last enlardge
ye raines vnto my rage.
I'le tell what wee were ones
our chast (ȝit fervent) loue,
Quhill in effect thow seam'd to affect
ye which thow didst disprove,
Quhill once to ingrave thy name
vpoun a rocke I sate,
Thow vowed to wryte myne in a mynde
more firme by fare then yt.
The marble stane then stampt
reteanes that name of thyne,
But, ah, thy moir then marble mynde
it did not sua with myne.
Sua that whiche thrallt me first
sall set me free againe,
Thois flames to which thy loue gave lyfe
sall die with thy disdane.
But ahe quhere am I now?
how is my iudgement lost?
I speik as it were in my power
lyke ane that's free to boast.
Haue I evin sauld my self
to be thy bewties slaue,
And quhen thow taks all hoip fra me,
thow taks but quhat yow gave.
That former loue of thyne
did sua posses my mynde,
That for to harbour vther thotis,
na roume remaynes behinde.
The onlie meanes by which
I mynde to avenge this wrong,
It is by making of thy prais
the bourding of my song.
Thenn quhy sould thow suche spyte
for my good will returne,
Vas euer god as ȝit sua made
to make his temple burne?
My breast the temple was
quhence incens thow receaued,
And ȝit thow set's the same afyre
which vtheris wald have saued.
But why sould thow accuis
aurora in this gyise?
Shee's als fateles as schoe is fair,
als Innocent als wyse.
For it is but throuche my misluckt,
giue anye fault yer be,
For shee who was of nature mylde
was cruell made by me.
And since my fortoune is
In Woe to be bewrapptt,
I'le honour her as of befoir
and hate my awin mishaptt.
Her rigourous cours sall serue
my loyell pairt to prove
And as ane tuichstone for to trye
ye vertew of my love,
Quhich whenn her bewtie fades
salbe als cleir as now,
My constancie it salbe knowne
when wrinckled is her brow,
Sua that suche tua againe
sall in no age be founde,
Shee for her face, I for my fayth,
boith worthie to be croun'd.

6.

[Will thow, remorsles fair]

Will thow, remorsles fair,
still laughe whill I lament,
And sall thy cheefe contentment be
to see me mallecontent?
Sall I narcissus lyke
ane flying shade still chaise,
Ore lyke pigmalion straine a stone
quhilk bare no sence of gra[ce]?
No, no, my blinde love now
must burrow reassonnes eyes,
It was thy fairnes made me fonnde,
ȝor wrong mone mak me [wise].
My iust desert's disdaines
to loue ane Loueles dame,
The lyfe of cupidis fyre consistes
Into ane mutuall flame
[[OMITTED]] gave thow but a looke,
or gaue thow but a smyle,
Ore sent thow furth but ane sweit siche
My sorrows to begyle,
My captiues thoucht's perhap's
might be redeem'd from pane,
And thois my mutineris maleconten's
mycht freind's wt hoip agane
But thow as it appear's,
still cairles of my gude,
And, as it seem's, wald eternize
thy bewtie with my bloode,
Ane great disgrace to the,
to me ane monstrous wrong,
Quhilk tyme will teache the to repent
befoir that it be long.
Then to prevente thy schame
and to abraidge my woe,
Because thow will noucht loue thy freinde,
I'le cease to lufe mȝ foe.

6a.

[Will thou, Remorsless faire]

Will thou, Remorsless faire,
Still laugh while I lament,
Or shall thy cheife contentment be
To see mee Malecontent?
Shall I Narcissus like
A flyeing shade still chase,
Or like Pigmalion hugg a stone
Which hath noe sense of grace?
Noe, noe, my blinde love now
Must borrow Reasons eyes,
And as thy fairness made mee fond
Thy wrongs must make mee wise.
My Loyallty disdaines
To love a Loveless Dame,
The life of Cupids fyre consists
Into a Mutuall flame.
Hadst thou but given one looke,
Or hadst thou given one smyle,
Or hadst thou sent but one sweete sigh
My sorrowes to beguyle,
My Captive thoughts perchance
Had been redeem'd from paine,
And those my Mutinous discontents
Made freinds with hope againe.
But thou, I know not how,
Are careless of my good
And would ambitiously imbrue
Thy beauty in my blood,
A greate disgrace to thee,
To mee a monstrous wrong,
Which tyme would teach the to repent
Before that it were long.
But to prevent thy shame
And to abridge my woe,
Because thou cannot love thy freind,
I'le cease to love my foe.

7.

[Let him whois hapeles state]

Let him whois hapeles state
is as it aye hes beine,
And hes bene euer as it is,
ane cave caires to conteine,
Still strampld doune with sturts,
let him the weird's Imploir
That they may fill his dayes with ȝeir's
nor ȝeer's with dayes no moir.
I clame no right to lyfe,
tho' lyfe acclame to me,
The comfoirt that my lyfe impoirt's
Is that it liue to dye.
Ȝit by constran'te of loue
my pennance sall furth proue
That tho' I doe not loue to liue,
ȝit doe I liue to love
Her with whom I be ay,
in absence present bee,
Quhois matchles nevir deying worth
I sall adoiring dye
Giue then, ȝee plideris power
of never purchast peace,
Resigne my loue her awin disdaine,
liue me with my disgrace,
Tell to her secreete sight,
since better could nocht bee,
Lang haue I foughtin with my fate
and now am forcit to flee.
Sall never loue dissolue
the lyfe that loue beganne.
How lang sall langour be the lord,
the louer be the man?
The darkeest cloudes will cleir,
ill storme will sumtyme ceas,
And everie battell sum tyme hes
ane day perfixt for peace.
But where love lyis intrinch't
within a breist of feares,
Na kynde of comfoirt clair's there croce
nor joy dryis vp yr teir's.
Reid thenn, remorsles fair,
quha knawes nor it maȝ be
That pittie, pittieles befoir,
proue pittiefull to me.
My tempted hee attempt's
flew soiring out of sight,
My mounting mynde did clume, allace,
but came not to ye hicht,
Thy face, the field wherein
my loue and thy disdaine,
Vnreconceild compeditoris,
vowes euer to remayne.
Sen so it is allace,
giue her gude nicht and goe,
Devoirc't from weell, espousit to wrong,
and interteinit wt woe.
Ȝit nether contrair care
nor prosperous event's
Sall mak my pen leive of to blote
the lynnis of my lament's.
And for thy worth I vow
In forrand lands to fair,
Thy [inter]dyti[t] pilgr[i]me puire
foreuer heir and thair.
And as thow was that one
to quhome I faith p[ro]fest,
Looke in quhat corner of the eirth
thy loouer po[o]re sall re[st].
There, be assuir't, sweet saull,
som sonnet salbe sung,
And sowst with sorrow for thy saik,
cald with a tru[th]full tung.
Had I als manie hearts
as my harte thouchts [com]mands,
And euerie hart of all these heart's
I sweere als manye hands,
Eache hand sould hold a pen
to wryte thy worthie rair
As post's of thy eternall prais
to tell the world thour't fair.
Let it suffice the pen,
puire saull, her sicht to flee,
Since thow hes founde thy marterdome
remedyles to bee.
Rest ȝee in thy wnrest,
and murray be thow still,
The maike where meneles miseries
directes yere endles ill.
Giue her ane long gudenyt
and seeke vnto thy soir
Sum hermitadge where broken herts
are heipit vp in stoir,
And there releefles dead
vp gaue the ghoist and all
That woorthie fame maȝ fetche of thee,
a fate memoriall,
That as thow loueing liued
her louer poore and trew,
Sua at thy letter dying breathe,
thow badd her last adew.
Thus all thy ending bee
begging vnto her prais,
Her prais whilk never sall have end
sall end my wretchit days.

8. [A Posy]

Deire love, I am resolv'd with the to live,
Tho with my smok thy pains fore to relive.
Thus shoe replyed: Deir Sir if it be so,
Without my smok, through a woreld with the I'le goe.

9. Wpon the possie of her woope and his

Faire Lady, thy verteus be my guide,
I doe resolve to live and die with yow.
Sweet Sir, said shoe, if this yow doe resolve,
Let me not ever be forgott by yow.

10. [A Declaration]

11. [A Protestation]

12. [An Exhortation]

13. [Amintas]

Amintas on a summer day
To shunn Appollos beames
Was dryving of his flocks away
To tast some cooling streames,
And through a Forrest as he went
Neare to a River side,
A voice which from a Grove was sent
Invited him to bide.
The voice well seem'd for to bewray
Some male contented minde,
For oft tymes did he heare it say
Ten thousand tymes vnkinde.
The remnant of that ragged mone
Did all escape his eare,
For every word brought forth a grone
And every grone a teare.
But nearer when he did repaire
Both voice and face he knew,
And see that Phillis was come there
Her plaints for to renew.
Soe leaving her to her complaint
And murrmering ragged mones,
He heard her fully discontent
Thus all burst forth at once.
Amintas, is my love to the
Of such a small account
That thou disdaines to looke on mee
Or love mee as thou wont?
Were those the Oathes that thou did make,
The Vowes thou did Conceive,
When I for thy Contentments sake
My hearts delight did leave?
How oft did thou protest to mee
The Heavens should turne to nought,
The sunn should first obscured be
Or thou should change thy thought?
Then Heavens dissolve without delay,
Sunn show thy face noe more,
Amintas love is lost for aye,
And woe is mee therefore.
Well might I if I had been wise
Foreseene what now I finde,
But too much love did seale myne eyes
And made my Iudgement blinde.
All thy behaviours were, god knowes,
Too smooth and too discreete,
Like sugar which impoyson'd growes
Vnspy'd because it's sweete.
Thy Oathes and vowes did promise more
Nor well they could performe,
Most like a calme which comes before
An vnexpected storme.
God knowes, it would not greive mee much
For to be kill'd for thee,
But, ah, how neare it doth me tuch
That thou should murther mee.
God knowes, I care not, for noe paine
Can come for loss of breath,
Its thy vnkindness, cruell swaine,
That greives mee to the death.
Amyntas, tell me, if thow may,
If any fault of myn
Hath giv'n the cause thus to betray
My hearts delyt and thyn?
No, no, alas, It could not be
My loue to the was such,
Vnles if that thow loathed me
For loving the too much.
But, ah, alas, what doe I gaine
By those my fond complaints?
My dolour doubles his disdaine,
My greife his pride augments.
Although it yeeld noe greater good,
It oft doth ease my minde
For to reproach the ingrattitude
Of him who is vnkinde.
With that her hand, Cold, wan, and pale,
Vpon her breast she layed,
And finding that her breath did faile
She sight and then she sayed,
Amintas; and with that, poore maid,
She sight againe soe sore
That after that she never said,
Nor sight, nor breath'd noe more.

14. [Cloris and Amintas]

15. [Sonnet: On Hope]

You hopes, you Bankerouts of tyme and youth,
You shaddowes which Cephisus sonne did chase,
You fruites which fledd from Tantalus hungry mouth,
Goe hence from mee and take your dwelling place
[[OMITTED]]
With such Camelions as can live on Aire,
With such as buy into there owne disgrace
Thurinus' smoake for good and solid ware.
For me, I rather cherish true dispaire
Then entertaine such hopes as doe betray mee,
For mee, I rather stoupe to such a care
As cutts mee shorte, then such as doth belie mee,
A hopeless life is Arm'd against all paine,
It doubleth greife to hope and not t'obtaine.

16. [To Mrs Margaret Lesly Thereafter Lady of Madertie]

Religious relicts of that ruinous place,
Which sometymes gloryed in the glore of saints,
Now hath noe glore but one whereof it vants,
That one Saints beauty makes it heaven of grace,
In balmie feildes which fairds her flourie face
With sweete perfumes of Cornes, of trees, of plants,
While Neptune swells with pride, when there he hants,
And laughs for Ioy such beauty to Embrace,
Beare me record, that while I passed by
I did my dut'ous homage to your Dame,
How thryce I sight, thrice on her name did cry,
Thrice kist the ground for honour of the same
Then left those lynes to tell her on a tree
That she made them to live and mee to dye.

17. [Sonnet: Love's Provocation]

Vnhappy eyes, why did you gaze againe
Vpon those Fatall, Loveing, fyring Spheires,
Know you not well, her fire flaughts would constraine
Your Cristall circles to dissolve in teares?
And you againe, even as vnhappy eares,
Why did her painted Phrase your Fort surprise?
Know you not well that in her lipps she beares
A charming host of perswasive replyes?
Oh, eyes and eares, that you had been more wise
And had not waken'd vp a sleeping flame!
Yet since the fault is don, my comfort lyes
Into the merritts of a Matchless dame,
For who soe loves her not, that heares or sees,
Is neither worthy to have eares nor eyes.

18. A Sonnet Left in A Gentlewoman's Looking Glasse

To veiw thy beauty well, if thou be wise,
Come not to gaze vpon this glass of thyne,
But come and looke vpon these Eyes of myne
Where thou shalt see thy true resemblance twyce,
Or if thou thinkes that thou profaines thy Eyes,
When on my wretched eyes they daigne to shyne,
Looke on my heart wherein, as in a shryne,
The lively picture of thy beauty lyes,
Or if thy harmeless Modesty thinkes shame
To gaze vpon the horrours of my heart,
Come read those lynes, and reading see in them
The Trophies of thy beautie and my smart,
Or if to none of those thou'l daigne to come,
Weepe eyes, breake heart, and you my verse be dumbe.

19. [Sonnet: The Power of Love]

Can Eagles birds fly lower then there kinde,
Or can Ambition stoope to servile gaine?
Can free borne breasts be forc'd against there minde
To put the Maske of love vpon dissdaine?
Can love be bought, can Avarice constraine
Greate Cupid to do homage vnto gold,
Can he his wings, can he his flames restraine,
Or be induced to wishes worldlings would?
Noe, noe, my fates are in the Heavens inrold,
Mens lawes may force my life, but not my love,
Men may my eyes, but not my heart, behold,
My eyes may thers, my heart my owne shall prove.
And ere I change, by t'heavens I vow to leave
A Ioyles bedd, and take a joyfull Grave.

20. [Sonnet: The Second Scene of Baptista Guarini his Pastor Fido, Paraphrased]

Faire cruell Silvia, since thou scornes my teares
And over lookes my cares with careless Eye,
Since my request in love offends thy eares,
Hence forth I vow to hold my peace and dye.
But while I hold my peace, those things shall cry,
The brookes shall murmur and the winds complaine,
The hills, the Dales, the Deserts where I lye
With Echhoes of my sighes shall preach my paine.
Yet put the Case they silent would remaine,—
Imagine Brookes and windes should hold ther peace,
Say that hills, vailes, and deserts would disdaine
T'acquaint thy deafe disdaines with my disgrace,
Yet when they dumbe, thou deafe to me shall prove,
My death shall speake and let the know my love.

21. [Sonnet: De Porcheres On the Eies of Madame la Marquise de Monceaux, englished]

Were those thine Eyes or Lightnings from above
Whose glorious glimpses dazled soe my sight?
I tooke them to be lightnings sent from Iove
To threaten that his thunderbolt would light.
Yet Lightnings could not be soe long soe bright,
They rather seem'd to be some sunns, whose rayes,
Promoved to the Meridian of there hight,
Did change my noisome nights in Ioyfull dayes.
Yet even in that there Number them betrayes,
Sunns were they not, the world indures but one,
There force, their figure, and their Coulor sayes
That they were heavens, yet heavens on Earth are none.
What ere they were, my sight noe odds espyes
Twix't heavens, Twix't sunns, twixt lightnings & thine eyes.

22. [Sonnet: Farewell to Life and Love]

I bid farewell into the world and thee,
To the, because thou art Extreame vnkinde,
Vnto the world, because the world to me
Is nothing, since I cannott move thy minde.
Were any mercy in thy soule inshrin'd,
Could sighes or teares make soft thy flinty heart,
I could perhapps more easily be inclin'd
To spend my dayes with the then to depart.
But since thou knowes not Cupids golden dart,
But hath been wounded with a shaft of lead,
It is but folly to pretend his Art
To sue for favour, when I find but feade.
Soe farewell, Nimph, farewell for aye as now,
And wellcome death more mercifull then thou.

23. [Sonnet: On Loss]

Loe how the Sailer in a stormy night
Wailes and complaines, till he the starr perceive
Whose situation and assured hight
Should guide him through the strong and watrie Cave.
As many motives, wretched soule, I have
For to regrat, as few for to rejoyce
In seeing all things, once this sight I crave,
Since I the Loadstare of my life did loose.
And which is worse, amids those many woes,
Amidds my paines which passes all compare,
Noe helpe, noe hope, noe comfort, noe repose
Noe sunn appeares to cleare those clouds of care,
Save this, that fortune neither may nor dare
Make my misshapps more hapless then they are.

24. [Sonnet: On the River Tweed]

Faire famous flood, which sometyme did devyde,
But now conjoynes, two Diadems in one.
Suspend thy pace and some more softly slyde,
Since wee have made the Trinchman of our mone.
And since non's left but thy report alone
To show the world our Captaines last farewell
That courtesye I know when wee are gon
Perhapps your Lord the Sea will it reveale.
And you againe the same will not conceale,
But straight proclaim't through all his bremish bounds,
Till his high tydes these flowing tydeings tell
And soe will send them with his murmering sounds
To that Religious place whose stately walls
Does keepe the heart which all our hearts inthralls.

25. To Queen Anne upone New-year's-day 1604

Madam,

Who knoues your greatnes cannot but with fear
Draw near your Alters to maike offerings there,
But whoso knows your goodness may make bold,
And with a mytte, as with a myne of gold,
Alse confidently sacrifise to yow.
And this is it that most plead pardon now,
Both for the poornes of my giftis and lines.
Princes ar gods, gods laughs to see their shrynes
Adorned with any gift but of that kynd
That Irus may as weel as Cresus find.
They know how worldlings personat their pairts
And maske with gold presents with leaden hearts.
They know how gifts at court are but a train
To steall from great ons tuice alse good againe.
Now I have no such end, my poor oblation,
At this auspicious time of salutation,
Had it a tongue, this only wold it say:
Heavens heape upon yow many a New-year's-day.

26. To the Author of the Monarchicke Tragedies

Well may the programme of thy Tragick stage
Inuite the curious pompe-expecting eies,
To gaze on present shewes of passed age,
Which iust desert Monarchick dare baptize.
Crownes throwne from Thrones to tombes, detomb'd arise
To match thy Muse with a Monarchick theame;
That whilst her sacred soaring cuts the skies,
A vulgar subiect may not wrong the same:
And which giues most aduantage to thy fame;
The worthiest Monarch that the Sunne can see,
Doth grace thy labours with his glorious Name,
And daignes Protector of thy birth to be:
Thus all Monarchick, Patron, subiect, stile,
Make thee, the Monarch-tragick of this Ile.

27. To the Author [of The Poeticall Essayes, Alexander Craig]

Why thought fond Grece to build a solid fame,
On fleeing shades of fables passing vaine?
Why did her selfe-deceauing fansie dreame,
That none but shee, the Muses did maintaine?
She sayd, these sacred Sisters did remaine
Confin'd within a Craig which there did lie,
That great Apollo selfe did not disdaine,
For that rough Palace, to renounce the skie:
That there a Well still drawne, but neuer dry,
Made Lay-men Poets eir they left the place:
But all were ta'ls, which Fame doth now bely,
And builds vp Albions glore, to their disgrace.
Lo here the CRAIGE, whence flow's that sacred Well,
Where Phoebus raigns, where all the Muses dwell.

28. To the most worshipfull and worthy Knight, Sir Iames Hay, Gentleman of his Maiesties Bedchamber

29. Vpon the: 5: th of November

30. To King James

31. [Vpone King James]

32. [On Devotion]

My fairs vnkinde, and I have spent my paines
And purchast nothing but vndew disdaines.
O had she bin as kinde as I was true,
What praise to her, Ioyes had to mee been due?
But to my griefe and her disgrace I finde
That faire ones too much lov'd prove seldom kinde.
What then, shall loveing less be my revenge?
O Noe, I wrong my Iudgement if I change.
The dice are cast and lett her loath or love
I may vnhappy, not Inconstant prove,
For it is as impossible to mee
To love her less, as more in love to bee.

33. [Wpone Tabacco]

Forsaken of all comforts but these two,
My faggott and my Pipe, I sitt and Muse
On all my crosses, and almost accuse
The heavens for dealing with me as they doe.
Then hope steps in and with a smyling brow
Such chearfull expectations doth infuse
As makes me thinke ere long I cannot chuse
But be some Grandie, whatsoever I'm now.
But haveing spent my pype, I then, perceive
That hopes and dreames are Couzens, both deceive.
Then make I this conclusion in my minde,
Its all one thing, both tends vnto one Scope
To live vpon Tobacco and on hope,
The ones but smoake, the other is but winde.

34. TO HIS DEAR FRIEND, AND fellow student Mr. Robert AEton

Sing swift hoof'd Æthon to thy matchles selfe,
And be not silent in this pleasant spring:
I am thy Echo, and thy Aerie elf,
The latter straines of thy sweet tunes I'll sing:
Ah, shall thy Muse no further frutes forth-bring,
But Basia bare, and wilt thou write no more
To higher notes, J pray thee tune thy string:
Be still admir'd as thou hast bene of yore,
Write Æthon writ, let not thy vain decay,
Least we become Cymerians dark, or worse.
If Æthon faill, the Sun his course must stay,
For, Phœbus Chariot laks the cheefest horse:
Thogh Fortun frown, ah, why should vertue die,
Sing Æthon sing, and J shall Echo thee.

34. AETHON

Cragio Svo

Fane wold I sing, if songs my thoghts culd ease,
Or calme the tempest of my troubled mynde:
Fane wold J force my silent Muse to please,
The gallant humor of thy wanton vane:
But O a miser mancipat to paine,
Sould slaue to sorrow, wedded to mischief,
By mirth of songs, perhaps more greefe might gane,
Jn vane of them J would expect releif:
Then sacred Craig if thou wold ease my greef,
Jnvite me not to wantonize with thee:
But tune thy notes vnto my mourning cleif,
And when J weepe, weepe thou to Echo mee.
Perhaps the teares that from a Craig shall floe,
May proue a Soveraigne balme to cure my woe.

35. To his coy Mistres

What vthers doth discourage and dismay
Is vnto me a pastime and a play.
I sport in hir deneyalls and doe know
Weman loue best that does loue least in show.
Tuo sudden fauors may abate delight;
When modest coynes sharpes the appetite,
I grow the hotter for hir cold neglect
And more inflam'd when sho showes least respect.
Heat may aryse from rocks, from flints so fyre,
So from hir coldnes I doe strik desyre.
Sho knoweinge this, perhapes, resolues to try
My faith and patience, offeringe to denay
What e're I aske of hir, that I may be
More taken with hir, for hir slightinge me.
When fishes play with baites, best, anglers say,
To mak them bite, is drawe the baite away;
So dallies sho wt me till, to my smart,
Both bait and hooke stickes fastened in my hart.
And now I am become hir foolishe prey;
And, that sho knowes I cannot break away,
Let hir resolue no longer to be free
From Cupides bondes, and bind hir self to me;
Nor let hir wex me longer wt dispair
That they be crewell that be younge and fair.
It is the old, the creased, and the blake
That are vnkynd and for affectione lacke.
I'le ty hir eyes wt lynes, hir eares wt moanes
Hir marble hart, I'le pearce wt hydious groanes
That nather eyes, eares, hart sall be at rest
Till sho forsaike hir sier to loue me best;
Nor will I raise my seige nor leaue my feild
Till I haue mead my waliant Mistres yeeld.

36. [A Song]

[There is none, noe none but I]

There is none, noe none but I,
None but I soe full of woe,
That I cannot chuse but dye
Or els begg Physick from my foe.
Now what hopes she shall be moved
To revive my hopes forlorne,
She that loves for to be lov'd,
Yet payes her lovers hopes with scorne,
Whose deserts inflames desire,
Whose disdaines strikes comfort dead,
In whose eyes lyes all loves fyre,
From whose heart all love is fledd.
Lovely eyes and Loveless heart,
Why doe you soe disagree?
How can sweetness cause such smart
Or smarting soe delightful be?
Noe, fair eyes, noe, noe more soe
Cruell eyes and full of guile,
You are only sweete in show
And never kill but when you smile.
Yet, faire eyes, this I must say,
Though you should be still vnkinde
Hee whose heart is not your prey
Must either be a foole or blinde.

37. [A Valediction]

38. [The Sheppherd Thirsis]

The sheppherd Thirsis long'd to die
Gazeing vpon the gratious eye
Of her whome he ador'd and lov'd,
When she, whome no less passion mov'd,
Thus said, O die not yet I pray
I'le dye with the if thou will stay.
The sheppherd then a while delayes
The hast he had to end his dayes,
And while thus Languishing he lyes,
Sucking sweete Nectar from her eyes,
The lovely Sheppherdess, who found
The harvest of her love att hand,
With trembling eyes, straight falls a crying
Die, die sweete heart, for I am dyeing.
The sheppherd then did straight reply,
Behold sweete heart with the I dye.
Thus did those lovers spend there breath
In such a sweete and deathless death,
That they to life reviv'd againe,
Againe to try deaths pleasant paine.

39. [An Epigram]

Philo lov'd Sophia and she againe
Did pay him home with coy disdaine.
Yet when he dye'd, he left her all he had.
What doe you thinke? the man was mad.

40. [A Song]

[O that my tongue had been as dumbe]

41. Vpon a Diamond cutt in forme of an hart sett with a Crowne above and a bloody dart peirceing it sent in a Newyeares gift

42. [Vpone a Gentlewoman That painted]

Pamphilia hath a number of good parts
Which Commendation to her worth imparts,
But amongst all, in one she doth excell,
That she can paint incomparablie well,
And yet soe Modest, that if prais'd for this,
She'll sweare she does not know what painting is,
But straight will blush with such a portred grace
That one would thinke Vermillion dyed her face.
One of her pictures I have oft tymes seene
And would have sworne that it her selfe had beene,
But when I bid her it on mee bestow,
I sweare I heard the Pictur's selfe say noe.
What thinke you this a Prodigie? Its none,
The painter and the picture were both one.

43. Vpon Love

44. [On Love]

Lov's like a game at Irish where the dye
Of maids affection doth by fortune fly,
Which, when you thinke you certaine of the same,
Proves but att best a doubtfull aftergame.
For if they finde yoar fancy in a blott,
Its two to one If then they take you nott.
But, being Gamesters, you must boldly venter,
And wher you see the pointe lye open, enter.
Beleive mee one thing, Nothing brings about
A game halfe lost soe soone as holding out.
And next to holding out, this you shall finde,
There's nothing worse then entering still behinde.
Yet doth not all in happy entrance lye,
When you are on, you must throw home and hye.
If you throw low and weake, beleive mee then,
Doe what you can, they will be bearing men,
And if you looke not all the better on,
They will play false, beare two instead of one.

45. [A Songe: On his Mistresse]

Deare, why doe you say you love,
When indeede you careless prove?
Reason better can digest
Earnest heate, then love in Iest.
Wherefore doe your smileing eyes
Helpe your tongue to make sweete lyes?
Leave to Statesman tricks of State,
Love doth Politicians heate.
You perhapps presume to finde
Love of some Camelion kinde,
But be not deceiv'd, my faire,
Love will not be fedd on Ayre.
Lov's a glutton of his food,
Surfeit makes his stomack good.
Love whose dyett growes precise
Sick of some Consumption dyes.
Then, deare love, lett mee obtaine
That which may true love maintaine,
Or if kinde you cannot prove,
Prove true, say you cannot love.

46. [A Song]

[What meanes this Nyceness now of late]

What meanes this Nyceness now of late
Since tyme doth truth approve?
Such distance may well stand with State,
It cannot stand with love.
Its either cunning or distrust
That doth such wayes allow,
The first is base, the last's vnjust,
Let neither blemish you.
If you intend to draw mee on,
You over act your part,
And if you meane to send me gon,
You neede not halfe this Art.
Speake but the word, or doe but cast
A looke which seemes to frowne,
I'le give you all the love that's past,
The rest shall be my owne.
And such a faire and Efald way
On both sides none can blame,
Since every one is bound to play
The fairest of his game.

47. [The Rejection]

Shall feare to seeme vntrue
To vowes of constant duty
Make mee disgest disdaines vndue
From an inconstant beautie?
Noe, I doe not affect
In vowes to seeme soe holy
That I would have the world to check
My constancy with folly.
Let her call breach of vow
What I call just repentance,
I count him base and braine sick, too,
That dotes on Coy acquaintance.
Thus if out of her snaire
At last I doe vnfold mee,
Accuse her selfe that caught mee there
And knew not how to hold mee.
And if I Rebell prove
Against my will I doe it,
Yet can I heate as well as love
When reason binds mee to it.

48. [Vpon his unconstant Mistress]

49. [Constancy: A Song]

50. [Neglect of Love]

51. The Answer, by the Author [at the King's Majesty's Command]

52. Vpon Mr Thomas Murrays fall

The other night from Court returning late,
Tyr'd with attendance, out of love with state,
I mett a boy who ask't if he should goe
A long to light mee home, I told him noe.
Yet he did vrge the darkness of the night,
The foulness of the way requir'd a light.
Its true, good boy, quoth I, yet thou mayst be
More vsefull to some other then to mee.
I cannot miss my way, but they that take
The way from whence I came, have neede to make
A light there guide, for I dare boldly say
Its ten to one, but they shall lose there way.

53. Vpon Prince Henry his death to Prince Charles

Admired Phoenix, springing vp a pace
From th'Ashes of another Phoenix bones
Which, too, too courteous, yeelded the his place,
Least Earth were burthen'd with two birds at once
Of that rare kinde which loves to live a lone,
Whose only Essence is to be but one.

54. On ye Princes death, to ye King

55. Vpon Platonick Love: To Mistress Cicely Crofts, Maide of Honor

56. [A Song]

[Wrong not, sweete Empress of my heart]