University of Virginia Library

XCVIII
In Spayne

So feble is the threde that doth the burden stay
Of my pore lyff, In hevy plyght that fallyth in dekay,
That but it have elles where some aide or some socours,
The runyng spyndell off my fate anon shall end his cours.
Sins thunhappy howre that did me to depart
From my swete wele, one only hope hath staide my lyff apart,
Wych doth perswade such wordes vnto my sory mynd.
‘Mayntene thy sellff, o wofull spryte, some better luk to fynd:
Ffor tho thou be depryffd from thy desyerd syght
Who can the tell iff thi retorne be for thy most delyght?
Or who can tell thy losse if thou ons maist recover?
Some plesant howre thy wo may rape and the defend and cover.’
This is the trust that yet hath my lyff sustaynid;
And now alas I se' it faint and I by trust ame trainid.
The tyme doth flete and I perceyve thowrs how thei bend
So fast that I have skant the space to marke my comyng end.
Westward the sonne from owt th'est skant doth shew his lyght,
When in the west he hyds hym straite within the darke of nyght;
And coms as fast where he began his path a wrye
From est to west, from west to thest so doth his jornei ly.
The lyff so short, so fraile, that mortall men lyve here,
So gret a whaite, so hevy charge, the body that we bere,
That when I thinke apon the distance and the space
That doth so ferr devid me from my dere desird face,
I know not how t'attayne the wynges that I require,
To lyfft my whaite that it myght fle to folow my desyre.
Thus off that hope, that doth my lyff some thing sustayne,
Alas, I fere and partly fele full litill doth remayne.
Eche place doth bryng me grieff, where I do not behold
Those lyvely Iyes wich off my thowghtes were wont the kays to hold.
Those thowghtes were plesaunt swete whilst I enioyd that grace;
My plesure past, my present payne, wher I myght well embrace.
But for becawse my want shold more my wo encresse,
In wache, in slepe, both day and nyght, my will doth neuer cesse
That thing to wish wheroff, sins I did lese the syght,
I neuer saw the thing that myght my faytfull hert delyght.
Th'vnesy lyff I lede doth teche me for to mete
The flowdes, the sees, the land and hilles that doth them entremete
Twene me' and those shining lyghtes that wontyd to clere
My darke panges off clowdy thowghtes as bryght as Phebus spere;
It techith me also what was my plesant state,
The more to fele by such record how that my welth doth bate.
If such record, alas, provoke th'enflamid mynd
Wich sprang that day that I did leve the best of me byhynd;
If love forgett hym sellff by lenght of absence let,
Who doth me guyd, o wofull wrech, vnto this baytid net
Where doth encresse my care? much better were for me
As dome as stone, all thing forgott, still absent for to be.
Alas the clere crystall, the bryght transparant glas,
Doth not bewray the colour hyd which vnderneth it has,
As doth th'accomberd sprite thowghtfull throws discover
Off fiers delyght, off fervent love, that in our hertes we cover.
Owt by thes Iyes it shewth that euer more delyght
In  plaint  and teres to seke redresse, and that both day and nyght.
Thes new kyndes off plesurs, wherein most men reioyse,
To me thei do redowble still off stormye syghes the voyce;
Ffor I ame one off them whom  plaint  doth well content:
It sittes me well, myn absent welth meseems me to lament,
And with my teris for to' assay to charge myn Iyes tweyne,
Lyke as myn hert above the brink is frawtid full of payne;
And for by cawse therto off those fayre Iyes to trete,
Do me provoke, I shall retorne, my  plaint  thus to repete;
For there is nothing elles that towches me so within
Where thei rule all, and I alone nowght but the cace or skyn.
Wherfore I do retorne to them as well or spryng,
From whom decendes my mortall wo above all othr thing.
So shall myn Iyes in payne accompagnie min hert,
That were the guydes that did it lede of love to fele the smert.
The cryspid gold that doth sormount Apollos pryd,
The lyvely strenes off plesaunt sterres that vnder it doth glyd,
Where in the bemes off love doth still encresse theire hete,
Wich yet so farre towch me so nere in cold to make me swete;
The wise and plesaunt talk, so rare or elles alone,
That did me gyve the courtese gyfft that such had neuer none,
Be ferre from me, alas, and euery other thing
I myght forbere with better will then that that did me bryng
With plesant word and chere redresse off lingerd payne,
And wontyd oft in kendlid will to vertu me to trayne.
Thus ame I dryven to here and herken affter news
My confort skant, my large desire, in dowtfull trust renewes;
And yet with more delyght to mone my wofull cace
I must complaine; those handes, those armes, that fermely do embrace
Me from my sellff, and rule the sterne of my pore lyff,
The swete disdaynes, the plesant wrathes, and eke the lovely stryff
That wontid well to tune in tempre just and mete
The rage that offt did make me erre by furour vndiscrete:
All this is hid me fro with sharp and craggyd hilles.
At other will my long abode my diepe dispaire fulfilles.
But if my hope somtyme ryse vp by some redresse,
It stumblith straite, for feble faint, my fere hath such excesse.
Such is the sort off hope, the lesse for more desire,
Wherby I fere and yet I trust to see that I requyre,
The restyng place of love where vertu lyves and grose,
Where I desire my wery lyff also may take repose.
My song, thou shalt ataine to fynd that plesant place
Where she doth lyve by whome I lyve; may chaunce the have this grace:
When she hath red and seene the dred wherein I sterve
By twene her brestes she shall the put there shall she the reserve.
Then tell her that I come she shall me shortly se;
Yff that for whayte the body fayle, this sowle shall to her fle.