The Muses Gardin for Delights :: :: University of Virginia Library

Loue is a pretie Pedler,
Whose Packe is fraught with sorrowes,
With doubts with feares, with sighs with teares,
Some ioyes, but those he borrowes.

6

Loue is a pretie nothing,
Yet what a quoile it keepes,
With thousand eyes of iealousies,
Yet no one euer sleepes.

II

[Soft Cupid soft, There is no haste]

[1]

Soft Cupid soft, There is no haste,
For all unkindnesse gone and past.
Since thou wilt needs forsake me so,
Let vs parte friendes, before thou goe.

2

Still shalt thou haue my heart to vse,
When I cannot otherwise chuse,
My life thou mayst command Saunce doubt,
Command I say and goe with out.

3

And if that I doe euer proue,
False and vnkind to gentle Loue,
Ile not desire to liue a day,
Nor any longer then I may.

4

Ile dayly blesse the little God,
But not without a smarting rod,
Wilt thou still vnkindly leaue mee,
Now I pray God all ill goe with thee.

III

[As I the silly Fish deceiue]

[1]

As I the silly Fish deceiue,
So Fortune playes with me,
Whose bai [OMITTED] my heart of ioyes bereaue,
And Angels taketh mee.
I still doe fish, yet am I caught,
And taken on, their taking taught.

2

The Riuer wherein I doe swimme,
Of streames of hope is made,
Where ioyes as flowers dresse the brimme,
And frownes doe make my shade.
Whence smiles as sun-shine giues me heat,
And shadow frownes from showers beat.

3

Thus taken like an enuious one,
Who glads for others care,
Since he himselfe must feele such mone,
Delights, all, so should fare,
And striue to make them know like smart,
So make I this to beare apart.

IIII

[The fountaines smoake, And yet no flames they shewe]

[1]

The fountaines smoake, And yet no flames they shewe,
Starres shine all night Though vndesern'd by day,
And trees doe spring, yet are not seene to growe,
And shadowes mooue, Although they seeme to stay,
In Winters woe, Is buried Summers blisse,
And Loue loues most, when loue most secret is.

2

The stillest streames descries the greatest deepe,
The clearest skie is subiect to a shower,
Conceit's most sweete, when as it seemes to sleepe,
And fairest dayes doe in the morning lower,
The silent Groues sweete Nimphs they cannot misse,
For loue loues most, where loue most secret is.

3

The rarest Jewels, hidden vertue yeeld,
The sweete of traffique, is a secret gaine,
The yeere once old doth shew a barren field,
And Plants seeme dead, and yet they spring againe,
Cupid is blind, the reason why, is this,
Loue loueth most, where loue most secret is.

V

[Walking by a Riuerside]

[1]

Walking by a Riuerside,
In prime of Summers morning,
Viewing Phoebus in his pride,
The siluer streames adorning,
And passing on my selfe alone,
Me thought I heard a wofull grone.

2

Still I stood as one amaz'd,
To heare this wofull crying,
Round about me then I gaz'd,
In euery Meddow prying.
Yet could I not this wight surprise,
Although the voice did pierce the skies.

3

Venus thou hast kild my heart,
And quite my soule confounded,
Thy sonne Cupid with his dart,
My vitall parts hath wounded,
Shoote home proud boy, and doe thy worst,
That shee may die that liues accurst.

4

Draw thy shaft vnto the head,
And strongly it deliuer,
Draw that thou mayst strike her dead,
That liues a hopelesse Louer,
Let come blind boy to satisfie,
His mind that most desire to dies.

VI

[I cannot chuse but giue a smile]

[1]

I cannot chuse but giue a smile,
To see how Loue doeth all beguile,
Except it bee my frozen heart,
That yeeldes not to his fierie Dart.

2

Belike I was Achillis like,
Drencht in that fatall hardning flood,
My flesh it feares no push of pike,
The speare against me doth no good.

3

Onely my heele may Cupid hit,
Aud yet I care not much for it,
Because the hurt I cannot feele,
Vnlesse my heart were in my heele.

The Answere.

1

I cannot chuse but needes must smile,
To see how Loue doth thee beguile,
Which did of purpose frieze thy heart,
To thaw it to thy greater smart.

2

Suppose thou wert Achillis like.
Drencht in that fatall hardning flood,
That might auaile gainst pusho pike,
But gainst his dart t'will doe no good.

3

For if thy heele he doe but hit,
His venom'd shaft will rancle it,
The force whereof the heart must feele,
Conuaide by Arteryes from thy heele.

VII

[Ioye in thy hope, the earnest of thy Loue]

[1]

Ioye in thy hope, the earnest of thy Loue,
For so thou mayst Enioye thy hearts desire
True hopes, things absent doe as present prooue,
And keeepe aliue, Loues still renewing fire.

2

But of thy hope let silence be thy tongue,
And secresie the heart of louing fire,
For hopes reuealed may thy hopes prolong,
Or cut them off in prime-time of desire.

3

Sweete are those hopes that doe them selues enioy,
As vowed to them selues to liue and Dey,
Sweetest those ioyes and freest from annoy,
That waken not the eye of iealousie.

L'ENVOY.

Thy loue is not thy loue, if not thine owne,
And so it is not, if it once be knowne.

VIII

[How many new yeres haue grown old]

[1]

How many new yeres haue grown old,
Since first your seruant old was new,
How many long howers haue I told,
Since first my loue was uow'd to you,
And yet alas, Shee doeth not know
Whether her seruant. loue or no.

2

How many wals as white as Snow,
And windowes cleere as any glasse,
Haue I coniur'd to tell you so,
Which faithfully performed was,
And yet you'l sweare you do not know,
Whether your seruant loue or no.

3

How often hath my pale leane face,
With true Characters of my loue,
Petitioned to you for grace,
Whom neither sighs nor teares can moue,
O cruell yet doe you not know,
Whether your seruant loue or no?

4

And wanting oft a better token,
I haue beene faine to send my heart,
Which now your cold disdaine hath broken,
Nor can you healt by any art,
O looke vpon't and you shall know,
Whether your seruant loue or no.

IX

[There was a Shepheard that did liue]

[1]

There was a Shepheard that did liue,
And helde his thoughtes as hie
As were the Mounts, whereon his flockes
did hourely feede him by.
He from his youth, his tender youth,
Which was vnapt to keepe,
Or hopes, or feares, or loues, or cares,
Or thoughts but of his sheepe

2

Did with his dogge as Shepheards doe,
For Shepheards wanting wit,
Deuise some sports, though foolish sports,
Yet sports for Shepheards fit,
The boy that (yet) was but a boy,
And so desir's were hid,
Did grow a man, and men must loue,
And loue this Shepheard aid.

3

He loued much, none can too much
Loue one so high diuiue?
As but her selfe, none but her selfe,
So faire, so fresh, so fine,
He vowed by his Shepheards weede,
An Oath which Shepheards keepe,
That he would follow Phillyday,
Before a flocke of sheepe.

X

[The Sea hath many thousand sands]

[1]

The Sea hath many thousand sands,
The Sunne hath motes as many,
The skie is full of starres
And loue as full of woes as an-ny,
Beleeue me that doe knowe the elfe,
And make no Tryall by thy selfe.

2

It is in trueth a prettie toye,
For babes to play withall,
But O the honies of our youth,
Are oft our ages gall,
Selfe proofe in time will make thee know,
He was a Prophet told thee so.

3

A Prophet that Cassandra like,
Tels trueth without beliefe,
For head-strong youth will runne his race,
Although his Goale be griefe,
Loues Martyr when his heate is past,
Prooues cares Confessor at the last.

XI

[Once did my thoughts both ebbe and flowe]

[1]

Once did my thoughts both ebbe and flowe,
As passion did them mooue,
Once did I hope, straight feare againe,
And then I was in Loue.

2

Once did I waking spend the night,
And told how many minutes mooue,
Once did I wishing waste the day,
And then I was in loue.

3

Once by my caruing true loues knot,
The weeping trees did proue,
That wounds and teares were both our lots,
And then I was in loue.

4

Once did I breath an others breath,
And in my mistris moue,
Once was I not mine owne at all,
And then I was in loue.

5

Once woare I bracelets made of hayre,
And collers did aproue,
Once were my clothes made out of waxe,
And then I was in loue.

6

Once did I Sonnet to my Saint,
My soule in number mou'd,
Once did I tell a thousand lies,
And then in trueth I lou'd.

7

Once in my eare did dangling hang,
A little turtle Doue,
Once in a word I was a foole,
And then I was in loue.

XII

[I am so farre from pittving thee]

[1]

I am so farre from pittving thee,
That wear'st a branch of VVillow tree,
That I doe enuie thee and all,
that once was high & got a fall,
O willow willow willo tree
I would than didst belong to mee.

2

Thy wearing willow doth imply,
That thou art happier farre then I,
For once thou wert where thou wouldst be,
Though now thou wear'st the Willow tree,
O Willow willow sweete willow,
Let me once lie vpon her pillow.

3

I doe defie both bough and roote,
And all the friends of hell to boote,
One houre of Paradised ioye,
Makes Purgatorie seeme a toye,
O willow willow doe thy worst,
Thou canst not make me more accurst.

4

I haue spent all my golden time,
In writing many a louing rime,
I haue consumed all my youth,
In vowing of my faith and trueth.
O willow willow willow tree,
Yet can I not beleeued bee.

5

And now alas it is too late,
Gray hayres the messenger of fate,
Bids me to set my heart at rest,
For beautie loueth yong men best,
O willow willo I must die,
Thy seruants happier farre then I.

XIII

[As I lay lately in a dreame]

[1]

As I lay lately in a dreame,
Me thought I saw a wonderous thing,
A woman faire transformed was
Into a Fidle, without a string,
A Metamorphosis so rare,
As all most made mee wake for feare,
O this is rare, yea verie rare,
A wonderous thing so faire a Fidle
Didle, didle didle, a fidle didle,
So faire a Fidle should want a string.

2

Till honest neighbours dwelling nigh,
Said they would all her wants supply,
And said that they haue strings in store,
For such a Fidle and fortie more,
For loue they beare vnto the sport,
Theyle make her fit for the consort.
O this is rare,
Yea, very rare.

3

Theyle send her first to some that can,
Put in the peg, and peg her than,
If that her bridge be broken so,
As that the Fidle cannot go,
Theyle soone deuise some other way,
To make her sound the round-delay.
O this is rare,
Yea very rare,

4

When they haue set her in the keye,
You must not straine her strings so high,
For feare the Fidle chance to crake,
Nor let the strings be too too slacke,
The Diapason is her sound,
The lowest note is most profound.
O this is rare,
Yea very rare.

5

But note a discord in Musicke,
To sound some Note without the pricke,
And then for keeping of your moode,
Sing three to one thats passing good,
Of all the Notes in Gamuet scale,
The Long is that which must not faile.
O this is rare.
Yea very rare.

XIIII

[There was a wyly ladde, met with a bonny lasse]

[1]

There was a wyly ladde, met with a bonny lasse,
Much pretie sport they had, but I wot not what it was,
Hee woed her for a kisse, She plainely said him no,
I pray quoth he, nay nay quoth Shee,
I pray you let mee goe.

2

Full many louely tearms did passe in merrie glee,
He cold her in his armes, and daunc't her on his knee,
And faine he would haue paide such debts as he did owe,
I pray quoth he, nay nay quoth shee,
I pray you let me goe.

3

Sweete be you not so nice to gratifie a friend,
If kissing be a vice, my sute is at an end,
Noe noe it is the rule, to learne a man to woe,
I pray quoth he, nay nay quoth shee,
I pray you let me goe.

4

For Cupid hath an eye, to play a louers part,
And swift his arrowes flie to leauell at the heart,
Thy beautie was my bane, that brought me to his bowe,
I pray quoth he, nay nay quoth shee,
I pray you let me goe.

5

Good Sir alas you feede, your fancie with conceit,
Sweete sweet how should we speede, if louers could not speake.
I speake but what I wish, the spirit wils me so,
I pray quoth he, nay ny quoth shee,
I pray you let me goe.

6

With that shee swore an Oath, and loth she was to breake it,
And so to please them both, he gaue and shee did take it,
There was no labour lost, true amitie to show,
Adew quoth he, nay, stay quoth shee,
Let's kisse before you goe.

XV

[My father faine world haue mee take]

[1]

My father faine world haue mee take
A man that hath a beard,
My mother shee cries out alacke,
And makes mee much afraide,
Forsoothe I am not olde enough,
Nowe surely this is good [OMITTED]
Faith let my mother marrie mee,
Or let some young man burie mee.

2

For I haue liu'd these fourteene yeeres,
My mother knowes it well,
What neede shee then to cast such feares,
Can any body tell?
As though yong women doe not know,
That custome will not let them wo,
I would bee glad if I might chuse,
But I were madde if I refuse.

3

My mother bids me goe to Schoole,
And learne to doe some good,
T'were well if shee would let the foole,
Come home and sucke a dugge,
As if my father knew not yet,
That maidens are for yong men fit,
Giue me my mind and let me wed,
Or you shall quickly find me dead.

4

How soone my mother hath forgot,
That euer shee was yong,
And how that shee denyed not,
But sung another song,
I must not speake what I doe thinke,
When I am drie I may not drinke.
Though her desire be now growen old,
She must haue fier when shee is cold.

5

You see the mother loues the sonne,
The father loues the maide,
What would shee haue me be a Nun?
I will not be delaide,
I will not liue thus idle still,
My mother shall not haue her will,
My father speaketh like a man,
I will be married doe what shee can.

XVI

[My loue hath her true loue betraide]

[1]

My loue hath her true loue betraide,
Why tis a fault that is to common
Yet shall it nor be euer saide,
My faith depended on a woman,
If shee did, to prooue vntrue,
I shall doe worse, to change for new.

2

Che hath some vertues followe them,
Take not example by her lightnesse,
Be not amongst the vulgar men.
Though she be clouded, keepe thy brightnesse:
Perhaps her selfe in time may prooue,
What tis to wrong a constant loue

3

The many vowes giuen by my faire,
Were none of hers: the wind did owe them,
Then weare they breath. now are they ayre.
Whence first they came, there she bestowes them.
Then maruell not thou women alter,
When all things turne to their first matter,

XVII

[All my sense thy sweetenesse gained]

[1]

All my sense thy sweetenesse gained,
Thy faire hayre my heart enchained.
My poore reason thy wordes mooued,
So that thee like heauen I loued.
Fa, la, la, live deridan,
Fa, la, la, leridan,
Fa, la, la, lerideridane,
Lerideri dan leridan dei,
While to my minde the outside stoode,
For messenger of inward good.

2

Now thy sweetnesse sowre is deemed,
Thy hayre not worth a hayre esteemed,
While to my minde the outside stood,
Finding that, but words they proou'd,
Fa, la, la,
Dan, dan, dan.
For no faire Signe can credit winne,
If that the substance faile within.

3

No more in thy sweetenesse glorie,
For thy knitting hayre be sorie,
Vse thy words but to bewaile thee,
That no more thy beames auaile thee,
Fa, la, la.
Dan, dan, dan:
Lay not thy colours more to viewe,
Without the Picture be found true.

4

Woe to me, alas shee weepeth,
Foole in me, what folly creepeth.
Was I to blasphemie enraged,
Where my soule I haue engaged,
Fa, la, la,
Dan, dan, dan,
And wretched I must yeeld to this
The fault I blame her chastnesse is.

5

Sweetnesse sweetely pardon folly,
Tye my hayre your captiue solly,
Words O words of heauenly knowledge,
Know my words them faults acknowledge,
Fa, la, la,
Dan, dan, dan,
And all my life I will confesse,
The lesse I loue, I liue the lesse.

XVIII

[To the deafe Aspe with dying voice]

To the deafe Aspe with dying voice,
Sadly I Sing this heauie charme,
That if thy heart doe ere reioyce,
And set at nought my grieuous harme,
This verse writ with a dead mans arme,
May haunt thy senselesse eyes and eares,
Turne ioyes to Cares, and hopes to feares.

By thy Creators pietie,
By her that brought thee to this light,
By thy deare Nurses loue to thee,
By Loue if selfe, Heauens, Day, and Night,
By all that can thy sense delight,
When I am cold, and wrapt in Lead,
Remember oft thy seruant dead.

So shall my shadow thee attend,
Like calmest breath of Westerne wind,
If not: with grones it shall ascend,
Like Rauen, Owle, Beare, or hellish feind,
Ratling the chaines which doe it bind,
And where thou art by silent night,
It shall thy guiltie soule affright.

Yet Sea-men tost with stormie Wind,
Voide of all hope, resolu'd to die,
From powerfull heauens oft mercie find,
And so may I find grace with thee,
No, no, thou canst not pitie me,
Aspes cannot heare, nor-liue can I,
Thou hearest not, vnheard I die.

XIX

[Behold her locks like wyers of beaten gold]

Behold her locks like wyers of beaten gold,
Her eyes like stars that twinkle in the skie,
Her heauenly face, not fram'd of earthly mold,
Her voice that sounds the heauens melody,
The miracles of time, the worldes storie,
Fortunes Queene, Loues treasure, Natures glorie.

No flattering hopes shee likes, blind Fortunes baite,
Nor shadowes of delight, fond fancies glasse,
Nor charmes that doe inchant, false Arts deceipt,
Nor fading ioyes, which time makes swiftly passe,
But chast desires, which beateth all these downe,
A Goddesse looke is worth a Monarches Crowne.

XX

[Although the wings of my desires bee clipte]

Although the wings of my desires bee clipte,
And my Loue thoughtes, from mounting lowlye bounded,
Though slie suspect my ioyes with frost hath nipt,
So as my hopes, with feares, are still surrounded,
Yet will I liue to loue, although through loue I die,
And Cumbers still do grow, and comforts from me flie,
No iealous thoughts, shall force mee to retyre,
But I will hope to enioye my hearts desire.

Which likes to Loue, and yet the same conceale,
Remembrance chiefly working my relieuing,
Though times of ioye be short, yet will I steale
Such times, to keepe my heart from further grieuing,
Force may remooue my lookes, but not expell my ioy,
Though Cupids shaft giue curelesse wounds, tis no annoy,
Whilest life endures, Ile loue though seeme to shunne
That Port of rest, from whence my comforts come

XXI

[Might I redeeme myne errours with mine eyes]

[1]

Might I redeeme myne errours with mine eyes,
And shed but for each seuerall sinne a teare,
The summe to such a great account should rise,
That I should neuer make mine Audit cleare,
The totall is too bigge to paye the score,
I am so rich in sinne, in teares so poore.

2

O wretched wealth that doth procure such want,
Vnhappy soule to bee so rich in sin,
The store whereof doth make all graces scant,
And stops thy teares, ere they doe scarce begin,
What once a famous Poet sung before,
I finde too true my plenty makes me poore.

3

O might I prooue in this a prodigall,
And bate my meanes by less'ning of my stocke,
I should in grace grow great, in sinnes but small,
If I could euery day from forth the shocke
But pull one eare, O ten-times happy want,
When teares increase and sinnes doe grow more scant.

4

O that my God with such sweete strokes would strike,
And by his grace so bank-rout mine estate,
That growing poore in sinne I Lazar like,
Might dayly beg for mercy at his gate,
And craue (though not admittance to his feast)
Some crums of grace to feede my soule at least.

FINIS.