University of Virginia Library

[Unto a caitife wretch, whom long affliction holdeth]

Unto a caitife wretch, whom long affliction holdeth,
and now fully beleeves helpe to be quite perished;
Grant yet, grant yet a looke, to the last monumēt of his anguish,
O you (alas so I find) cause of his onely ruine.
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruell) that pittie may enter
into thy hart by the sight of this Epistle I send:
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recitall,
least it might th'allure home to thy selfe to returne,
(Unto thy selfe I do meane those graces dwell so within thee,
gratefulnes, sweetnes, holy love, hartie regard)
Such thing cannot I seeke (Despaire hath giv'n me my answer
despaire most tragicall clause to a deadly request)
Such thing cānot he hope, that knowes thy determinat hardnes;
hard like a rich marble: hard, but a faire Diamond.
Can those eyes that of eyes drownd in most harty flowing teares,
(teares and teares of a man) had no returne to remorse;
Can those eyes now yeeld to the kind conceit of a sorow,
which inke onely relates, but ne laments, ne replies?
Ah, that, that I do I not conceive (though that to my blisse were)
more then Nestors yeares, more then a Kings diademe.
Ah, that, that I do not cōceive; to the heavē when a mouse climes
then may I hope t'atchieve grace of a heavenly tiger.
But, but alas, like a man cōdemn'd doth crave to be heard speake
not that he hopes for amends of the desaster he feeles,
But finding th'approch of death with an ougly relenting,
gives an adieu to the world, as to his onely delight:
Right so my boiling hart, enflam'de with fire of a faire eye,
bubling out doth breath signes of his hugie dolours:
Now that he finds to what end his life and love be reserved,
and that he hence must part where to live onely he lov'd.
O faire, O fairest, are such thy triumphs to thy fairnesse?
can death beautie become? must be such a monument?
Must I be onely the marke, shall prove that Vertue is angrie?
shall prove that fiercenes can with a white dove abide?
Shall to the world appeare that faith and love be rewarded
with mortall disdaine, bent to unendly revenge?
Unto revenge? O sweete, on a wretch wilt thou be revenged?
shall such high Plannets ende to the losse of a worme?
And to revenge who doo bend, would in that kind be revenged,
as th'offence was done, and goe beyond if he can.
All my' offence was Love: with Love then must I be chastned,
and with more, by the lawes that to Revenge doo belong.
If that love be a fault, more fault in you to be lovely:
Love never had me opprest, but that I saw to be lov'd.
You be the cause that I lov'd: what Reason blameth a shadowe,
that with a body't goes? since by a body it is.
If that Love you did hate, you should your beautie have hidden:
you should those faire eyes have with a veile covered.
But foole, foole that I am, those eyes would shine frō a dark cave.
what veiles then doo prevaile, but to a more miracle?
Or those golden lockes, those lockes which lock me to bondage,
torne you should disperse unto the blasts of a winde.
But foole, foole that I am, tho I had but a hair of her head foūd,
ev'n as I am, so I should unto that haire be a thrall.
Or with fair hāds-nailes (ô hād which nailes me to this death)
you should have your face (since Love is ill) blemished.
O wretch, what do I say? should that faire face be defaced?
should my too-much sight cause so true a Sunne to be lost?
First let Cimmerian darknes be my onel' habitacion:
first be mine eyes pulde out, first be my braine perished;
Ere that I should consent to doo such excessive a dammage
unto the earth, by the hurt of this her heavenly jewell.
O no: but such love you say you could have afoorded,
as might learne Temp'rance voyde of a rages events.
O sweet simplicitie: from whence should Love so be learned?
unto Cupid that boy shall Pedante be found?
Well: but faultie I was: Reason to my Passion yeelded,
Passion unto my rage, Rage to a hastie revenge.
But what's this for a fault, for which such fault is abolisht,
such faith, so staineles, inviolate, violent?
Shall I not? ô may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance,
what sweete joyes I had once, and what a place I did hold?
Shall I not once object, that you, you graunted a favour
unto the man, whom now such miseries you awarde?
Bēd your thoghts to the dear sweet words which thē to me giv'n were:
think what a world is now, think who hath altred her hart.
What? was I then worthie such good, now worthie such evill?
now fled, then cherished? then so nie, now so remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosie proceeding,
say, that I should well finde in what a care I was had?
With much more: now what doo I finde, but Care to abhor me,
Care that I sinke in griefe, Care that I live banished?
And banished doo I live, nor now will seeke a recov'rie,
since so she will, whose will is to me more then a lawe.
If then a man in most ill case may give you a farewell;
farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.