 | "Songes and Sonettes written by the ryght honorable
Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other" |  |
Tottel — Songes and Sonettes — 1557, by Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
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The sonne hath twise brought furth
Descripcion of the restlesse state of a louer, with sute to his ladie, to rue on his diyng hart.
The sonne hath twise brought furth his tender grene,And clad the earth in liuely lustinesse:
Ones haue the windes the trees despoiled clene,
And new again begins their cruelnesse,
Since I haue hid vnder my brest the harm
That neuer shall recouer healthfulnesse.
The winters hurt recouers with the warm:
The parched grene restored is with shade.
What warmth (alas) may serue for to disarm
The frosen hart that mine in flame hath made?
What colde againe is able to restore
My fresh grene yeares, that wither thus and fade?
Alas, I se, nothing hath hurt so sore,
But time in time reduceth a returne:
In time my harm increaseth more and more,
And semes to haue my cure alwaies in scorne.
Strange kindes of death, in life that I doe trie,
At hand to melt, farre of in flame to burne.
And like as time list to my cure aply,
So doth eche place my comfort cleane refuse.
All thing aliue, that seeth the heauens with eye,
With cloke of night may couer, and excuse
It self from trauail of the dayes vnrest,
Saue I, alas, against all others vse,
That then stirre vp the tormentes of my brest,
And curse eche sterre as causer of my fate.
And when the sonne hath eke the dark opprest,
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate
The trauailes of mine endles smart and payn,
For then, as one that hath the light in hate,
I wish for night, more couertly to playn,
And me withdraw from euery haunted place,
Lest by my chere my chance appere to playn:
And in my minde I measure pace by pace,
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To seke the place where I my self had lost,
That day that I was tangled in the lace,
In semyng slack that knitteth euer most:
But neuer yet the trauaile of my thought
Of better state coulde catche a cause to bost.
For if I found sometime that I haue sought,
Those sterres by whome I trusted of the porte,
My sayles doe fall, and I aduance right nought,
As ankerd fast, my spretes doe all resorte
To stande agazed, and sinke in more and more
The deadly harme which she dothe take in sport.
Lo, if I seke, how I doe finde my sore:
And yf I flee I carie with me still
The venomde shaft, whiche dothe his force restore
By hast of flight, and I may plaine my fill
Vnto my selfe, vnlesse this carefull song
Printe in your harte some parcell of my tene
For I, alas, in silence all to long
Of myne olde hurte yet fele the wounde but grene.
Rue on my life: or els your cruell wronge
Shall well appere, and by my death be sene.
The soote season
Description of Spring, wherin eche thing renewes, saue onelie the louer.
The soote season, that bud and blome furth bringes,With grene hath clad the hill and eke the vale:
The nightingale with fethers new she singes:
The turtle to her make hath tolde her tale:
Somer is come, for euery spray nowe springes,
The hart hath hong his olde hed on the pale:
The buck in brake his winter cote he flinges:
The fishes flote with newe repaired scale:
The adder all her sloughe awaye she slinges:
The swift swalow pursueth the flyes smale:
The busy bee her honye now she minges:
Winter is worne that was the flowers bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant thinges
Eche care decayes, and yet my sorow springes.
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When youth had led me
Descripcion of the restlesse state of a louer.
When youth had led me halfe the race,That Cupides scourge me causde to ronne,
I loked back to mete the place,
From whence my wery course begonne.
And then I sawe how my desire
Misguiding me had led the way:
Mine eyen to gredy of their hire,
Had made me lose a better pray.
For when in sighes I spent the day,
And could not cloke my griefe with game,
The boiling smoke did still bewray
The persaunt heate of secrete flame.
And when salt teares doe bayne my brest,
Where loue his pleasant traines hath sowen
Her bewty hath the fruites opprest,
Ere that the buds were spronge and blowen.
And when myne eyen dyd styll pursue
The flying chace that was their quest,
Their gredy lokes dyd oft renewe.
the hidden wound within my brest.
When euery loke these chekes might staine,
From deadly pale to glowing red:
By outwarde signes appered plaine,
The woe wherin my hart was fed.
But all to late loue learneth me,
To painte all kinde of colours new,
To blinde their eyes that els shoulde see,
My specled chekes with Cupides hewe.
And no we the couert brest I claime,
That worshipt Cupide secretely:
And norished his sacred flame,
From whence no blasing sparkes doe flye.
Svche waiward waies hath loue
Description of the fickle affections panges and sleightes of loue.
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Our willes do stand, whereby our hartes but seldom doe accord.
Disceit is his delight, and to begile, and mock
The simple hartes whom he doth strike w[ith] froward diuers strok.
H e makes the one to rage with golden burning dart,
And doth alay with leaden colde agayn the other hart.
Whote glemes of burnyng fire, and easy sparkes of flame
In balance of vnegall weight he pondereth by aime.
From easy forde, where I might wade and passe ful wel,
He me withdrawes, and doth me driue into a depe dark hel,
And me withholdes where I am calde and offred place,
And willes me that my mortall foe I doe beseke of grace:
He lettes me to pursue a conquest welnere wonne,
To folow where my paines were lost ere that my suite begonne.
So by this meanes I know how soone a hart may turne
From warre to peace, from truce to strife, and so again returne,
I know how to content my self in others lust,
Of litle stuffe vnto my self to weaue a webbe of trust:
And how to hide my harmes with soft dissembling chere,
When in my face the painted thoughtes would outwardly apere.
I know how that the blood forsakes the face for dred:
And how by shame it staines again the chekes with flaming red.
I know vnder the grene the serpent how he lurkes.
The hammer of the restles forge I wote eke how it wurkes.
I know and can by roate the tale that I would tel:
But oft the wordes come furth awrie of him that loueth wel.
I know in heat and colde the louer how he shakes:
In singing how he doth complain, in slepyng how he wakes:
To languish without ache, sicklesse for to consume:
A thousand thinges for to deuise resoluing all in fume.
And though he list to se his ladies grace ful sore,
Such pleasures as delight the eye doe not his health restore.
I know to seke the track of my desired foe,
And feare to finde that I do seke. But chiefly this I know,
That louers must transforme into the thing beloued,
And liue (alas who would beleue?) with sprite from life remoued,
I know in harty sighes, and laughters of the splene
At once to change my state, my wyll, and eke my coloure clene.
I know how to deceaue my self with others help:
And how the Lion chastised is by beating of the whelp.
In standyng nere my fire I know how that I freze.
Farre of I burne, in both I wast, and so my life I leze.
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I know how loue doth rage vpon a yelding mynde:
How smal a net may take and meash a hart of gentle kinde:
Or els with seldom swete to season heapes of gall,
Reuiued with a glimse of grace olde sorowes to let fall,
The hidden traines I know, and secret snares of loue:
How soone a loke wil printe a thought, that neuer may remoue.
The slipper state I know, the sodain turnes from wealth,
The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure despeire of health.
When somer toke in hand
Complaint of a louer, that defied loue, and was by loue after the more tormented.
When so[m]mer toke in hand the winter to assail,With force of might, & vertue gret, his stormy blasts to quail,
And when he clothed faire the earth about with grene,
And euery tree new garmented, that pleasure was to sene:
Mine hart gan new reuiue, and changed blood dyd stur
Me to withdraw my winter woe, that kept within the dore.
Abrode, quod my desire: assay to set thy fote,
Where thou shalt finde the sauour swete: for sprong is euery rote.
And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case,
Nothing more good, than in the spring the aire to fele a space.
There shalt thou here and se all kindes of birdes ywrought,
Well tune their voice w[ith] warble smal, as nature hath them tought.
Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to leaue:
And for my health I thought it best suche counsail to receaue.
So on a morow furth, vnwist of any wight,
I went to proue how well it would my heauy burden light.
And when I felt the aire so pleasant round about,
Lorde, to my self how glad I was that I had gotten out.
There might I se how Ver had euery blossom hent:
And eke the new betrothed birdes ycoupled how they went.
And in their songes me thought they thanked nature much,
That by her lycence all that yere to loue their happe was such,
Right as they could deuise to chose them feres throughout:
With much reioysing to their Lord thus flew they all about,
Which when I gan resolue, and in my head conceaue,
What pleasant life, what heapes of ioy these litle birdes receaue,
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And sawe in what estate I wery man was brought,
By want of that they had at will, and I reiect at nought:
Lorde how I gan in wrath vnwisely me demeane.
I curssed loue, and him defied: I thought to turne the streame.
But whan I well behelde he had me vnder awe,
I asked mercie for my fault, that so transgrest his law.
Thou blinded god (quod I) forgeue me this offense,
Vnwillingly I went about to malice thy pretense.
Wherewith he gaue a beck, and thus me thought he swore,
Thy sorow ought suffice to purge thy faulte, if it were more.
The vertue of which sounde mine hart did so reuiue,
That I, me thought, was made as hole as any man aliue.
But here ye may perceiue mine errour all and some,
For that I thought that so it was: yet was it still vndone:
And all that was no more but mine empressed mynde,
That fayne woulde haue some good relefe of Cupide wel assinde.
I turned home forthwith, and might perceiue it well,
That he agreued was right sore with me for my rebell.
My harmes haue euer since increased more and more,
And I remaine, without his help, vndone for euer more,
A miror let me be vnto ye louers all:
Striue not with loue: for if ye do, it will ye thus befall,
Loue, that liueth, and reigneth
Complaint of a louer rebuked.
Loue, that liueth, and reigneth in my thought,That built his seat within my captiue brest,
Clad in the armes, wherin with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She, that me taught to loue, and suffer payne,
My doutfull hope, and eke my hote desyre,
With shamefast cloke to shadowe, and refraine,
Her smilyng grace conuerteth straight to yre.
And cowarde Loue then to the hart apace
Taketh his flight, whereas he lurkes, and plaines
His purpose lost, and dare not shewe his face.
For my lordes gilt thus faultlesse byde I paynes.
Yet from my lorde shall not my foote remoue.
Swete is his death, that takes his end by loue.
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In Ciprus, springes
Complaint of the louer disdained.
In Ciprus, springes (whereas dame Venus dwelt)A well so hote, that whoso tastes thesame,
Were he of stone, as thawed yse should melt,
And kindled fynde his brest with fired flame.
Whose moyst poyson dissolued hath my hate.
This creeping fire my colde lims so opprest,
That in the hart that harborde freedome late,
Endlesse despeyre longe thraldome hath imprest.
An other so colde in frozen yse is founde,
Whose chilling venom of repugnant kynde
The feruent heat doth quenche of Cupides wounde:
And with the spot of change infectes the minde:
Whereof my dere hath tasted, to my paine.
My seruice thus is growen into disdaine.
From Tuskane
Description and praise of his loue Geraldine.
From Tuskane came my Ladies worthy race:Faire Florence was sometyme her auncient seate:
The Western yle, whose pleasaunt shore dothe face
Wilde Cambers clifs, did geue her liuely heate:
Fostered she was with milke of Irishe brest:
Her sire, an Erle: her dame, of princes blood.
From tender yeres, in Britain she doth rest,
With kinges childe, where she tasteth costly food.
Honsdon did first present her to mine yien:
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight.
Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine:
And Windsor, alas, dothe chase me from her sight.
Her beauty of kind her vertues from aboue.
Happy is he, that can obtaine her loue.
Brittle beautie
The frailtie and hurtfulnes of beautie.
Brittle beautie, that nature made so fraile,Wherof the gift is small, and short the season,
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Flowring to day, to morowe apt to faile,
Tickell treasure abhorred of reason,
Daungerous to dele with, vaine, of none auaile,
Costly in keping, past not worthe two peason,
Slipper in sliding as is an eles taile,
Harde to attaine, once gotten not geason,
Iewel of ieopardie that perill dothe assaile,
False and vntrue, enticed oft to treason,
Enmy to youth: that moste may I bewaile.
Ah bitter swete infecting as the poyson:
Thou farest as frute that with the frost is taken,
To day redy ripe, to morowe all to shaken.
Alas so all thinges nowe
A complaint by night of the louer not beloued.
Alas so all thinges nowe doe holde their peace.Heauen and earth disturbed in nothing:
The beastes, the ayer, the birdes their song doe cease:
The nightes chare the starres aboute dothe bring:
Calme is the Sea, the waues worke lesse and lesse:
So am not I, whom loue alas doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great encrease
Of my desires, whereat I wepe and syng,
In ioye and wo, as in a doutfull ease.
For my swete thoughtes sometyme doe pleasure bring:
But byandby the cause of my disease
Geues me a pang, that inwardly dothe sting,
When that I thinke what griefe it is againe,
To liue and lacke the thing should ridde my paine.
When Windsor walles susteyned
How eche thing saue the louer in spring reuiueth to pleasure.
When Windsor walles susteyned my wearied arme,My hande my chin, to ease my restlesse hed:
The pleasant plot reuested green with warme,
The blossomd bowes with lusty Ver yspred,
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The flowred meades, the wedded birdes so late
Mine eyes discouer: and to my mynde resorte
The ioly woes, the hatelesse shorte debate,
The rakehell lyfe that longes to loues disporte.
Wherewith (alas) the heauy charge of care
Heapt in my brest breakes forth against my will,
In smoky sighes, that ouercast the ayer.
My vapord eyes suche drery teares distill,
The tender spring whiche quicken where they fall,
And I halfebent to throwe me downe withall.
Set me wheras the sunne
Vow to loue faithfully howsoeuer he be rewarded.
Set me wheras the sunne doth parche the grene,Or where his beames do not dissolue the yse:
In temperate heate where he is felt and sene:
In presence prest of people madde or wise.
Set me in hye, or yet in lowe degree:
In longest night, or in the shortest daye:
In clearest skye, or where clowdes thickest be:
In lusty youth, or when my heeres are graye.
Set me in heauen, in earth, or els in hell,
In hyll, or dale, or in the fomyng flood:
Thrall, or at large, aliue where so I dwell:
Sicke, or in health: in euyll fame, or good.
Hers will I be, and onely with this thought
Content my selfe, although my chaunce be nought.
I neuer sawe my Ladye
Complaint that his ladie after she knew of his loue kept her face alway hidden from him.
I Neuer sawe my Ladye laye apartHer cornet blacke, in colde nor yet in heate,
Sith first she knew my griefe was growen so great,
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Which other fansies driueth from my hart
That to my selfe I do the thought reserue,
The which vnwares did wounde my wofull brest:
But on her face mine eyes mought neuer rest,
Yet, sins she knew I did her loue and serue
Her golden tresses cladde alway with blacke,
Her smilyng lokes that hid thus euermore,
And that restraines whiche I desire so sore.
So dothe this cornet gouerne me alacke:
In somer, sunne: in winters breath, a frost:
Wherby the light of her faire lokes I lost.
The golden gift
Request to his loue to ioyne bountie with beautie.
The golden gift that nature did thee geue,To fasten frendes, and fede them at thy wyll,
With fourme and fauour, taught me to beleue,
How thou art made to shew her greatest skill.
Whose hidden vertues are not so vnknowen,
But liuely domes might gather at the first
Where beautye so her perfect seede hath sowen,
Of other graces folow nedes there must.
Now certesse Ladie, sins all this is true,
That from aboue thy gyftes are thus elect:
Do not deface them than with fansies newe,
Nor chaunge of mindes let not thy minde infect:
But mercy him thy frende, that doth thee serue,
Who seekes alway thine honour to preserue.
So cruell prison
Prisoned in windsor, he recounteth his pleasure there passed.
So cruell prison how coulde betide, alas,As proude Windsor? where I in lust and ioye,
With a kinges sonne, my childishe yeres did passe,
In greater feast than Priams sonnes of Troy:
Where eche swete place returns a taste full sower,
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The large grene courtes, where we were wont to houe,
With eyes cast vp into the maydens tower.
And easie sighes, suche as folke drawe in loue:
The stately seates, the ladies bright of hewe:
The daunces shorte, longe tales of great delight:
With wordes and lokes, that tygers coulde but rewe,
Where eche of vs did pleade the others right:
The palme play, where, dispoyled for the game,
With dazed eies oft we by gleames of loue,
Haue mist the ball, and got sight of our dame,
To baite her eyes, whiche kept the leads aboue:
The grauell grounde, with sleues tyed on the helme:
On fomynge horse, with swordes and frendlye hartes:
With cheare, as though one should another whelme:
Where we haue fought, and chased oft with dartes,
With siluer droppes the meade yet spred for ruthe,
In actiue games of nimblenes, and strength,
Where we did straine, trayned with swarmes of youth.
Our tender lymmes, that yet shot vp in length:
The secrete groues, which oft we made resounde
Of pleasaunt playnt, and of our ladies prayse,
Recordyng ofte what grace eche one had founde,
What hope of spede, what dreade of long delayes:
The wilde forest, the clothed holtes with grene:
With rayns auailed, and swift ybreathed horse,
With crye of houndes, and mery blastes betwene,
Where we did chase the fearfull harte of force,
The wide vales eke, that harborde vs ech night,
Wherwith (alas) reuiueth in my brest
The swete accorde: such slepes as yet delight,
The pleasant dreames, the quiet bed of rest:
The secrete thoughtes imparted with such trust:
The wanton talke, the diuers change of play:
The frendship sworne, eche promise kept so iust:
Wherwith we past the winter night away.
And, with this thought, the bloud forsakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe:
The whiche as sone as sobbyng sighes (alas)
Vpsupped haue, thus I my plaint renewe:
O place of blisse, renuer of my woes,
Geue me accompt, where is my noble fere:
Whom in thy walles thou doest eche night enclose,
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To other leefe, but vnto me most dere.
Eccho (alas) that dothe my sorow rewe,
Returns therto a hollow sounde of playnte.
Thus I alone, where all my fredome grewe,
In prison pyne, with bondage and restrainte,
And with remembrance of the greater greefe
To banishe the lesse, I find my chief releefe.
When ragyng loue
The louer comforteth himself with the worthinesse of his loue.
When ragyng loue with extreme payneMost cruelly distrains my hart:
When that my teares, as floudes of rayne,
Beare witnes of my wofull smart:
When sighes haue wasted so my breath,
That I lye at the poynte of death:
I call to minde the nauye greate,
That the Grekes brought to Troye towne:
And how the boysteous windes did beate
Their shyps, and rente their sayles adowne,
Till Agamemnons daughters bloode
Appeasde the goddes, that them withstode.
And how that in those ten yeres warre,
Full many a bloudye dede was done,
And many a lord, that came full farre,
There caught his bane (alas) to sone:
And many a good knight ouerronne,
Before the Grekes had Helene wonne.
Then thinke I thus: sithe suche repayre,
So longe time warre of valiant men,
Was all to winne a ladye fayre:
Shall I not learne to suffer then,
And thinke my life well spent to be,
Seruyng a worthier wight than she?
Therfore I neuer will repent,
But paynes contented stil endure.
For like as when, rough winter spent,
The pleasant spring straight draweth in vre:
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So after ragyng stormes of care
Ioyful at length may be my fare.
O happy dames
Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
O Happy dames, that may embraceThe frute of your delight,
Help to bewaile the wofull case,
And eke the heauy plight
Of me, that wonted to reioyce
The fortune of my pleasant choyce:
Good Ladies, help to fill my moorning voyce.
In ship, freight with rememberance
Of thoughts, and pleasures past,
He sailes that hath in gouernance
My life, while it wil last:
With scalding sighes, for lack of gale,
Furdering his hope, that is his sail
Toward me, the swete port of his auail.
Alas, how oft in dreames I se
Those eyes, that were my food,
Which somtime so delited me,
That yet they do me good.
Wherwith I wake with his returne,
Whose absent flame did make me burne.
But when I find the lacke, Lord how I mourne?
When other louers in armes acrosse,
Reioyce their chiefe delight:
Drowned in teares to mourne my losse,
I stand the bitter night,
In my window, where I may see,
Before the windes how the cloudes flee.
Lo, what a mariner loue hath made me.
And in grene waues when the salt flood
Doth rise, by rage of winde:
A thousand fansies in that mood
Assayle my restlesse mind.
Alas, now drencheth my swete fo,
That with the spoyle of my hart did go,
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And left me but (alas) why did he so?
And when the seas waxe calme againe,
To chase fro me annoye.
My doutfull hope doth cause me plaine:
So dreade cuts of my ioye.
Thus is my wealth mingled with wo,
And of ech thought a dout doth growe,
Now he comes, will he come? alas, no no.
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 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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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
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.
Good Ladies
Complaint of the absence of her louer being vpon the sea.
Good Ladies, ye that haue your pleasures in exile,Step in your foote, come take a place, & moorne with me a while
And such as by their lordes do set but little price,
Let them sit still: it skilles them not what chance come on [the] dice.
But ye whom loue hath bound by ordre of desire
To loue your lords, whose good desertes none other wold require:
Come ye yet ones again, and set your foote by mine,
Whose wofull plight and sorrowes great no tong may wel define.
My loue an d lord, alas, in whom consistes my wealth,
Hath fortune sent to passe the seas in hazarde of his health.
Whome I was wont tembrace with well contented minde
Is now amidde the foming floods at pleasure of the winde.
Where God well him preserue, and sone him home me send.
Without which hope, my life (alas) wer shortly at an end.
Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plaine,
With short returne he comes anon, yet ceasith not my payne.
The fearfull dreames I haue, oft times do greue me so:
That when I wake, I lye in doute, where they be true, or no.
Sometime the roring seas (me semes) do grow so hye:
That my dere Lord (ay me alas) me thinkes I se him die.
Another time the same doth tell me: he is cumne:
C2r
And playeng, where I shall him find with his faire little sonne.
So forth I go apace to se that leefsom sight.
And with a kisse, me think, I say: welcome my lord, my knight:
Welcome my swete, alas, the stay of my welfare.
Thy presence bringeth forth a truce atwixt me, & my care.
Then liuely doth he loke, and salueth me againe,
And saith: my dere, how is it now, that you haue all thys paine?
Wherwith the heauy cares: that heapt are in my brest,
Breake forth, and me dischargen clene of all my huge vnrest.
But when I me awake, and finde it but a dreme,
The anguishe of my former wo beginneth more extreme:
And me tormenteth so, that vnneath may I finde
Sum hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mind.
Thus euery way you se, with absence how I burn:
And for my wound no cure I find, but hope of good return.
Saue whan I think, by sowre how swete is felt the more:
It doth abate som of my paines, that I abode before.
And then vnto my self I say: when we shal meete.
But litle while shall seme this paine, the ioy shal be so sweete.
Ye windes, I you coniure in chiefest of your rage,
That ye my lord me safely sende, my sorowes to asswage:
And that I may not long abide in this excesse.
Do your good will, to cure a wight, that liueth in distresse.
Geue place ye louers
A praise of his loue: wherin he teproueth
them that compare their Ladies with his. Geue place ye louers, here beforeThat spent your bostes and bragges in vaine:
My Ladies beawtie passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sonne, the candle light:
Or brightest day, the darkest night.
And thereto hath a trothe as iust,
As had Penelope the fayre.
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were.
And vertues hath she many moe,
Than I with pen haue skill to showe.
I coulde rehearse, if that I wolde,
The whole effect of natures plaint,
C2v
When she had lost the perfit mold,
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringyng handes howe she dyd cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I knowe, she swore with ragyng mynd:
Her kingdom onely set apart,
There was no losse, by lawe of kind,
That could haue gone so nere her hart.
And this was chiefly all her payne:
She coulde not make the lyke agayne.
Sith nature thus gaue her the prayse,
To be the chiefest worke she wrought:
In faith, me thinke, some better waies
On your behalfe might well be sought,
Then to compare (as ye haue done)
To matche the candle with the sonne.
Although I had a check
To the Ladie that scorned her louer.
Although I had a check,To geue the mate is hard.
For I haue found a neck,
To kepe my men in gard.
And you that hardy ar
To geue so great assay
Vnto a man of warre,
To driue his men away,
I rede you, take good hede,
And marke this foolish verse:
For I will so prouide,
That I will haue your ferse.
And when your ferse is had,
And all your warre is done:
Then shall your selfe be glad
To ende that you begon.
For yf by chance I winne
Your person the in feeld:
To late then come you in
C3r
your selfe to me to yeld.
For I will vse my power,
As captain full of might,
And such I will deuour,
As vse to shew me spight.
And for because you gaue
Me checke in such degre,
This vantage loe I haue:
Now checke, and garde to the.
Defend it, if thou may:
Stand stiffe, in thine estate.
For sure I will assay,
If I can giue the mate.
To dearely had I bought
A warning to the louer how he is abused by his loue.
To dearely had I bought my grene and youthfull yeres,If in mine age I could not finde when craft for loue apperes.
And seldom though I come in court among the rest:
Yet can I iudge in colours dim as depe as can the best.
Where grefe tormentes the man that suffreth secret smart,
To breke it forth vnto som frend it easeth well the hart.
So standes it now with me for my beloued frend.
This case is thine for whom I fele such torment of my minde.
And for thy sake I burne so in my secret brest
That till thou know my hole disseyse my hart can haue no rest.
I see how thine abuse hath wrested so thy wittes,
That all it yeldes to thy desire, and folowes the by fittes.
Where thou hast loued so long with hart and all thy power.
I se thee fed with fayned wordes, thy fredom to deuour.
I know, (though she say nay, and would it well withstand)
When in her grace thou held the most, she bare the but in hand.
I see her pleasant chere in chiefest of thy suite:
Whan thou art gone, I se him come, that gathers vp the fruite.
And eke in thy respect I se the base degre
Of him to whom she gaue the hart that promised was to the.,
I se (what would you more) stode neuer man so sure
On womans word, but wisedome would mistrust it to endure.
C3v
O lothsome place where I
The forsaken louer describeth & forsaketh loue.
O Lothsome place where IHaue sene and herd my dere,
When in my hert her eye
Hath made her thought appere,
By glsiming with such grace
As fortune it ne would,
That lasten any space
Betwene vs lenger should.
As fortune did auance,
To further my desire:
Euen so hath fortunes chance
Throwen all ammiddes the myre.
And that I haue deserued
With true and faithful hart,
Is to his handes reserued
That neuer felt the smart.
But happy is that man,
That scaped hath the griefe
That loue well teche him can
By wanting his reliefe.
A scourge to quiet mindes
It is, who taketh hede,
A comon plage that bindes,
A trauell without mede.
This gift it hath also,
Who so enioies it most,
A thousand troubles grow
To vexe his weried ghost.
And last it may not long
The truest thing of all
And sure the greatest wrong
That is within this thrall.
But sins thou desert place
Canst giue me no accompt
Of my desired grace
That I to haue was wont,
farewel thou hast me tought
C4r
To thinke me not the furst,
That loue hath set aloft.
And casten in the dust.
As oft as I behold and se
The louer describes his restlesse state.
As oft as I behold and seThe soueraigne bewtie that me bound:
The nier my comfort is to me,
Alas the fresher is my wound.
As flame doth quenche by rage of fire,
And running slremes consume by raine:
So doth the sight, that I desire,
Appease my grief and deadely paine,
First when I saw those cristall streames,
whose bewtie made my mortall wound:
I little thought within her beames
So swete a venom to haue found.
But wilfull will did prick me forth,
And blind Cupide did whippe and guide:
Force made me take my griefe in worth:
My fruitles hope my harme did hide.
As cruell waues full oft be found
Against the rockes to rore and cry:
So doth my hart full oft rebound
Ageinst my brest full bitterly.
I fall, and se mine own decay,
As on that beares flame in hys brest,
Forgets in paine to put away
The thing that bredeth mine vnrest.
Though I regarded not
The louer excuseth himself of suspected change.
Though I regarded notThe promise made by me,
or passed not to spot
My faith and honeste:
C4v
Yet were my fancie strange,
And wilfull will to wite,
If I sought now to change
A falkon for a kite.
All men might well dispraise
My wit and enterprise,
If I estemed a pese
Aboue a perle in price:
Or iudged the oule in sight
The sparehauke to excell,
which flieth but in the night,
As all men know right well:
Or if I sought to saile
Into the brittle port,
where anker hold doth faile,
To such as doe resort,
And leaue the hauen sure,
where blowes no blustring winde,
Nor fickelnesse in vre
So farforth as I finde.
No, thinke me not so light,
Nor of so chorlish kinde,
Though it lay in my might
My bondage to vnbinde,
That I would leue the hinde
To hunt the ganders fo.
No no I haue no minde
To make exchanges so:
Nor yet to change at all.
For think it may not be
That I should seke to fall
From my felicite,
Desyrous for to win,
And loth for to forgo,
Or new change to begin:
How may all this be so?
The fire it can not freze:
For it is not his kinde,
Nor true loue cannot lese
The constance of the minde.
Yet as sone shall the fire
want heat to blaze and burn,
D1r
As I in such desire,
Haue once a thought to turne.
Wrapt in my carelesse cloke
A carelesse man, scorning and describing, the suttle vsage of women towarde their louers.
Wrapt in my carelesse cloke, as I walke to and fro:I se, how loue ca[n] shew, what force there reigneth in his bow
And how he shoteth eke, a hardy hart to wound:
And where he glanceth by agayne, that litle hurt is found.
For seldom is it sene, he woundeth hartes alike.
The tone may rage, when tothers loue is often farre to seke.
All this I se, with more: and wonder thinketh me:
Howe he can strike the one so sore, and leaue the other fre.
I se, that wounded wight, that suffreth all this wrong:
How he is fed with yeas, and nayes, and liueth all to long.
In silence though I kepe such secretes to my self:
Yet do I se, how she somtime doth yeld a loke by stelth:
As though it seemd, ywys I will not lose the so.
When in her hart so swete a thought did neuer truely go.
Then say I thus: alas, that man is farre from blisse:
That doth receiue for his relief none other gayn, but this.
And she, that fedes him so, I fele, and finde it plain:
Is but to glory in her power, that ouer such can reign.
Nor are such graces spent, but when she thinkes, that he,
A weried man is fully bent such fansies to let flie:
Then to. retain him stil she wrasteth new her grace,
And smileth lo, as though she would forthwith the man embrace.
But when the proofe is made to try such lokes withall:
He findeth then the place all voyde, and fraighted full of gall.
Lorde what abuse is this? who can such women praise?
That for their glory do deuise to vse such crafty wayes.
I, that among the rest do sit, and mark the row,
Fynde, that in her is greater craft, then is in twenty mo.
Whose tender yeres, alas, with wyles so well are spedde:
What will she do, when hory heares are powdred in her hedde?
D1v
Martiall, the thinges
The meanes to attain happy life.
Martiall, the thinges that do attaynThe happy life, be these, I finde.
The richesse left, not got with pain:
The frutefull ground: the quiet mynde:
The egall frend, no grudge, no strife:
No charge of rule, nor gouernance:
Without disease the healthfull lyfe:
The houshold of continuance:
The meane diet, no delicate fare:
Trew wisdom ioyned with simplenesse:
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppresse:
The faithful wife, without debate:
Suche slepes, as may begyle the night:
Contented with thine owne estate,
Ne wish for death, ne feare his might.
Of thy lyfe, Thomas
Praise of meane and constant estate.
Of thy lyfe, Thomas, this compasse well mark:Not aye with full sayles the hye seas to beat:
Ne by coward dred, in shonning stormes dark,
On shalow shores thy keel in perill freat.
Who so gladly halseth the golden meane,
Voyde of dangers aduisdly hath his home
Not with lothsom muck, as a den vncleane:
Nor palacelyke, wherat disdayn may glome.
The lofty pyne the great winde often riues:
With violenter swey falne turrets stepe:
Lightninges assault the hye mountains, and cliues,
A hart well stayd, in ouerthwartes depe,
Hopeth amendes: in swete, doth feare the sowre.
God, that sendeth, withdraweth winter sharp.
Now ill, not aye thus: once Phebus to lowre
With bow vnbent shall cesse, and frame to harp.
His voyce. In straite estate appere thou stout:
And so wisely, when lucky gale of winde
D2r
All thy puft sailes shall fil, loke well about:
Take in a ryft: hast is wast, profe doth finde.
The great Macedon
Praise of certain psalmes of Dauid, translated by sir. T. w. the elder.
The great Macedon, that out of Persie chasedDarius, of whose huge power all Asie rong,
In the rich ark dan Homers rimes he placed,
Who fayned gestes of heathen princes song.
What holy graue? what worthy sepulture
To Wiattes Psalmes should Christians then purchase?
Where he doth paint the liuely faith, and pure,
The stedfast hope, the swete returne to grace
Of iust Dauid, by perfite penitence.
Where rulers may se in a mirrour clere
The bitter frute of false concupiscence:
How Iewry bought Vrias death full dere.
In princes hartes gods scourge imprinted depe,
Ought them awake, out of their sinfull slepe.
Dyuers thy death
Of the death of the same sir. T. w.
Dyuers thy death doe diuersly bemone.Some, that in presence of thy liuelyhed
Lurked, whose brestes enuy with hate had swolne,
Yeld Ceasars teares vpon Pompeius hed.
Some, that watched with the murdrers knife,
With egre thirst to drink thy giltlesse blood,
Whose practise brake by happy ende of lyfe,
Wepe enuious teares to heare thy fame so good.
But I, that knew what harbred in that hed:
What vertues rare were temperd in that brest:
Honour the place, that such a iewell bred,
And kisse the ground, whereas thy corse doth rest,
With vapord eyes: from whence such streames auayl,
As Pyramus dyd on Thisbes brest bewail.
D2v
W. resteth here
Of the same.
W. resteth here, that quick could neuer rest:Whose heauenly giftes encreased by disdayn,
And vertue sank the deper in his brest.
Such profit he by enuy could obtain.
A hed, where wisdom misteries did frame:
Whose hammers bet styll in that liuely brayn,
As on a stithe: where that some work of fame
Was dayly wrought, to turne to Britaines gayn.
A visage, stern, and myld: where bothe did grow,
Vice to contemne, in vertue to reioyce:
Amid great stormes, whom grace assured so,
To lyue vpright, and smile at fortunes choyce.
A hand, that taught, what might be sayd in ryme:
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit:
A mark, the which (vnparfited, for time)
Some may approche, but neuer none shall hit.
A toung, that serued in forein realmes his king:
Whose courteous talke to vertue did enflame.
Eche noble hart: a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth, by trauail, vnto fame.
An eye, whose iudgement none affect could blinde,
Frendes to allure, and foes to reconcile:
Whose persing loke did represent a mynde
With vertue fraught, reposed, voyd of gyle.
A hart, where drede was neuer so imprest,
To hyde the thought, that might the trouth auance:
In neyther fortune loft, nor yet represt,
To swell in wealth, or yeld vnto mischance.
A valiant corps, where force, and beawty met:
Happy, alas, to happy, but for foes:
Liued, and ran the race, that nature set:
Of manhodes, shape where she the molde did lose.
But to the heauens that simple soule is fled:
Which left with such, as couet Christ to know,
Witnesse of faith, that neuer shall be ded:
Sent for our helth, but not receiued so.
Thus, for our gilte, this iewel haue we lost:
The earth his bones, the heauens possesse his gost.
D3r
Thassirian king in peace
Of Sardinapalus dishonorable life, and miserable death.
Thassirian king in peace, with foule desire,And filthy lustes, that staynd his regall hart
In warre that should set princely hartes on fire:
Did yeld, vanquisht for want of marciall art.
The dint of swordes from kisses semed strange:
And harder, than his ladies syde, his targe:
From glutton feastes, to souldiars fare a change:
His helmet, farre aboue a garlands charge.
Who scace the name of manhode did retayn
Drenched in slouth, and womanish delight,
Feble of sprite, impacient of pain:
When he had lost his honor, and his right:
Proud, time of wealth, in stormes appalled with drede,
Murthered himself, to shew some manful dede.
Layd in my quiet bed
How no age is content with his own estate, & how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to vnderstand it.
Layd in my quiet bed, in study as I were,I saw within my troubled head, a heape of thoughtes appere:
And euery thought did shew so liuely in myne eyes,
That now I sighed, & the[n] I smilde, as cause of thought doth ryse.
I saw the lytle boy in thought, how oft that he
Did wish of god, to scape the rod, a tall yongman to be.
The yongman eke that feles, his bones with paines opprest,
How he would be a rich olde man, to lyue, and lye at rest.
The rich oldman that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy agayn, to liue somuch the more.
Wherat full oft I smilde, to se, how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop & change degree.
D3v
And musyng thus I thynk, the case is very strange,
That man from welth, to lyue in wo, doth euer seke to change.
Thus thoughtfull as I lay, I saw my wytherd skyn,
How it doth show my dented chewes, the flesh was worne so thyn:
And eke my tothelesse chaps, the gates of my rightway,
That opes and shuts, as I do speake, doe thus vnto me say:
Thy white and hoarish heares, the messengers of age,
That shew, like lines of true belief, that this life doth asswage,
Byds thee lay hand, and fele them hanging on thy chin:
The whiche do write two ages past, the third now comming in.
Hang vp therfore the bit of thy yong wanton tyme:
And thou that therin beaten art, the happiest life define.
Wherat I sighed, and sayd, farewell, my wonted ioy:
Trusse vp thy pack, and trudge from me to euery litle boy:
And tell them thus from me, theyr tyme most happy is:
If, to their time, they reason had to know the trueth of this.
The stormes are past
Bonum est mihi quod humiliasti me.
The stormes are past these cloudes are ouerblowne,And humble chere great rygour hath represt:
For the defaute is set a paine foreknowne,
And pacience graft in a determed brest.
And in the hart where heapes of griefes were growne,
The swete reuenge hath planted mirth and rest,
No company so pleasant as myne owne.
Thraldom at large hath made this prison fre,
Danger well past remembred workes delight:
Of lingring doutes such hope is sprong pardie,
That nought I finde displeasaunt in my sight:
But when my glasse presented vnto me.
The curelesse wound that bledeth day and nyght,
To think (alas) such hap should graunted be
Vnto a wretch that hath no hart to fight,
To spill that blood that hath so oft bene shed,
For Britannes sake (alas) and now is ded.
My Ratclif
Exhortacion to learne by others trouble.
D4r
Receue thy scourge by others chastisement.
For such callyng, when it workes none amendes:
Then plages are sent without aduertisement.
Yet Salomon sayd, the wronged shall recure:
But Wiat said true, the skarre doth aye endure.
The fansy, which that I
The fansie of a weried louer.
The fansy, which that I haue serued long,That hath alway bene enmy to myne ease,
Semed of late to rue vpon my wrong,
And bad me flye the cause of my misease.
And I forthwith dyd prease out of the throng,
That thought by flight my painfull hart to please
Som other way: tyll I saw faith more strong:
And to my self I sayd: alas, those dayes
In vayn were spent, to runne the race so long.
And with that thought, I met my guyde, that playn
Out of the way wherin I wandred wrong,
Brought me amiddes the hylles, in base Bullayn:
Where I am now, as restlesse to remayn,
Against my will, full pleased with my payn.
SVRREY.
| "Songes and Sonettes written by the ryght honorable
Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other" | |