University of Virginia Library


421

The Speeches and HONORABLE Entertainment giuen to the Queenes MAIESTIE in Progresse, at Cowdrey in Sussex, by the right Honorable the Lord Montacute. 1591.


423

A Dittie.

[Behold her lockes like wiers of beaten gold]

Behold her lockes like wiers of beaten gold,
her eies like starres that twinkle in the skie,
Her heauenly face not framd of earthly molde,
Her voice that sounds Apollos melodie,
The miracle of time, the [whole] worlds storie,
Fortunes Queen, Loues treasure, Natures glory.
No flattering hope she likes, blind Fortunes bait
nor shadowes of delight, fond fansies glasse,
Nor charmes that do inchant, false artes deceit,
nor fading ioyes, which time makes swiftly pas
But chast desires which beateth all these downe;
A Goddesse looke is worth a Monarchs crowne.

424

Goddesse and Monarch of [t]his happie Ile,
vouchsafe this bow which is an huntresse part:
Your eies are arrows though they seeme to smile
which neuer glanst but gald the stateliest hart,
Strike one, strike all, for none at all can flie,
They gaze you in the face although they die.

426

The Dittie.

[There is a bird that builds her neast with spice]

There is a bird that builds her neast with spice,
and built, the Sun to ashes doth her burne,
Out of whose sinders doth another rise.
& she by scorching beames to dust doth turne:
Thus life a death, and death a life doth proue,
The rarest thing on earth except my loue.
My loue that makes his neast with high desires,
and is by beauties blaze to ashes brought,
Out of the which do breake out greater fires,
they quenched by disdain consume to nought,
And out of nought my cleerest loue doth rise,
True loue is often slaine but neuer dies.
True loue which springs, though Fortune on it tread
as camomel by pressing down doth grow
Or as the Palme that higher reares his head,
whē men great burthens on the branches throw

427

Loue fansies birth, Fidelitie the wombe,
the Nurse Delight, Ingratitude the tombe.

429

This Song of the Fisherman.

The fish that seeks for food in siluer streame
is vnawares beguiled with the hooke,
And tender harts when lest of loue they dreame,
do swallow beauties bait, a louely looke.
The fish that shuns to bite, in net doth hit,
The heart that scapes the eie is caught by wit.
The thing cald Loue, poore Fisher men do feele
rich pearles are found in hard and homely shels
Our habits base, but hearts as true as steele,
sad lookes, deep sighs, flat faith are all our spels,
And when to vs our loues seeme faire to bee,
We court them thus, Loue me and Ile loue thee.
And if they saie our loue is fondly made,
we neuer leaue till on their hearts we lite,
Anglers haue patience by their proper trade,
and are content to tarrie till they bite,
Of all the fish that in the waters moue,
We count them lumps that will not bite at loue.