University of Virginia Library

In winters iust returne

Complaint of a diyng louer refused vpon his ladies iniust mistaking of his writyng.

In winters iust returne, when Boreas gan his raigne,
And euery tree vnclothed fast, as nature taught them plaine:
In misty morning darke, as sheepe are then in holde,
I hyed me fast, it sat me on, my sheepe for to vnfolde.
And as it is a thing, that louers haue by fittes,
Vnder a palm I heard one crye, as he had lost hys wittes.
Whose voice did ring so shrill, in vttering of his plaint,
That I amazed was to hear, how loue could hym attaint.
Ah wretched man (quod he) come death, and ridde thys wo:
A iust reward, a happy end, if it may chaunce thee so.
Thy pleasures past haue wrought thy wo, without redresse.
If thou hadst neuer felt no ioy, thy smart had bene the lesse.
And retchlesse of his life, he gan both sighe and grone,
A rufull thing me thought, it was, to hear him make such mone.
Thou cursed pen (sayd he) wo worth the bird thee bare,
The man, the knife, and all that made thee, wo be to their share.
Wo worth the time, and place, where I so could endite.
And wo be it yet once agayne, the pen that so can write.
Vnhappy hand, it had ben happy time for me,
If, when to writethou

[_]

write thou

learned first, vnioynted hadst thou be.
Thus cursed he himself, and euery other wight,
Saue her alone whom loue him bound to serue both day & night.
Which when I heard, and saw, how he himselfe fordid,
Against the ground with bloudy strokes, himself euen there to rid:
Had ben my heart of flint, it must haue melted tho:

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C1r

For in my life I neuer saw a man so full of wo.
With teares, for his redresse, I rashly to him ran,
And in my armes I caught him fast, and thus I spake hym than.
What wofull wight art thou, that in such heauy case
Tormentes thy selfe with such despite, here in this desert place?
Wherwith, as all agast, fulfild wyth ire, and dred,
He cast on me a staring loke, with colour pale, and ded.
Nay, what art thou (quod he) that in this heauy plight,
Doest finde me here, most wofull wretch, that life hath in despight?
I am (quoth I) but poore, and simple in degre:
A shepardes charge I haue in hand, vnworthy though I be.
With that he gaue a sighe, as though the skye should fall:
And lowd (alas) he shryked oft, and Shepard, gan he call,
Come, hie the fast at ones, and print it in thy hart:
So thou shalt know, and I shall tell the, giltlesse how I smart.
His backe against the tree, sore febled all with faint,
With weary sprite he stretcht him vp: and thus hee told his plaint.
Ones in my hart (quoth he) it chanced me to loue
Such one, in whom hath nature wrought, her cu[n]ning for to proue.
And sure I can not say, but many yeres were spent,
With such good will so recompenst, as both we were content.
Wherto then I me bound, and she likewise also,
The sonne should runne his course awry, ere we this faith forgo.
Who ioied then, but I? who had this worldes blisse?
Who might compare a life to mine, that neuer thought on this?
But dwelling in thys truth, amid my greatest ioy,
Is me befallen a greater losse, than Priam had of Troy.
She is reuersed clene: and beareth me in hand,
That my desertes haue giue[n] her cause to break thys faithful band.
And for my iust excuse auaileth no defense.
Now knowest thou all: I can no more, but shepard, hye the hense:
And giue him leaue to die, that may no lenger liue:
Whose record lo I claime to haue, my death, I doe forgiue.
And eke when I am gone, be bolde to speake it plain:
Thou hast seen dye the truest man, that euer loue did pain.
Wherwith he turned him round, and gasping oft for breath,
Into his armes a tree he raught, and sayd, welcome my death:
Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer vnto me,
Than should, without her loue to liue, an emperour to be.
Thus, in this wofull state, he yelded vp the ghost:
And little knoweth his lady, what a louer she hath lost.
Whose death when I beheld, no maruail was it, right

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C1v

For pitie though my heart did blede, to see so piteous sight.
My blood from heat to colde oft changed wonders sore:
A thousand troubles there I found I neuer knew before.
Twene dread, and dolour so my sprites were brought in feare,
That long it was ere I could call to minde, what I did there,
But, as eche thing hath end, so had these paynes of mine:
The furies past, and I my wits restord by length of time.
Then, as I could deuise, to seke I thought it best,
Where I might finde some worthy place, for such a corse to rest.
And in my mind it came: from thence not farre away,
Where Chreseids loue, king Priams so[n]ne, [the] worthy Troilus lay.
By him I made his tomb, in token he was treew:
And, as to him belonged well, I couered it with bleew.
Whose soule, by Angels power, departed not so sone,
But to the heauens, lo it fled, for to receiue his dome.