For so the shadow of that but imagin'd mirth, Cal'd all the crosses to record, I suffer'd since my birth,
Which are to be bewail'd, but hard to be redrest: Whose strange effects may well be felt, but cannot be exprest. [past, Iudge what the feeling was, when thinking on things I tremble at the torment yet, and stand a time agast. Yet do I not repent, but will with patience pine: For though I mourne, I murmure not, like men that do repine.
I graunt I waile my lot, yet I approue her will; What my soule's oracle thinkes good, I neuer shall
If I had onely sought a salue to ease my paines, Long since I had bewail'd my lot alongst th' Elysian plaines :
Yet mind I not in this selfe-louer-like to die, As one that car'd not for her losse, so I my selfe were free. [secure, No, may ten nights' annoyes make her one night A day of dolors vnto her a moment's mirth procure: Or may a yeare's laments reioyce her halfe an houre, May seuen years' sorrows make her glad, I shal not think them soure.
And if she do delight to heare of my disease, Then ô blest I, who so may haue th' occasion her to please:
For now the cause I liue, is not for loue of life, But onely for to honour her that holds me in this strife.
And ere those vowes I make do vnperform'd escape, This world shal once againe renuerst resume her shapelesse shape. [strong, But what, what haue I vow'd? my passions were too As if the mildest of the world delighted to do wrong: As she whom I adore with so deuote a mind, Could rest content to see me sterue, be glad to see me pin'd. [cares,
No, no, she wailes my state, and would appease my Yet interdited to the Fates, conformes her will to theirs. [saue, Then ô vnhappie man, whom euen thy saint would And yet thy cruell destinie doth damne thee to the graue.
[feares, This sentence then may serue for to confound my Why burst I not my brest with sighs, and drowne mine eyes with tears?
Ah, I haue mourn'd so much, that I may mourn no more, [their store. My miseries passe numbring now, plaints perish in The meanes t' vnlode my brest doth quite begin to faile;
For being drunke with too much dole, I wot not how to waile.
And since I want a way my anguish to reueale, Of force contented with my Fate, I'le suffer and conceale.
And for to vse the world, euen as my loue vs'd me, I'le vse a count'nance like to one, whose mind from grief were free.
For when she did disdaine, she show'd a smiling face, Euen then when she denounc'd my death, she seem'd to promise grace.
So shall I seeme in show my thoughts for to repose, Yet in the center of my soule shall shroud a world of woes : [controule, Then wofull brest and eyes your restlesse course And with no outward signes betray the anguish of my soule.
Eyes, raine your shoures within, arrowze the Eart
Passe drowne with a deluge of teares the brest y burnt before:
Brest, arme your selfe with sighes, if ore weake defend,
Then perish by your proper fires, and make a
O BITTER time that dost begin the yeare,
And dost begin each bitter thing to breed!
O season sowre, that season'st so with gall
Each kind of thing, in thee that life doth take;
Yet cloak'st thy sowrenesse with a sweet-like hew,
And for my share dost make me still to pine,
As one that 's rob'd of rest.
Now when through all the Earth the basest brire,
In signe of ioy is cloath'd with sommers weed,
Euen now when as hils, herbes, woods, vales and all,
Begin to spring, and off th' old ruines shake,
Thou but begin'st mine anguish to renew;
O rigour rare, to banish me from mine,
When birds do build their nest.
By these thy fierce effects it may appeare,
That with the Bull the Sunne soiournes indeed.
What sauage Bull disbanded from his stall,
Of wrath a signe more inhumane could make?
Ore all the Earth thou powr'st downe pleasant dew:
But with despaire dost all my hopes confine,
With teares to bath my brest.
Now when the time t' increase is drawing neare,
Thou in my brest of sorrow sow'st the seed,
And those old griefes thou goest for to recall,
That fading hing and would the stalke forsake.
Thus how can I some huge mishap eschew,
Who, kil'd with care, all comfort must resigne,
And yeeld to th' amorous pest?
The Heau'n of my estate growes neuer cleare,
I many torments feele, yet worse do dread :
Mishaps haue me inuiron'd with a wall,
And my heart sting with paines that neuer slake:
Yet to the end l'le to my deare be true;
So this sharpe aire my constancie shall fine,
Which may come for the best.
Ile write my woes vpon this pine-tree here,
That passengers such rarities may reade,
Who when they thinke of this my wretched fall,
With sighes may sing those euils that make me
quake,
And for compassion waile, while as they view,
How that I there with such a sauage line,
A tyrant's trophees drest.
This time desir'd of all I'le to hold deare,
And as that all things now to flourish speed:
So mouing on this sea-inuiron'd ball,
Foorth teares to bring mine eyes shall euer wake:
And whilst euen senslesse things my sorrowes rues,
I shall not spare no part of my ingine,
The sourest hearbes shall be my sweetest cheare,
Since to prolong my paines I onely feed;
Some dungeon darke shall serue me for a hall,
And like a king I shall companions lake.
Though neuer enuie do my state pursue,
Of wormwood bare I mind to make my wine,
Thus shall I be distrest.
For since my faire doth not vpon me rue,
My hopes set in the west.
My fairest faire, aduise thee with thy heart,
And tell in time if that thou think'st to loue me,
Lest that I perish whil'st thou think'st to proue
me,
And so thou want the meanes to act thy part:
For I account my selfe so done accurst,
That from despaire's refuge I scarce refraine.
The daintiest colours do the soonest staine,
And the most noble minds do soonest burst.
Why shouldst thou thus thy rarest treasure venter?
Lo, all the waightie thoughts, the burd'nous cares,
And euery horrour that the health impaires,
Draw to the heart, as to the bodie's center:
And it ore-ballanc'd with so great a waight,
Doth boast to yeeld vnto the burthen straight.
THE turret of my hope, which neuer falles,
Did at the first all Cupid's power despise:
But it t'orethrow while as thou arm'd thine eyes;
Thy lookes were canons, thy disdaines their balles:
I brau'd thy beauties in a gallant sort,
And did resist all thy assaults a time:
But ah, I find in end, (my wrack thy crime)
That treason enters in the strongest fort.
Thou, seeing thou wast like to lose the field,
Vnto my thoughts some fauour didst impart,
Which like brib'd orators inform'd the hart,
The victor would proue kind, if I could yeeld:
And ô, what can this grace thy beautie's straines?
'T is no true victorie that treason gaines.
O IF thou knew'st how thou thy selfe dost harme,
And dost preiudge thy blisse, and spoile my rest:
Then thou would'st melt the yce out of thy brest,
And thy relenting heart would kindly warme.
O if thy pride did not our ioyes controule,
What world of louing wonders should'st thou see!
For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,
Then in thy bosome I would poure my soule,
Then all thy thoughts should in my visage shine.
And if that ought mischane'd thou should'st not
mone,
Nor beare the burthen of thy griefes alone;
No, I would haue my share in what were thine.
And whil'st we thus should make our sorrowes one,
This happie harmonie would make them none.
WHAT Vncouth motion makes my mirth decay?
Is this the thing poore martyr'd men call loue?
And whil'st their torment doth their wits dismay,
As those that raue, do for a god approue?
Although he bring his greatnesse from aboue,
And rule the world according to his will,
Yet doth he euen from those all rest remoue,
That were deuoted to his deitie still.
Can that which is th' originall of ill,
From which doth flow an ocean of mischiefe,
Whose poysnous waues doth many thousands kill,
Can that be loue? no, 't is the source of griefe.
And all those erre that hold this vaine conceit;
Then I erre too, one in this same estate.
WHILE as the day deliuers vs his light,
I wander through the solitarie fields,
And when the euening hath obscur'd the earth,
And hath with silence lull'd the world asleepe:
Then rage I like a mad-man in my bed,
Which, being fir'd with sighes, I quench with teares.
But ere Aurora rise to spend her teares,
Still languishing againe to see the light,
As th' enemie of my rest, I flie my bed,
And take me to the most deserted fields:
There is no soule saue I but gets some sleepe,
Though one would seeke through all the peopled
Earth.
Whiles th' Ætna of my fires affrights the Earth,
And whiles it dreads, I drowne it with my teares:
And it 's suspicious-like, I neither sleepe,
When Phoebus giues nor gathers in his light:
So many piles of grasse not cloath the fields,
As I deuise designes within my bed.
Vnto the time I find a frostie bed,
Digged within the bowels of the Earth,
Mine eyes salt flouds shall still oreflow the fields:
I looke not for an abstinence from teares,
Till first I be secluded from the light,
And end my torments with an endlesse sleepe.
For now when I am purposed to sleepe,
A thousand thoughts assaile me in my bed,
That oft I do despaire to see the light:
O would to God I were dissolu'd in earth;
Then would the sauage beasts bemone with teares,
Their neighbour's death through all th' vnpeopled
fields.
Whil'st rauish'd whiles I walke alongst the fields,
The lookers on lament, I lose my sleepe:
But of the crocadiles those be the teares,
So to perswade me for to go to sleepe;
As being sure, when once I leaue the light,
To render me the greatest wretch on th' Earth.
O happiest I in th' Earth, if in the fields
I might still see the light and neuer sleepe,
Drinking salt teares, and making stones my bed.
WHEN I behold that face for which I pin'd,
And did my selfe so long in vaine annoy,
My toung not able to vnfold my joy,
A wondring silence onely showes my mind:
But when againe thou dost extend thy rigour,
And wilt not daigne to grace me with thy sight,
Thou kil'st my comfort, and so spoil'st my might,
That scarce my corps retaines the vitall vigour.
Thy presence thus a great contentment brings,
And is my soules inestimable treasure:
But ô, I drowne in th' ocean of displeasure,
When I in absence thinke vpon those things.
Thus would to God that I had seene thee neuer,
Or would to God that I might see thee euer.
LOYR, witnesse thou what was my spotlesse part,
Whil'st thou amaz'd to see thy Nymphes so faire,
As loth to part thence where they did repaire,
Still murm'ring did thy plaints t'each stone impart:
Then did mine eyes betake them to my hart,
As scorning to behold all those, though rare,
And gaz'd vpon her beauties image there,
Whose eyes haue furnish'd Cupid many a dart:
And as deuoted only vnto her,
They did disdaine for to bestow their light,
For to be entertain'd with any sight,
Saue onely that which made them first to erre.
Then, famous riuer, through the ocean glide,
And tell my loue how constant I abide.
I CANNOT Comprehend how this doth come,
Thou whose affections neuer yet were warme,
Which cold disdaine with leaden thoughts doth arme:
Though in thy selfe still cold, yet burn'st thou some.
Euen as the Sunne (as th' astrologian dreames)
In th' airie region where it selfe doth moue,
Is neuer hote, yet, darting from aboue,
Doth parch all things that repercusse his beames:
So thou that in thy selfe from fires art free,
Who eye's indifferent still, as Titan's stayes,
Whilst I am th' obiect that reflect thy rayes:
That which thou neuer hadst, thou workst in me.
Since but below thou show'st that power of thine,
I would the zodiacke be whence thou dost shine.
My teares might all the parched sands haue drench'd,
Though Phaeton had vndone the liquide frame:
I'le furnish Vulcan's fornace with a flame,
That like the Vestals' fire was neuer quench'd.
And though th' infected aire turmoil'd remaine,
It by my sighes and cries may be refin'd:
And if the bodie answer to the mind,
If no Earth were, mine might make th' Earth againe:
Though all the sauage flockes lay dead in heapes,
With which th' Arabian desarts are best stor'd,
My brest might many a fiercer beast affoord,
Iflike themselues all cloath'd with monstrous shapes:
And thus within my selfe I create so,
A world with all the elements of wo.
MYST I attend an vnrelenting will,
Which neuer any signe of fauour shew?
Ah, why should'st thou, Aurora, thus pursue
An innocent, that neuer did thee ill?
I did not with the Greeke conspire to kill
Thy sonne, for whom thou shed'st such flouds of dew:
But I as one that yet his destine rue.
For to condole with thee, huge teares distill;
And like the louing birds that came each yeare,
Vpon his tombe to offer vp their bloud:
So shall I too powre foorth a skarlet floud,
And sacrifize a heart that holds thee deare:
That since my life to make thee loue lackes force,
At least my death may moue thee to remorce.
THY cruelties (fierce faire) may be excus'd:
For it was I that gaue thy beautie powre,
And taught thee when to smile, and when to lowre,
Which thou hast since still to my ruine vs'd:
As he that others purpos'd was to pine,
And for his brasen bull a guerdon claim'd,
Was tortur'd first with that which he had fram'd,
And made th' experience of his curst engine:
So in this manner dost thou me torment,
Who told thee first the force of thy disdaines:
But ah, I suffer many greater paines,
Then the Sicilian tyrants could inuent:
And yet this grieues me most that thou disgrac❜d,
Art in the rancke with such like tyrants plac'd.
If that so many braue men leauing Greece,
Durst earst aduenter through the raging depth,
And all to get the spoiles of a poore sheepe,
That had bene famous for his golden fleece.
O then for that pure gold what should be sought,
Of which each haire is worth a thousand such!
No doubt for it one cannot do too much.
Why should not precious things be dearely bought?
And so they are, for in the Colchik guise,
This treasure many a danger doth defend :
Of which, when I haue brought some one to end,
Straight out of that a number doth arise:
Euen as the dragons teeth bred men at armes,
Which, ah! t'orethrow, I want Medea's charmes.
Orr with that mirror would I change my shape,
From which my faire askes counsell euery day,
How she th' vntainted beauties should array,
To th' end their fierce assaults no soule may scape.
Then in my bosome I behoou'd t' embrace
That which I loue, and whilst on me she gaz'd,
In her sweet eyes I many a time amaz'd,
Would woo my selfe, and borrow thence a grace.
But ah, I seeke that which I haue, and more,
She but too oft in me her picture spies,
And I but gaze too oft on those faire eyes,
Whence I the humour draw that makes mine sore.
Well may my loue come glasse her selfe in me,
In whom all what she is, the world may see.
Now when the Syren sings, as one dismaid,
I straight with waxe begin to stop mine eares;
And when the crocadile doth shed foorth teares,
I flie away, for feare to be betraid.
I know when as thou seem'st to waile my state,
Thy face is no true table of thy mind:
And thou wouldst neuer show thy selfe so kind,
Wert not thy thoughts are hatching some deceit :
Whilst with vaine hopes thou go'st about to fill me.
I wot whereto those drams of fauour tend;
Lest by my death thy cruelties should end,
Thou think'st by giuing life againe to kill me:
No, no, thou shalt not thus thy greatnesse raise,
I'le breake the trumpet that proclaim'd thy praise.
O Now I thinke, and do not thinke amisse,
That th' old philosophers were all but fooles,
Who vs'd such curious questions in their schooles,
Yet could not apprehend the highest blisse.
Lo, I have learn'd in th' academe of loue,
A maxime which they neur vnderstood:
To loue and be belou'd, this is the good,
Which for most sou'raigne all the world will proue,
That which delights vs most must be our treasure:
And to what greater ioy can one aspire,
Then to possesse all that he doth desire,
Whilst two vnited soules do melt in pleasure?
This is the greatest good can be inuented,
That is so great it cannot be augmented.
I WONDER not at Procris raging fits,
Who was affraid of thy entangling grace:
O there be many sorcerers in thy face,
Whose magicke may enchaunt the rarest wits.
To Cephalus what would thy lookes haue bred,
When thou while as the world thy sight pursude,
As blushing of so many to be view'd,
A vale of roses ore thy beauties spred :
Then euer gazing on thine yuorie browes,
He wounded with thy christall-pointed eyes,
Had rear'd a trophee to the morning skies,
Not mindfull of his Hymenean vowes.
But I am glad it chanc'd not to be so,
Least I had partner bene of Procris' wo.
Louz swore by Styx, whilst all the depths did tremble, That he would be aueng'd of my proud hart, Who to his deitie durst base styles impart, And would in that Latona's impe resemble: Then straight denounc'd his rebell, in a rage He labour'd by all meanes for to betray me, And gaue full leaue to any for to slay me, That he might by my wracke his wrath asswage: A nymph, that long'd to finish Cupid's toyles, Chane'd once to spie me come in beautie's bounds, And straight orethrew me with a world of wounds, Then vnto Paphos did transport my spoiles. Thus, thus I see, that all must fall in end, That with a greater then themselues contend. VOL. V.
ALONGST the borders of a pleasant plaine,
The sad Alexis did his garments teare,
And though alone, yet fearing to be plaine,
Did maime his words with many a sigh and teare:
For whilst he lean'd him downe vpon a greene,
His wounds againe began for to grow greene.
At last in show as one whose hopes were light, From fainting breath he forc'd those words to "O deare Aurora, dearer then the light, [part:
Of all the world's delights mine onely part: How long shall I in barren fields thus eare, Whil'st to my sad laments thou lend'st no eare!
"O what a rage doth boyle in euery vaine,
Which showes the world my better part 's not sound:
And yet thou let'st me spend those plaints in vaine, T" amaze the world with many a mournfull sound:
And whilst that I to griefe enlarge the raines,
A shoure of sorrow ore my visage raines.
"Ah, what haue I whereon my hopes to found, That hop'd t' haue had repose within thine arme, Yet haue not any signe of fauour found,
Thy marble mind such frozen fancies arme? For when in humble sort for grace I pray, Thou triumph'st ore me, as thy beautie's pray.
"I that transported once was neare gone wood, Now with long trauels growing faint and leane, While as I wander through the desert wood,
My wearied bodie on each tree must leane : And whil'st my heart is with strange harpies rent, I pay to sorrow the accustom'd rent.
"And whil'st I wander like the wounded deere, That seekes for dictamne to recure his scarre, And come to thee whom I hold onely deere,
Thou dost (fierce faire) at my disaster scarre: And mak'st me from all kind of comfort barr'd, Liue in the deserts like a raging bard.
"Ah, be there now no meanes t' vndo the band, That thou hast fram'd of those thy golden lockes! I'le range my fancies in a desperate band,
And burst asunder all thy beautie's lockes: Then to thy brest those firie troupes will lead, There from about thy heart to melt the lead.
"But ah, I boast in vaine, this cannot be,
Although my selfe to many shapes I turne: I onely labour like the restlesse bee,
That toyles in vaine to serue another's turne. My hopes, which once wing'd with thy fauours rose, Are falling now, as doth the blasted rose.
"That those my torments cannot long time last, In my declining eyes the world may reade, Lo, wounded with thy pride I fall at last,
As doth before the winds a beaten reed: And this my death with shame thy cheekes may die, Since sacrific'd to thy disdaine I die."
WHEN Whiles I heare some gallants to giue forth,
That those whom they adore are onely faire,
With whom they thinke none other can compare;
The beautie of beautie, and the height of worth,
Then iealousie doth all my ioyes controule,
For ô I thinke, who can accomplish'd be,
(There is no Sunne but one) saue onely she
Whom I haue made the idole of my soule;
And this suspition wounds my better parts:
I rage to haue a riuall in my light,
And yet would rage farre more, if any might
Giue her their eyes, and yet hold backe their hearts;
Too great affection doth those passions moue,
I may not trust my shadow with my loue.
WHEN as I come to thy respected sight,
Thy lookes are all so chast, thy words so graue,
That my affections do the foile receaue,
And like to darknes yeeld vnto the light;
Still vertue holds the ballance of thy wit,
In which great reason ponders euery thought,
And thou, deare ladie, neuer staind in ought,
Thus ore thy selfe dost as an empresse sit.
O what is beautie if not free from blame,
It hath the soule as white as is the skinne,
The froth of vanitie, the dregs of sinne,
A wracke to others, to it selfe a shame;
And as it is most precious if kept pure,
It is as much abhorr'd if once impure.
WHEN silence luls the world asleepe,
And starres do glance in th' azure field,
The mountaines making shadowes ore the plaines,
All creatures then betake themselues to rest,
And to the law of nature yeeld,
Saue I, who no good order keepe,
That then begin to feele my paines;
For in the zodiacke of my brest,
The sunne that I adore her light reuines,
Whilst wearied Phoebus in the ocean diues.
The world's cleare day was night to me,
Who seem'd asleepe still in a trance,
And all my words were spoken through a dreame:
But then when th' earth puts on th' vinbragious
My passions do themselues aduance,
And from those outward lets set free,
That had them earst restrain'd with shame,
Do set me to my wofull taske:
Then from the night her priuilege I take,
And in dispight of Morpheus I will wake.
But straight the Sunne that giues me light,
With many duskish vapors cled,
Doth seeme to boast me with some feareful storme;
And whilst I gaze vpon the glorious beames,
Lo, metamorphos'd in my bed,
I lose at once my shapher sight;
And taking on another forme,
Am all dissolu'd in bitter streames,
Where many monsters bathe themselues anone,
At which strange sight the Faunes and Satyres mone.
But whilst I seeke mo springs t' assemble,
My waters are dride vp againe,'
And as the mightie giant that Ioue tames:
I wot not whether, if thundred or thundring,
Against the Heau'ns smokes forth disdaine,
And makes mount Etna tremble.
So I send forth a flood of flames,
Which makes the world for to stand wondring,
And neuer did the Lemnian fornace burne,
As then my brest, whilst all to fire I turne.
At last no constancie below,
Thus plagued in two diuers shapes,
I'm turn'd into my selfe, and then I quake,
For this I haue by proofe found worst of all:
Then do my hopes fall dead in heapes,
And to b' aueng'd of their orethrow,
Strange troupes of thoughts their musters make,
Which tosse my fancie like a ball:
Thus one mishap doth come as th' other's past,
And still the greatest crosse comes euer last.
To tell the starres my night I passe,
And much conclude, yet questions do arise;
I harrengues make though dumbe, and see though blind,
And though alone, am hem'd about with bands:
I build great castels in the skies,
Whose tender turrets but of glasse,
Are straight oreturn'd with enery wind,
And rear'd and raz'd, yet without hands;
I in this state strange miseries detect,
And more deuise then thousands can effect.
My Sunne whilst thus I stand perplex'd,
The darknesse deth againe controule,
And then I gaze vpon that diuine grace,
Which as that I had view'd Medusae's head,
Transform'd me once; and my sad soule,
That thus hath bene so strangely vext,
Doth from her scate those troubles chase,
The which before dispaire had made,
And all her pow'r vpon contentment feeds,
No joy to that which after wo succeeds.
And yet those dainties of my ioyes,
Are still confected with some feares,
That well accustom'd with my cruell fate,
Can neuer trust the gift that th' enemie giues,
And onely th' end true witnesse beares:
For whilst my soule her pow'r imployes,
To surfet in this happie state,
The Heau'n againe my wracke contriues,
And the world's Sunne enuying this of mine,
To darken my loue's world begins to shine.
I THINKE that Cipris in a high disdaine,
Barr'd by the barb'rous Turkes that conquer'd seate,
To re-erect the ruines of her state,
Comes ore their bounds t' establish beautie's raigne;
And whilst her greatnesse doth begin to rise,
As sdaining temples built of baser frame,
She in those rosie snowes t' enstall ber name,
Reares stately altars in thy starrie eyes,
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