PHILLIS: Honoured with Pastoral Sonnets, Elegies, and amorous delights. Where-vnto is annexed, the tragical complaint of Elstred.  jam Phoebus disiungit equos, iam Cinthia iungit. 
At London, Printed for john Busbie, and are to be sold at his shop, at the West-doore of Paul's. 1593.   

TO THE RIGHT worthy and noble Lady, the Countess of Shrewesbury  
I Have adventured (most noble Lady with the wrestlers of Olympia, though not to win, yet to work for the Garland; the judgement of my industry relieth on your Ladyship, who have both authority to convict, and knowledge to commend. I have chosen you Madam among many, to be the Sovereign and she Maecenas of my toil, because I am assured, that the great report of your learning and virtue, (wherewith as yet it hath not pleased you to dignify the world) must even now be exemplified in me, who dare promise as much in affection, as any other can perform in perfection. May it please you to look and like of homely Phillis in her Country carolling, & to countenance her poor and affectionate Shepherd, who promiseth under the only encouragement of so noble a Lady, to employ all his best designs, life, and studies, to your good liking.  
Your ladyships most humble to command Tho: Lodge.   

Induction.  

I That obscured have fled the Scene of Fame,  
entitling my conceits to nought but care,  
I that have lived a Phoenix in loves flame,  
And felt that death I never would declare,  
Now mount the Theatre of this our age,  
To plead my faith and Cupid's cursed rage.   

Oh you high sp'rited Paragons of wit,  
That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch,  
Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit,  
Able to make the coyest ear to itch:  
Shrowded with your mighty wings that mount so well,  
These little loves, new crept from out the shell.   

And thou the true Octavia of our time,  
Under whose worth, beauty was never matched,  
The Genius of my Muse and ragged rhyme,  
Smile on these little loves but lately hatched,  
Who from the wrestling waves have made retreat,  
To plead for life before thy judgement seat.   

And though the fore-bred brothers they have had,  
(Who in their Swanlike songs Amint●s wept)  
For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad,  
And twice obscured in Cinthia's circle slept:  
Yet these (I hope) under your kind aspect,  
(Most worthy Lady) shall escape neglect.   

And if these Infants of mine artless brain,  
(Not by their worth, but by thy worthiness)  
A mean good liking of the learned gain,  
My Muse enfranchised from forgetfulness:  
Shall hatch such breed in honour of thy name,  
As modern Poets shall admire the same.   

As modern Poets shall admire the same,  
I mean not you (you never matched men)  
Who brought the Chaos of our tongue in frame,  
Through these Herculean labours of your pen:  
I mean the mean, I mean no men divine,  
But such whose feathers are but waxed like mine.   

Go weeping Truce-men in your sighing weeds,  
Under a great Maecenas I have passed you:  
If so you come where learned Colin feeds  
His lovely flock, pack thence and quickly haste you;  
You are but mists before so bright a sun,  
Who hath the Palm for deep invention won.   

Kiss delia's hand for her sweet Prophet's sake,  
Whose not affected but well couched tears:  
Have power, have worth, a Marble mind to shake;  
Whose fame, no Iron-age or time out wears.  
Then lay you down in Phillis lap and sleep,  
Until she weeping read, and reading weep.   

I that obscured have fled the scheane of fame,  
entitling my conceits to nought but care:  
I that have lived a Phoenix in loves flame,  
And felt that death I never would declare:  
Now mount the Theatre of this our age,  
To plead my faith and Cupid's cursed rage.   

Oh you high spirited paragons of wit,  
That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch:  
Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit,  
Able to make the coyest ear to itch:  
Shrowded with your mighty wings that mount so well,  
These little loves new crept from out the shell.   

And thou the Ascrean Poet of our time,  
Under whose style conceit was never matched:  
The Genius of my muse and ragged rhyme,  
Smile on these little loves but lately hatched:  
Who from the wrestling waves have made retreat,  
To plead for life before thy judgement seat.   

And though the fore-bred brothers they have had,  
(Who in their Swanlike songs Amintas wept)  
For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad,  
And twice obscured in Cinthia's circle slept:  
Yet these I hope under your kind aspect,  
(Thou flower of knighthood) shall escape neglect.   

And if these infants of mine artless brain,  
(Not by their worth but by thy worthiness:)  
A mean good liking of the learned gain,  
My muse enfranchisd from forgetfulness:  
Shall hatch such breed in honour of thy name,  
As modern Poets shall admire the same.   

As modern Poets shall admire the same,  
I mean not you (you never matched men,)  
Who brought the Chaos of our tongue in frame,  
Through these herculean labours of your pen:  
I mean the mean, I mean no men divine,  
But such whose feathers are but waxed like mine.   

Go weeping truce-men in your sighing weeds,  
Under a great Maecenas I have passed you:  
If so you come where learned Colin feeds,  
His lowly flock, pack thence and quickly hast you,  
You are but mists before so bright a sun,  
Who hath the palm for deep invention won.   

Kiss delia's hand for her sweet Prophet's sake,  
Whose not affected but well couched tears:  
Have power, have worth a marble mind to shake,  
Whose fame no iron-age or time out wears:  
Then lay you down in Phillis lap and sleep,  
Until she weeping read and reading weep.    


Phillis. Sonnet I.  
Oh pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love,  
Forerunners of desire, sweet Methridates  
The poison of my sorrows to remove,  
With whom my hopes and fearful oft debates.  
Inritch yourselves and me by yourself riches,  
(Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven bred beauty,)  
Rouse you my muse beyond our Poets pitches,  
And working wonders yet say all is duty.  
Use you no Eaglets eyes, nor Phoenix feathers,  
To tower the heaven from whence heavens wonder sallies:  
For why your son singes sweetly to her wethers:  
Making a springe of winter in the valleys.  
Show to the world though poor and scant my skill is,  
How sweet thoughts be, that are but thought on Phillis.   

Sonnet II.  
You sacred Sea-nymphs pleasantly disporting,  
Amidst this watery world, where now I sail:  
IF everlove, or lovers sad reporting,  
Had power sweet tears from your fair eyes to hail:  
And you more gentle-hearted than the rest,  
Under the Northern Noon-stede sweetly streaming:  
Lend those moist riches of your crystal crest,  
To quench the flames from my hearts Aetna steaming.  
And thou kind Ariton in thy trumpet relish,  
The ruthful accents of my discontent:  
That midst this treavell desolate and hellish,  
Some gentle wind e that listens my lament.  
May prattle in the north in Phillis ears,  
Where Phillis wants Damon consumes in tears.   

Sonnet III.  
In fancy's world an Atlas have I been,  
Where yet the Chaos of my ceaseless care:  
Is by her eyes unpitied and unseen,  
In whom all gifts but pity planted are.  
For mercy though still cries my moane-clad muse,  
And every paper that she sends to beauty:  
In tract of sable tears brings woeful news,  
Of my true heartkinde thoughts and loyal duty.  
But ah the strings of her hard heart are strained,  
Beyond the harmony of my desires:  
And though the happy heavens themselves have pained,  
To tame her heart whose will so far aspires,  
Yet she who claims the title of worlds wonder,  
Thinks all deserts to base to bring her under.   

Sonnet FOUR  
Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce,  
One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes,  
Whilst I with restless rivers of remorse,  
Have bathed the banks where my fair Phillis lies.  
The moaning lines which weeping I have written,  
And writing red unto my ruthful sheep,  
And reading sent with tears that never fitten,  
To my loves Queen, that hath my heart in keep:  
Have made my Lambkins, lay them down and sigh:  
But Phillis sits, and reads, and calls them trifles:  
Oh heavens why climb not happy lines so high,  
To rend that ruthless heart, that all hearts rifles?  
None write with truer faith, or greater love,  
Yet out alas I have no power to move.   

Sonnet V.  
Ah pale and dying infant of the springe,  
How rightly now do I resemble thee:  
That self same hand that thee from stalk did wring,  
Hath rend my breast and robbed my heart from me.  
Yet shalt thou live, for why thy native vigour,  
Shall thrive by woeful dew-droppes of my dolour:  
And from the wounds I bear through fancy's rigour,  
My streaming blood shall yield thee crimson colour.  
The ravished sighs (that ceaseless take their issue,  
From out the furnace of my heart inflamed:)  
To yield you lasting springs shall never miss you,  
So by my plaints, and pains, you shall be famed  
Let my heart's heat, and cold, thy crimson nourish,  
And by my sorrows let thy beauty flourish.   

Sonnet VI.  
It is not death which wretched men call dying,  
But that is very death which I endure:  
When my coy looking Nymph (her grace envying,)  
By fatal frowns my damage doth procure.  
It is not life which we for life approve,  
But that is life when on her woul-soft paps,  
I seal sweet kisses, which do batten love:  
And doubling them do triple my good haps.  
'tis neither love the son, nor love the mother,  
Which lovers praise and pray to; but that love is:  
Which she in eye and I in heart do smother,  
Then muse not though I glory in my miss.  
Since she who holds my heart, and me in durance,  
Hath life, death, love and all in her procureance.   

Sonnet VII.  
How languisheth the Primrose of loves garden?  
How trill her tears th'elixir of my senses:  
Ambitious sickness, what doth thee so harden,  
Oh spare and plague thou me for her offences.  
Ah Roses, loves fair Roses do not languish,  
Blush through the milk-white vail that holds you covered:  
If heat or cold may mitigate your anguish,  
He burn, He freeze, but you shall be recovered.  
Good God would beauty mark now she is crazed,  
How but one shower of sickness makes her tender:  
Her judgements then to mark my woes amazed,  
To mercy should opinions for't surrender:  
And I (oh would, I might, or would she meant it,)  
Should herrie love, who now in heart lament it.   

Sonnet VIII  
No stars her eyes to clear the wandering night,  
But shining suns of true divinity:  
That make the soul conceive her perfect light:  
No wanton beauties of humanity  
Her pretty brows, but beams that clear the sight  
Of him that seeks the true Philosophy:  
No Coral is her lip, no rose her fair,  
But even that crimson that adorns the Sun  
No Nymph is she, but mistress of the air,  
By whom my glories are but new begun,  
But when I touch and taste as others do,  
I then shall wright and you shall wonder to.   

Sonnet IX.  
The dewie-Roseate morn had with her hairs,  
In sundry sorts the Indian Clime adorned:  
And now her eyes apparrailed in tears,  
The loss of lovely Memnon long had mourned.  
When as she spied the Nymph whom I admire.  
Kembinge her locks, of which the yellow gold,  
Made blush the beauties of her curled wire,  
Which heaven itself with wonder might behold.  
Then red with shame, her reverend locks she rend,  
And weeping hid the beauty of her face,  
The flower of fancy wrought such discontent:  
The sighs which midst the air she breathed a space,  
A three days stormy tempest did maintain,  
Her shame a fire, her eyes a swelling rain.   

Sonnet X.  
The rumour runs that here in I this swim,  
Such stately Swans so confident in dying;  
That when they feel themselves near Lethe's brim,  
They sing their fatal dirge when death is nighing.  
And I like these that, feel my wounds are mortal,  
Contented die for her whom I adore:  
And in my joyful hymns do still exhort all,  
To die for such a Saint or love no more.  
Not that my torments, or her tryanny.  
Enforce me to enjoin so hard a task,  
But for I know, and yield no reason why,  
But will them try that have desire to ask.  
As love hath wreaths his pretty eyes to feel,  
So lovers must keep secret what they feel   

Sonnet XI.  
My frail and earthly bark, by reasons guide,  
(Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail:)  
By my desires (the winds of bad betide,)  
Hath sailed these worldly Seas with small avail.  
Vain objects serve, for dreadful Rocks to quail,  
My brittle boat from haven of life that flies  
To haunt the Sea of mundane miseries:  
My soul that draws Impressions from above,  
And views my course, and sees the winds aspire,  
Bids reason watch to scape the shoals of love:  
But lawless will inflamed with endless ire  
Doth steerem poop whilst reason doth retire.  
The streams increase loves waves my bark do fill,  
Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will.   

Sonnet XII.  
Ah trees why fall your leaves so fast?  
Ah Rocks where are your robes of moss?  
Ah flocks, why stand you all aghast?  
Trees, rocks, and flocks, what are you pensive for my loss?  
The birds me thinks, tune nought but moan,  
The winds breathe nought but bitter plaint,  
The beasts forsake their dens to groan,  
Birds, winds, and beasts, what doth my loss your powers attaint?  
Floods weep their springs above their bounds,  
And Echo wails to see my woe,  
The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds:  
Floods, Echo, gronudes, why do you all these tears bestow?  
The trees, the rocks, and flocks reply,  
The birds, the winds, the beasts report,  
Floods, Echo, grounds, for sorrow cry,  
We grieve suice Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort.   

Sonnet XIII.  
Love guides the roses of thy lips,  
And flies about them like a be:  
If I approach he forward skips,  
And if I kiss he stingeth me.  
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,  
And sleeps within their pretty shine:  
And if I look the boy will lower,  
And from their orbs shoots shafts divine.  
Love works thy heart within his fire,  
And in my tears doth firm the same:  
And if I tempt it will retire,  
And of my plaints doth make a game.  
Love let me cull her choicest flowers,  
And pity me, and calm her eye,  
Make soft her heart, dissolve her lours,  
Then will I praise thy deity.  
But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her,  
In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.   

Sonnet XIIII.  
I wroat in mirrha's bark, and as I wroate,  
Poor Myrrha wept because I wroat forsaken:  
'Twas of thy pride I song in weeping note,  
When as her leaves great moan for pity maken.  
The falling fountains from the mountains falling,  
Cried out alas, so fair and be so cruel?  
And Babbling Echo never ceased calling,  
Phillis disdain is fit for none but truthless.  
The rising pines wherein I had engraved,  
Thy memory consulting with the wind:  
Are trucemen to thy heart, and thoughts depraved,  
And say thy kind should not be so unkind.  
But (out alas) so fell is Phillis pheerlesse,  
That she hath made her Damon wellnigh tearlesse.   

Sonnet XV.  
My Phillis hath the morning sun,  
At fust to look upon her.  
And Phillis hath morne-waking birds,  
Her risings for to honour.  
My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers,  
That smile when she treads on them,  
And Phillis hath a gallant flock,  
That leaps since she doth own them.  
But Phillis hath so hard a heart,  
Alas that she should have it.  
As yields no mercy to desert,  
Nor grace to those that crave it:  
Sweet sun when thou lookest on,  
Pray her regard my moan.  
Sweet birds when you sing to her,  
To yield some pity woo her.  
Sweet flowers when as she treads on,  
Tell her. her beauty deeds one:  
And if in life her love, she will agree me,  
Pray her before I die, she will come see me.   

Sonnet XVI.  
I part but how? from joy, from hope, from life,  
I leave but whom? loves pride, wits pomp, heart's bliss,  
I pine for what? for grief, for thought, for strife:  
I faint and why? because I see my miss,  
Oh ceaseless pains that never may be told,  
You make me weep as I to water would.  
Ah weary hopes in deep oblivious streams,  
Go seek your graves, since yond have lost your grounds,  
Ah pensive heart seek out her radiant gleams,  
For why thy bliss is shut within those bounds?  
Ah traitorous eyes to feeble in for sight,  
Grow dim with woe, that now must want your light.  
I part from bliss to dwell with ceaseless moan,  
I part from life, since I from beauty part,  
I part from peace, to pine in care alone,  
I part from ease to die with dreadful smart.  
I part (oh death;) for why this world contains,  
More care, and woe then with despair remains,  
Oh loath depart wherein such sorrows dwell,  
As all conceits are s●ant the same to tell.   

Sonnet XVII.  
Ah fleeting weal, ah sly deluding sleep,  
That in one moment givest me joy and pain:  
How do my hopes dissolve to tears in vain?  
As wont the Snows, fore angry sun to weep?,  
Ah noisome life that hath no weal in keep  
My forward grief hath form and working might  
My pleasures like the shadows take their flight:  
My path to bliss is tedious long and steep.  
Twice happy thou Endemion that embracest,  
The livelong night thy love within thine arms:  
Where thou fond dream my longed weal defacest  
Whitest fleeting and uncertain shaddes thou placest  
Before my eyes with false deluding charms.  
Ah instant sweets which do my heart revive,  
How should I joy if you were true alive;   

Sonnet XVIII.  
As where two raging venoms are united,  
(Which of themselves dissevered life would sever;)  
The sickly wretch of sickness is acquitted,  
Which else should die, or pine in torments ever.  
So fire, and frost, that hold my heart in seizure,  
Restore those ruins which themselves have wrought,  
Where if a part they both had had their pleasure,  
The earth long since, her fatal claim had caught.  
Thus two united deaths, keep me from dying,  
I burn in Ice, and quake amidst the fire:  
No hope midst these exteames or favour spying,  
Thus love makes me a Martyr in his ire.  
So that both cold and heat do rather feed,  
My ceaseless pains, than any comfort breed.   

Sonnet XIX.  
Thou tiranizing Monarch that dost tyre,  
My lovesick heart through those assaulting eyes,  
That are the lamps which lighten my desire,  
If nought but death fury may suffice:  
Not for my peace, but for thy pleasure be it,  
That Phillis, wrathful Phillis that repines me,  
All grace but death, may deign to come and see it,  
And seeing grieve, at that that which she assigns me.  
This only boon for all my mortal bane,  
I crave and cry for, at thy mercy seat;  
That when her wrath a faithful heart hath slain,  
And soul is fled, and body rest of heat:  
She might perceive how much she might command,  
That had my life, and death, within her hand.   

Sonnet XX.  
Some praise the looks, and others praise the locks,  
Of their fair Queens, in love with curious words:  
Some laud the breast where love his treasure locks,  
All like the eye that life and love affords.  
But none of these frail beauties and unstable  
Shall make my pen riot in pompous style:  
Moore greater gifts shall my grave muse enable,  
Whereat severer brows shall never smile.  
I praise her honny-sweeter eloquence,  
Which from the fountain of true wisdom floweth:  
Her modest mean that matcheth excellence,  
Her matchless faith which from her for tue groweth:  
And could my style her happy virtues equal,  
Time had no power her glories to enthrale.    

Egloga Prima Demades Damon.  Demades. 

NOw surge of winter's wrack is wellnigh spent,  
And sun gins look more longer on our clime,  
And earth no more to sorrow doth consent,  
Why been thy looks forlorn that view the prime?  
uneath thy flocks may feed to see thee faint,  
Thou lost, they lean, and both with woe attaint.   

For shame cast off these discontented looks,  
For grief doth weight one life, though never sought,  
(So Thenot wrote admired for Pipe and books:)  
Then to the springe attemper thou thy thought,  
And let advice rear up thy drooping mind:  
And leave to weep thy woes unto the wind.   Damon. 

Ah Demades no wonder though I wail,  
For even the spring is winter unto me,  
Look as the sun the earth doth then avail,  
When by his beams, his bowels warmed be:  
Even so a Saint more sun bright in her shining.  
First wrought my weal, now hasts my winters pining.   

Which lovely lamp withdrawn from my poor eyes,  
Both parts of earth, and fire drowned up in woe:  
In winter dwell: my joy my courage dies,  
My lambs with me that do my winter know?  
For pity scorn the spring that nyeth near,  
And pine to see, their Master's pining cheer.  
The root which yieldeth sap unto the tree,  
Draws from the earth the means that makes it spring:  
And by the sap the scions fostered be,  
All from the sun have comfort and increasing:  
And that fair eye that lights this earthly ball,  
Kills by depart, and neeting cheereth all.   

As root to tree such is my tender heart,  
Whose sap is thought, whose branches are content:  
And from my soul they draw their sweet or smart,  
And from her eye, my soul's best life is lent.  
Which heavenly eye that lights both earth and air,  
Quells by depart and quickens by repair.   Demades. 

Give period to the process of thy plaint,  
Unhappy Damon witty in selfe-greeving:  
Tend thou thy flocks, let tyrant love attaint,  
Those tender hearts that make their love their living.  
And as kind time keeps Phillis from thy sight,  
So let prevention banish fancy quite.   

Cast hence this Idle fuel of desire,  
That feeder that flame wherein thy heart consumeth:  
Let reason school thy will which doth aspire,  
And counsel cool impatience that presumeth:  
Drive hence vain thoughts which are fond loves abetters;  
For he that seeks his thraldoome merits fetters.  
The vain Idea of this deity  
nust at the teat of thine Imagination:  
Was bred brought, up by thine own vanity,  
Whose being thou mayest curse from the creation:  
And so thou list, thou mayest as soon forget love,  
As thou at first didst fashion and beget love.   Damon 

Peace Demades peace shepherd do not tempt me,  
The sage-taught wise may speak thus, but not practise:  
Rather from life, then from my love exempt me,  
My happy love wherein my weal and wrack lies:  
Where chilly age first left love, and first lost her,  
There youth found love, liked love, and love did foster.   

Not as Ambitious of their own decay,  
But curious to equal your fore deeds:  
So tread we now within your wonted way,  
We find your fruits of judgements and their seeds.  
We know you loved, and loving learn that lore,  
You scorn kind love, because you can no more:   

though from this pure refiner of the thought,  
The glean of your learnings have you gathered  
Your lives had been abortive base and nought,  
Except by happy love they had been fathered,  
Then still the swain, for I will still avow it:  
They have no wit nor worth that disallow it.   

Then to renew the ruins of my tears,  
Be thou no hinderer Demades I pray thee.  
If my love sighs, grow tedious in thine cares,  
Fly me, that fly from joy, I list not stay thee,  
Morn sheep, morn lambs, & Damon will weep by you.  
And when I sigh come home sweet Phillis cry you.   

Come home sweet Phillis, for thine absence causeth  
A flowerlesse prime-tide in these drooping meadows,  
To push his beauties forth each primrose pauseth,  
Our Lilies and our Roses like coy widows  
Shut in their buds their beauties, & bemoan them,  
Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them.   

The trees by my redoubled sighs long blasted,  
Call for thy balme-sweete breath and sunny eyes,  
To whom all nature's comforts are hand-fasted,  
Breath, look on them, and they to life arise:  
They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest,  
And droop with me, when thy fair brow thou bendest.   

I woo thee Phillis with more earnest weeping,  
Then Niobe for her dead issue spent,  
I pray thee Nymph who hast our spring in keeping:  
Thou mistress of our flowers and my content,  
Come home and glad our Meads of winter weary,  
And make thy woeful Damon blithe and merry,   

Else will I captive all my hopes again,  
And shut them up in prisons of despair:  
And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain.  
And sigh such sighs as shall Eclipse the air.  
And cry such cries as love that hears my crying,  
Shall faint and weep for grief, and fall a dying.   

My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it,  
Except thy little world her light discover,  
Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it,  
Oh how I fear least absent jove should love her,  
I fear it Phillis, for he never saw one,  
That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure & awe one.   

I swear to thee allseeing sovereign,  
Rolling heavens circles round about our centre:  
Except my Phillis safe return again,  
No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter.  
All hope (but future hope to be renowned,  
For weeping Phillis) shall in tears be drowned.   Demades. 

How large a scope lends Damon to his moan,  
Wasting those treasures of his happy-witte:  
In regestring his woeful woe-begone?  
Ah bend thy Muse to matters far more fit:  
For time shall come when Phillis is interred,  
That Damon shall confess that he hath erred.   

When natures riches shall (by time dissolved)  
Call thee to see with more judicial eye:  
How Phillis beauties are to dust resolved,  
Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why  
Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail,  
To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail?   

Have mercy on thyself cease being idle,  
Let reason claim and gain of will his homage:  
Rain in these brainsick thoughts with judgements bridle,  
A short prevention helps a mighty damage.  
If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so:  
That if she fly, thou mayest loves fire forego.   

Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame,  
Show passions in thy words, but not in heart:  
Lest when thou thinkest to bring thy thoughts in frame:  
Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine Arte.  
Play with these babes of love, as Apes with Glasses,  
And put no trust in feathers, wind, or la●●es.   Da. 

Did not thine age yield warrantise (old man)  
Impatience would enforce me to offend thee,  
Me list not now thy froward skill to scan,  
Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee.  
Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth grass, sky stars shall banish,  
Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish.   

So get the gone and fold thy tender sheep,  
For lo the great Autumedon of day:  
In Isis' stream his golden locks doth steep,  
Sad Even her dusky mantle doth display?  
Light-flying fowls the posts of night disport them,  
And cheerful looking Vesper doth consort them.   

Come you my careful flock fore go your master,  
I'll fold you up and after fall a sighing,  
Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster,  
Nought may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing.  
Farewell old Demades, DE. Damon farewell.  
How 'gainst advise doth headlong youth rebel.    

An Elegy.  

Ah cruel winds why call you hence away:  
Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me?  
Ye traitorous floods why 〈◊〉 your floats delay,  
Until my latest moans discoursed be?  
For though ye salt sea-Gods with hold the reign:  
Of all your floats. And gentle winds befall;  
While I have wept such tears, as might restrain  
The rage of tides and winds against then will.  
Ah shall I lose your sight bright shining eyes?  
And must my soul his life and glory leave?  
Must I forsake the bower where solace lives,  
To trust to tickle fates that still deceive?  
" Alas so wills the wanton Queen of change,  
" That each man tract this labyrinth of life,  
" With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange,  
" Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife?  
" Ah joy no joy because so so soon thou fleetest,  
Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being.  
Oh life, no life since with such chance thou meetest,  
Oh eyes, no eyes since you must lose your seeing:  
Soul be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers.  
To crystal tears, and by their pores express,  
The grief, that my distressed soul devours:  
Cloth thou my body all in heaviness,  
My sons appeared fair smiling full of pleasure.  
But now the vale of absence over clouds them:  
They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure  
Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them  
Yea die, oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing,  
That I may die the death whilst she regardeth,  
For sweet were death, and sweet, were deaths oppressing,  
If she look on who all my life awardeth.  
Oh thou that art the portion of my joy,  
Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime:  
Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy,  
That wounds my soul upon this sorry time:  
Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses,  
The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee,  
Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses,  
Dulled are my spirits since fates do now bereave thee.  
And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented,  
The winds are fair the sails are hoist high,  
The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented,  
Grief so subdewes my heart as it should die.  
A faint farewell, with trembling hand I tender,  
And with my tears my papers are distained,  
Which closed up, my heart in them I render,  
To tell thee how at parting I complained.  
Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell,  
And for my sake let him with beauty dwell.    

Thirsis Aegloga Secunda.  

Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth,  
Eyes are fraught with seas of languish:  
Heavy hope my solace harmeth,  
Minds repast is bitter anguish.   

Eye of day regarded never,  
Certain trust, in world untrusty,  
Flattering hope beguileth ever:  
Weary old, and wanton lusty.   

dawn of day beholds enthroned,  
Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless:  
Darksome night doth hear h●m moaned,  
Who before was rich and needless.   

rob the sphre of lines united,  
Make a sudden void in nature:  
Force the day to be benighted,  
Reave the cause of time and creature.   

Ere the world will cease to vary,  
This I weep for this I sorrow.  
Muses if you please to tarry,  
Further helps I mean to borrow.   

Courted once by fortune's favour,  
Compassed now with enures curies:  
All my thoughts of sorrow saver,  
Hopes run fleeting like the sources.   

(Ay me) wanton scorn hath maimed,  
All the joy my heart enjoyed:  
Thoughts their thinking have disclaimed,  
Hate my hopes hath quite annoyed.   

Scant regard my weal hath scanted,  
Looking coy hath forced my lowering:  
Nothing liked where nothing wanted,  
Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.   

Former love was once admired,  
Present favour is estranged,  
Loath the pleasure long desired,  
Thus both men and thoughts are changed.   

Lovely swain with lucky guiding,  
Once (ebut now no more so friended)  
Thou my flocks hast had in minding,  
From the morn till day was ended   

Drink and fodder food and folding,  
Had my lambs and ewes together  
I with them was still beholding,  
Both in warmth and winter weather.   

Now they languish since refused,  
Ewes and lambs are pain with pining  
I with ewes and lambs confused.  
All unto our deaths declining.   

Silence leave thy cave obscured,  
Deign a doleful swain to tender,  
Though disdains I have endured.  
Ye I am no deep offender.   

Phillip's son can with his finger,  
Hid his scar it is so little:  
Little sin a day to linger,  
Wise men wander in a Tittle.   

Thriftless yet my swain have turned,  
Though my sun he never showeth:  
Though I weep I am not mourned,  
Though I want no pity groweth.   

Yet for pity love my muses,  
Gentle silence be their cover:  
They must leave their wont uses,  
Since I leave to be a lover.   

They shall live with thee enclosed,  
I will loathe my pen and paper:  
Art shall never be supposed,  
Sloth shall quench the watching taper.   

Kiss them silence, kiss them kindly  
Though I leave them, yet I love them:  
Though my wit have led them blindly,  
Yet my swain did once approve them.   

I will travel soils removed,  
Night and morrow never merry:  
Thou shalt harbour that I loved,  
I will love that makes me weary.   

If perchance the sheep strayeth,  
In thy walks and shades unhaunted:  
Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,  
How neglect my joys hath daunted.    


Sonnet XXI.  
Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,  
O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks,  
Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans,  
Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boading looks.  
Ah just laments of my unjust distress,  
Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide,  
Oh hopes of love that intimate redress,  
Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide.  
When will you cease? or shall pain never ceasing,  
Seize on my heart? oh mollify your rage,  
Lest your assaults with over switf increasing,  
Procure my death, or call on timeless age.  
What if they do? they shall but feed the fire,  
Which I have kindled by my fond desire.   

Sonnet XXII.  
Fair art thou Phillis, I so fair (sweet maid)  
As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair,  
For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayde,  
And gold more pure than gold doth guild thy hair.  
Sweet Bees have hived their honey on thy tongue,  
And Hebe spiced her Nectar with thy breath:  
About thy neck do all the grace's throng,  
And lay such baits as might entangle death.  
In such a breast what heart would not be thrall?  
From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces?  
At thy fair hands who wonders not at all,  
Wonder itself through ignorance embases?  
Yet netheless though wondrous gifts you call these,  
My faith is far more wonderful than all these.   

Sonnet XXIII.  
Burst burst poor heart thou hast no longer hope,  
Captive mine eyes unto eternal sleep,  
Let all my senses have no further scope,  
Let death be lord of me and all my sheep.  
For Phillis hath betrothed fierce disdain:  
That makes his mortal mansion in her heart,  
And though my tongue have long time taken pain,  
To sue divorce and wed her to desert.  
She will not yield, my words can have no power,  
She scorns my faith, she laughs at my sad lays,  
She fills my soul with never ceasing sour,  
Who filled the world with volumes of her praise:  
In such extremes what wretch can cease to crave  
His peace from death, who can no mercy have.   

Sonnet XXIIII  
No glory makes me glorious or glad,  
Nor pleasure may to pleasure me dispose,  
Ne comfort can revive my senses sad,  
Nor hope enfranchise me with one repose.  
Nor in her absence taste I one delight,  
Nor in her presence am I well content,  
Was never time gave term to my despite,  
Nor joy that dried the tears of my lament:  
Nor hold I hope of weal in memory,  
Nor have I thought to change my restless grief,  
Nor doth my conquest yield me sovereignty,  
Nor hope repose, nor confidence, relief.  
For why she sorts her frowns and favours so,  
As when I gain or lose I cannot know:   

Sonnet XXV.  
I wage the combat with two mighty foes,  
Which are more strong than I ten thousand fold,  
The one is when thy pleasure I do lose,  
The other, when thy person I behold:  
In seeing thee a swarm of loves confound me,  
And cause my death in spite of my resist,  
And if I see thee not thy want doth wound me,  
For in thy sight my comfort doth consist.  
The one in me continual care createth,  
The other doth occasion my desire,:  
The one the edge of all my joy rebateth,  
The other makes me a Phoenix in loves fire  
So that I grieve when I enjoy your presence,  
And die for grief by reason of your absence.   

Sonnet XXVI.  
I'll teach thee lovely Phillis, what love is,  
It is a vision seeming such as thou  
That flies as fast as it assaults mine eyes:  
It is affection that doth reason miss;  
It is a shape of pleasure like to you,  
Which meets the eye, and seen on sudden dies,  
It is a doubled grief a spark of pleasure,  
Begot by vain desire, and this is love,  
Whom in our youth we count our chiefest treasure  
In age for want of power we do reprove:  
Yea such a power is love, whose loss is pain,  
And having got him we repent our gain.   

Sonnet XXVII.  
Fair eyes whilst fearful I your fair admire,  
By unexpressed sweetness that I gain,  
My memory of sorrow doth expire,  
And falcon like I tower joys heavens amain  
But when your sons in Oceans of their glory,  
Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought:  
So pass my joys as doth a new played story,  
And one poor sigh breathes all delight to nought.  
So to myself I live not, but for you,  
For you I live, and you I love, but none else:  
Oh then fair eyes whose light I live to view,  
Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else,  
Look sweet since from the pith of contemplation,  
Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion.   

Sonnet XXVIII.  
Not causeless were you christened (gentle flowers)  
The one of faith, the other fancy's pride,  
For she who guides both faith and fancies power,  
In your fair colours wraps her ivory side:  
As one of you hath whiteness without stain,  
So spotless is my love and never tainted:  
And as the other shadoweth faith again,  
Such is my lass, with no fond change acquainted:  
And as nor tyrant son nor winter weather,  
May eever change sweet Amaranthus hue:  
So she though love and fortune join together,  
Will never leave to be both fair and true:  
And should I leave thee then thou pretty else?  
Nay first let Damon quite forget himself.   

Sonnet XXIX.  
I feel myself endangered beyond reason,  
My death already twixt the cup and lip,  
Because my proud desire through cursed treason,  
Would make my hopes mount heaven, which cannot skip:  
My fancy still requireth at my hands,  
Such things as are not, cannot, may not be  
And my desire although my power with stands,  
Will give me wings, who never yet could flee:  
What then remains except my maimed soul,  
Extort compassion from love-flying age,  
Or if nought else their fury may control,  
To call on death that quells affections rage.  
Which death shall dwell with me and never fly,  
Since vain desire seeks that hope doth deny.   

Sonnet XXX.  
I do compare unto thy youthly clear,  
(Which always bides within thy flowering prime,)  
The month of April, that bedews our clime  
With pleasant flowers, when as his showers appear,  
Before thy face, shall fly false cruelty,  
Before his face, the doaly season fleets,  
Mild been his looks, thine eyes are full of sweets:  
Firm is his course, firm is thy loyalty.  
He paints the fields through liquid crystal showers,  
Thou paint'st my verse with Pallas learned flowers:  
With Zephyrus sweet breath he fills the plains,  
And thou my heart with weeping sighs dost wring,  
His brows are dewed with morning's crystal spring,  
Thou makest my eyes with tears bemoan my pains.   

Sonnet XXXI.  
devoid of reason, thrall to foolish ire,  
I walk and chase a savage fairy still,  
Now near the flood, strait on the mounting hill,  
Now midst the woods of youth, and vain desire:  
For leash I bear a cord of careful grief,  
For brach I lead an over forward mind,  
My hounds are thoughts, and rage despairing blind,  
Pain, cruelty, and care without relief:  
But they perceiving that my swift pursuit,  
My flying fairy cannot overtake,  
With open mouths their prey on me do make,  
Like hungry hounds that lately lost their suit.  
And full of fury on their master feed,  
To hasten on my hapless death with speed.   

Sonnet XXXII.  
A thousand times to think and think the same,  
To two fair eyes to show a naked heart,  
Great thirst with bitter liquor to restrain,  
To take repast of care and crooked smart:  
To sigh full oft without relent of ire,  
To die for grief and yet conceal the tale,  
To others will to fashion my desire,  
To pine in looks disguised through pencive-pale;  
A short despite, a faith unfeigned true,  
To love my foe, and set my life at nought,  
With heedless eyes mine endless harms to view,  
A will to speak, a fear to tell the thought,  
To hope for all, yet for despair to die,  
Is of my life the certain destiny.   

Sonnet XXXIII.  
When first sweet Phillis (whom I must adore)  
'Gan with her beauties bless our wondering sky,  
The son of Rhea, from their fatal store  
Made all the Gods to grace her Majesty.  
Apollo first his golden rays among,  
Did form the beauty of her bounteous eyes:  
He graced her with his sweet melodious song,  
And made her subject of his poesies.  
The warrior Mars, bequeathed her fierce disdain,  
Venus her smile, and Phoebe all her fair,  
Python his voice, and Ceres all her grain,  
The morn her locks and fingers did repair.  
Young Love, his bow, and Thetis gave her feet:  
Clio her praise, Pallas her science sweet.   

Sonnet XXXIIII.  
I would in rich and golden coloured rain,  
With tempting showers in pleasant sort descend,  
Into fair Phillis lap (my lovely friend)  
When sleep her sense with slumber doth restrain.  
I would be changed to a milk-white Bull,  
When midst the gladsome fields she should appear,  
By pleasant fineness to surprise my dear,  
Whilst from their stalks, she pleasant flowers did pull:  
I were content to weary out my pain,  
To be Narsissus so she were a spring  
To drown in her those woes my heart do wring:  
And more I wish transformed to remain:  
That whilst I thus in pleasure's lap did lie,  
I might refresh desire, which else would die.   

Sonnet XXXV.  
I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace,  
Now frieze my thoughts and strait they fry again,  
I now admire and strait my wonders cease,  
I lose my bonds and yet myself restrain:  
This likes me most that leaves me discontent,  
My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail,  
My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent,  
I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail.  
The more I strive, the duller bide I still,  
I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love,  
I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill,  
I would repine, and dare not once reprove,  
And for my love I am bereft of power,  
And strengthless strive my weakness to devour.   

Sonnet xxxuj.  
If so I seek the shades, I presently do see  
The God of Love forsakes his bow and sit me by:  
If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be,  
If so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry.  
If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain,  
If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan,  
If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain,  
He takes his Fascia off, and wipes them dry anon.  
If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight,  
If I myself torment, he baths him in my blood:  
He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight,  
If seas delight, he stears my Bark amidst the flood:  
In brief, the cruel God doth never from me go,  
But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe.   

Sonnet xxxvij.  
These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face,  
Which show the certain proof of my nere-ceasing pains,  
Fair Phillis are no tears that trickle from my brains:  
For why such streams of ruth, within me find no place.  
These floods that wet my cheeks, are gathered from thy grace  
And thy perfections, & from hundredth thousand flowers  
Which from thy beauty's spring: whereto I medley showers  
Of Rose and lilies to, the colours of thy face.  
My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is,  
The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame,  
The Limbique is mine eye that doth distill the same:  
And by how much my fire is violent and fly,  
By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high,  
That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss.   

Sonnet xxxviij.  
Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame,  
From day to day is changed in sundry sort:  
The proof whereof myself may well report,  
Who oft transformed by him may teach the same.  
I first was turned into a wounded Hart,  
That bore the bloody arrow in my side:  
Then to a Swan that midst the waters glide,  
With piteous voice presagd my deadly smart.  
eftsoones I waxed a faint and fading flower,  
Then was I made a fountain sudden dry,  
Distilling all my tears from troubled eye:  
Now am I Salamander by his power,  
Living in flames, but hope ere long to be  
A voice, to talk my Mistress majesty.   

Sonnet xxxix.  
My matchless Mistress, whose delicious eyes  
Have power to perfect natures privy wants,  
Even when the Sun in greatest pomp did rise,  
With pretty tread, did press the tender plants.  
Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feet  
Is proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet.  
Her fingers fair in favouring every flower  
That wooed their ivory for a wished touch:  
By chance (sweet chance) upon a blessed hour,  
Did pluck the flower where Love himself did couch.  
Where Love did couch, by summer toil suppressed,  
And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest.  
The Virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall,  
Imprisoned him within the Rose-ate leaves:  
And twixt her teats, with favour did install  
The lovely Rose, where Love his rest receives.  
The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh,  
Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty.  
And said, let Venus seek another son,  
For hear my only matchless Mother is:  
From whose fair orient Orbs the drink doth run,  
That deifies my state with greater bliss:  
This said, he sucked, my Mistress blushing smyld,  
Since Love was both her prisoner and her child.   

Sonnet xl.  
Resembling none, and none so poor as I,  
Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem,  
Whose first borne loves, at first obscured did die,  
And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem.  
Under the Ensign of whose tired pen,  
loves legions forth have masked, by others masked:  
Think how I live wronged by ill tonged men,  
Not Master of myself, to all wrongs tasked.  
Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things,  
Support these languishing conceits that perish,  
Look on their growth: perhaps these silly small things  
May win this worldly palm, so you do cherish.  
Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this,  
He will and shall revive, if you allow this.    

An Ode.  

Now I find thy looks were feigned,  
Quickly lost, and quickly gained:  
Soft thy skin, like wool of Weathers,  
heart unstable, light as feathers.  
Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted,  
Wanton will, with change delighted:  
Siren pleasant, foe to reason,  
Cupid plague thee for this treason.   

Of thine eyes, I made my mirror,  
From thy beauty came mine error,  
All thy words I counted witty,  
All thy smiles I deemed pretty.  
Thy false tears that me aggrieved,  
First of all my trust deceived,  
Siren pleasant, foe to reason,  
Cupid plague thee for this treason.   

Feigned acceptance when I asked,  
Lovely words with cunning masked,  
Holy vows but heart unholly,  
Wretched man my trust was folly:  
Lily white and pretty winking,  
Solemn vows, but sorry thinking.  
Siren pleasant, foe to reason,  
Cupid plague thee for this treason.   

Now I see O seemly cruel,  
Others warm them at my fuel,  
Wit shall guide me in this durance,  
Since in love is no assurance.  
Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure,  
Beauty is a fading treasure.  
Siren pleasant, foe to reason,  
Cupid plague thee for this treason.   

Prime youth lusts not age still follow,  
And make white these tresses yellow,  
Wrinkled face for locks delightful,  
Shall acquaint the Dame despiteful:  
And when time shall eat thy glory,  
Then too late thou wilt be sorry.  
Siren pleasant, foe to reason,  
Cupid plague thee for thy treason.    

The complaint of Elstred.  

THE silent shadows with their mother's vail,  
The brighter lamp of Heaven from Thetis hide:  
Apollo's sister in her starry rail,  
Along her lower sphere in triumph rid,  
When I by Severus beauteous banks alone,  
Encountered with this woeful vision.   

A doleful Queen in semblance and array,  
Attended by a princely looking lass:  
Amidst the weltering wave enforced her way,  
And landed there where I lamenting was:  
Both seemed of royal birth, and well begotten,  
Although their weeds through eld and wet were rotten.   

The leaves in Autumn fall not down so fast,  
As liquid crystal dropped from their eyes:  
But when their stormy tears were overpast,  
(The silent spoks-men of their miseries)  
They sat them down where I amazed remained,  
And thus their falls successively complained.   

Amidst the troops of those whom tyrant Fate  
Hath led in triumph to their timeless grave:  
Let woeful Elstred weep her wretched state,  
Whose story merits some regard to have.  
Who once enthroned, and now to fortune thrall,  
May teach successions to avoid my fall.   

Within that Region where proud-byllowed Rhine,  
Doth animate the babes of fruitful earth:  
And baines the bosom of the swelling Vine:  
From thence my offspring came, and thence my birth  
In swathing clouts, for happy Princess heried,  
In shrouding sheet, a hapless Princess buried.   

What said I, buried? I in silver wave.  
What said I, shrouded? I in liquid sheet.  
The water both my winding sheet and grave,  
Which stifling me, for pity seemed to greet:  
But where the life so wretched did become,  
What talk I of the death, the shroud, the Tomb?   

When first I sucked the sweets of subtle air,  
Like to a Comet gathered in the North,  
(Which in the vernal season makes repair)  
With me all nature's riches issued forth.  
They that beheld, admired, and did presage  
By infancy, the honours of mine age.   

The fame that should present my facts to view,  
As I from cradle crept, so gathered wing:  
As grew my beauties, so his feathers grew,  
As waxed my worth, so was he priest to spring,  
As years increased, from earth to trees he sprung,  
From trees to towers, from whence my fame he sung.   

Thus through continual motion growing great,  
His many feathers hatched as many eyes,  
His eyes, as many tongues for to entreat,  
His tongues, as many ears to hearken cries.  
Which feathers, eyes, tongues, ears, he ever frames  
To paint our praise, and bruit our endless blames.   

This monstrous babe (that rends his mother's breast,  
To fill the world with tragic history)  
To register my beauties never ceased,  
Wherethrough, each ear that heard the novelty,  
Summons each sense with wonder to behold,  
If beauties were so great as they were told.   

The German Lords, my Father's neighbour friends,  
(For why my Father was a German Peer)  
Willing to see the face which Fame commends,  
Do haunt his Court, and like and love me dear.  
All woo, none win, for Fortune would it so,  
To set me high, at last to cast me low.   

At length, far bruited through his famous fight,  
Renowned Humber terror of his time,  
(More feared than loved of every German Knight)  
Came to our Court, and saw me in my prime:  
All like a mayden-rose, as yet untainted,  
Wherewith each touch desires to be acquainted.   

His power, his person far beyond report,  
His promise to install me in a throne:  
His working words which mercy might extort,  
Had power to fashion love where first was none:  
So that two Damsels with myself agreed,  
To weight from him our fortunes and good speed.   

Thus we with armed eyes, whence love did forage  
The richest treasures of his tender heart,  
Inspired Humber by our looks with courage,  
With him from German soil we did departed:  
For him, our friends, for him, our land we left,  
With him, of friends, lands, life we were bereft.   

His mighty mind which hunted after fame,  
(Fore-staling each occasion of delay:)  
His warlike troops to tedious march did frame,  
Till all arrived where as his ships did stay,  
We were embarckt, and by propitious wind,  
Within th' Albanian Coast did harbour find.   

He that hath seen the daughters of the sky,  
The miracles of nature in the field,  
Who after their imperial chieftain fly,  
And cull such comforts as the spring doth yield,  
How each his task, how all themselves revive  
At his command, for to enrich their Hive:   

Or as the royal Monarch of the Aunts,  
Arranging of his little-labouring train,  
(In Summer time foreseeing Winter's wants)  
By their endeavours stores his nest with grain,  
Where each industrious else for common good,  
Doth gather, seek, regather happy food.   

So strive these Scythian warriors, to express  
Their duties to their Prince by industry:  
Some pitch their Tents, and some their Arms address,  
Some scout, some forage all the Country nigh.  
The Ploughman's hope, the thrifty Husband's tillage,  
Is now become the wasteful soldiers pillage.   

Stout Albanact as then the Scottish King,  
Hearing of Humber's proud invasion:  
To stop ambition lest it further spring,  
Attended by the flower of all his Nation,  
Encountered him, and that his barbarous band,  
Endeavouring force, by force for to withstand.   

Then pressed forth from depth of horrid hell,  
The babes of wreakful war with threatening brows:  
Revengeful Wrath, and sleepless Envy fell,  
Prodigious Fear her trembling limbs did rouse:  
And fleshless Death, led blood-affecting Murder,  
The tragic change of fortune for to further.   

The Husband's scithe was changed to a sword,  
The Coblers-aule into a sturdy lance:  
Peace was obscured, of war was every word,  
All prayed to Fortune for successful chance,  
That sits enthroned on her inconstant seat,  
And helps them most who least her help entreat.   

As when to purge excessive moist, descending  
From Satur's sphere, or else superfluous heat  
Stirred up by Mars, jove (common good intending)  
Sends lyghtning-flash to lay their angry threat.  
So wiser heads that knew the scourge of war,  
Sought sooth-fast means to mitigate the jar.   

But as a troup of fierce incensed Bulls,  
The Heardsmans' strokes or threats do set at nought:  
So they whose rankorous rage their judgement dulls,  
Had little mind to peace or peaceful thought.  
" Who fight for Crowns, set life, set all to light,  
" Who aim so high, will die or hit the white.   

The battles joined, heaven mourned to see them join,  
The burnished Arms, heavens brightest beauty bashed:  
On warlike-steades with many a fatal foin,  
The moody men at Arms together dashed.  
The Heavens to see, the Earth to bear did groan,  
What God consents to set these jars at one?   

As when a troup of harvest thrifty swains,  
With cutting scithes earth ripened riches mow:  
Whole sheaves of Corn lie strewed upon the plains,  
So fall the Scots before the conquering foe.  
My Humber gained both kingdom and renown,  
And Albanact lost life, his state, his Crown.   

When Albanact lost life, his state, his crown,  
Then we our lives, our states, our crowns attained:  
We came to conquer and to put him down,  
And what we sought, by warlike sword we gained.  
Caesar no more than Humber could intend,  
Who came, who saw, who conquered in the end.   

But (woe is me) promotion is a puff,  
These worldly honours are but shades of sweet:  
Who seek too much, before they get enough,  
Before they meet the mean, with death do meet.  
With death they meet, the Haven of all desire,  
Where will must wain, and pride cannot aspire.   

For when Locrine with his warlike brother,  
His warlike brother Cambre, understood  
How partial Fortune which deserts doth smother,  
Had brought to nought the nestling of their brood:  
They levied men, marched forth without in cumber,  
And fought, and gained, and tryumpht over Humber.   

Then fled my love, who thought the world should fly him,  
And what he fled, he met with ere he sought it,  
For why the floods that passage did deny him,  
Denied him not the death, before he thought it:  
And in that stood which terminats the bound, 
Whereon the waters are called Humber waters to this day.   
Twixt England & twixt Scotland, death he found.   

There death he found, with many a warlike Knight.  
There found we thraldom, far more worse than death,  
cords were our Crowns, our dainties were despite,  
My two consorts (aie's me) there lost their breath.  
There lost I friends, there lost I helps, there hope,  
But lo my fortune aims at higher scope.   

For where I lost my love, my friends, my hope,  
There found I hope, there faithful friends, there love:  
And whilst I went fast fettered in a rope,  
Weeping such tears as might compassion move,  
I was presented by unhallowed hand,  
To stout Locrine's King of Logiers land.   

Who like that thunder-threatening Potentate,  
The Arbiter of changes and increase,  
Sat lightning forth such looks as might amate  
Warre-breeding Mars, the countercheck of peace:  
Him when I saw, I shook, and shaking wept,  
And weeping, to his throne for mercy crept.   

And whilst I rend my carelesse-scattered locks,  
Those tricked trammels where true love was tangled,  
At locrin's breast for mercy fancy knocks,  
Shadowed in seemly looks wherewith love angled:  
And when I cried, O pity me my King,  
His eyes cried pity me, by woe looking.   

Each motion of mine eyes, enforced commotion  
Betwixt his will and reason what to answer:  
(But will where love will rule, must have promotion.)  
My suit first passed for life, with listening ear  
He heard, and granted what I did require,  
Ennobling of my life by his desire.   

My bonds new broke, and I from fetters loosed,  
As mount the brother twins from watery vast,  
Within fair Thetis liquid lap foreclosed,  
So from their humbled closures lightened fast  
My lovely lamps, which erst made intercession,  
And by one look, of all hearts took possession.   

All wonder, and with dazzled eyes withdraw them,  
Only the right-borne Eagle by these lights  
Approved his birthright, and no sooner saw them  
appareled in hope, and choice delights,  
But up he looks, by sudden sight confounded,  
And I by self-like sight, was likely wounded.   

" For where there grows a sympathy of hearts,  
" Each passion in the one, the other paineth,  
" And by each carriage of the outward parts,  
(Wherein the actual work of love remaineth)  
The inward griefs, mislikes, and joys are taught:  
And every sign bewrays a secret thought.   

Short tale to tell, Locrine had the palm  
And interest in all my best designs:  
Each kiss I lent him, breathed Indian balm  
To cure his wounds, to break affections chains  
He had loves Moly growing on my paps,  
To charm a hell of sorrow and mishaps.   

Lo here my second step to high estate,  
Now mark my second fall and overthrow:  
Behold in me the tragedy of fate,  
The true Idea of this worldly woe:  
The Eris and Erynnis that proceeds  
From wretched life, that trusts to Fortune's weeds.   

Locrine's freed from hostile detriment,  
Possessed of love by me, and me by love:  
(Whose looks unto his love gave nutriment)  
Whether by fatal motion from above,  
Or through the hot suggestions of his Lords,  
Unto a second love at last accords.   

To Gwendolyn, to Gwendolyn (woe's me)  
To Corincus daughter, by consult  
My dear Locrine must espoused be,  
Even here 'gan Fortune proudly to insult.  
What said I, to insult, nay rather reign,  
For hence his tyranny he did maintain.   

The English King God knows against his will,  
(Or else his will, far differed from his vows)  
His Nobles intimations to fulfil,  
The Cornish Guendolena did espouse.  
She got the Crown, though I was promised fair,  
And he by her begot a royal heir.   

Then to my pride, rebated by her rising,  
No day, no night, could pass me without plaint:  
My thoughts were pensive, full of sad surmising,  
My dreams, some dreadful damage did depaint.  
Aloud my conscience told, and I confessed it,  
My life was lose, and bade me to detest it.   

I feared Locrine through his new contract,  
Should grow in hatred of his ancient choice:  
I saw my credit was already cracked,  
My life condemned for lewd by common voice.  
And what is worse? I knew the Queen intended  
That but with death her wrath should not be ended.   

Amidst these thriving thoughts, whilst I assayed  
With vaine-affected hopes, to overtop  
The true-inflicted pains my heart betrayed,  
Locrine came: and by sweet words did stop  
The breach, which guilty conscience and unrest  
Had made, within the rampayres of my breast.   

The ruins which incessant fear provoked,  
By his well tempered reasons were renewed:  
My half-dead joys whom danger long had choked,  
Were cheered with kisses which sweet words insewed.  
His words attended by truth-meaning tears,  
Ravished my heart, through mine attentive ears.   

though Gwendolyn (saith he) doth tyrannize,  
Yet Elstred is the sovereign of my soul:  
Th'enforced solace, like to vapour flies  
That hath no power repining hearts to toll.  
And wrested wedlocks breed but hated heat,  
Where no love seems so sweet, as stolen and secret.   

Ah, temporize my love a little season;  
And reap the ripening harvest of all pleasure:  
Glean all my loves, and do me but this reason,  
To serve occasion till she gives thee seizure.  
Rend out thy fears to minds more base and abject,  
And trust thy life to me, thy beauty's subject.   

disparaged not my hope by thy misdeeming,  
The nest is thine, although the Cuckoo hatch there:  
Love lives not there where looks make lovely-seeming,  
Bear witness heavens, I never meant to match there.  
But I enforced to fly a further mischief,  
In colour her, in heart do hold thee chief.   

All these and more, sweet chains of honey speech,  
Delivered by a trick Herculean tongue,  
Able to 'tice all ears, and all griefs teach,  
So rooted up my sorrows as they sprung,  
That hope survived, and joy exhaled grief:  
" For perfect love is quickest of belief.   

And to effect his honey promise plighted,  
No pleasures were unsought to yield me solace:  
The darksome care which my hearts hope benighted,  
The sunshine of his princely love did chase.  
Delight in showers of gold, in harmony,  
In curious gems, was sent to please mine eye.   

And to assure my life and his content,  
A second Cretan wonder he began,  
Wherein nor wanted art nor ornament,  
Nor curious work of high conceited man:  
By hundredth ways, and twice as much winding,  
Crossed, and recrost, beyond all searchers finding.   

Not that Colossus reared up in Rhodes,  
Nor hanging Gardens hovering in the sky:  
Nor all the wondrous mansions and aboades  
In Egypt, Lemnos, or in Italy,  
Either for riches, cunning, or expense,  
Might match this Labyrinth for excellence.   

Within this Maze and curious Cave I kept,  
And those the sapphires of my shining eyes  
Long wakened by my fears, in quiet slept.  
Hear when Locrine list to wanton nice,  
I paid him tribute for those gifts he sent me,  
With all the sweets that God and nature lent me.   

So long in lists of pleasure did we strive,  
Till both affections mutually agreed,  
The happy heavens a Trophy did revive,  
A Trophy of our triumph and good speed:  
A pretty babe for me to stay withal,  
A lovely child for him to play withal.   

Then lo the fire regathered moody might,  
Long smothered in the embers of suspect:  
In me alone Locrine took delight,  
And so my new-born Sabrine did affect,  
That nor his wife, her son, or aught could move him  
To leave my love, who did so dearly love him.   

" Mislikes are silly lets where Kings resolve them,  
" Where counsaile-chasing will hath empery,  
" Deeds are too priest for reason to dissolve them.  
" In mighty minds a grounded vanity  
" Like ivy springs, that ceaseless never stoppeth,  
" Until her neighbour-Oake she overtoppeth.   

Locrine's hearing of the hapless date  
Of Corineus, Guendolenues' Father:  
Now 'gan to tempest forth his smothered hate  
He durst not threaten forth, or publish rather:  
And both his wife, and his unhappy child,  
From Crown, from Court, from favour quite exiled.   

Then was I drawn like that sea-fostered Queen,  
From those obscurer prisons of my glory,  
And brought abroad in triumph to be seen:  
None durst upbraid, though many hearts were sorry.  
All liked my looks, though each one cursed my life,  
To see a harlot so supplant a wife.   

But as the Sun in March, is held unwholesome  
For stirring umors, and not laying them:  
Filling the earth and air with moistness fulsome,  
Yet not resolving or decaying them,  
So was Locrine blamed for this action:  
Who brought to head heere-through a mighty faction.   

For Gwendolyn, with that heroic spirit  
Wherewith her Father was ennobled erst,  
To wreak on me her Miriades of despite,  
The sentence of her wrongs by power reversed,  
Her harms, by arms, she vowed to satisfy,  
And hereon levied a mighty Army.   

And thus attended in triumphant order,  
And guarded by her warlike Cornish crew,  
She pitched her field, near to those banks which border  
This azure-mantled stream, where now we rue.  
The King that sets a woman's threats at nought,  
priest men, and met his foe, and with her fought.   

But so would Fortune, (fie on Fortune fickle)  
That by a shaft Locrine was confounded:  
His scattered troops like sheaves before the sickle,  
Fell down, or fled, or died deadly wounded.  
Ah guilt less souls, they perished for my sins,  
And from their fall, my tragedy begins.   

Ah Fortune, nurse of fools, poison of hope,  
Fuel of vain desires, deserts destruction,  
Impugner of preventions, errors scope,  
Supposed sovereign through our vain construction,  
Princess of Paganism, root of impiety,  
Devil on earth masked in deity;   

Scorn of the learned, Folly's eldest sister,  
Bastard of time, begot by vain opinion  
Against thy power, O peevish proud resister,  
Mother of lies, and Mistress of illusion,  
Vamp of vain glory, double faced shrew,  
Whose smiles at first successful, end in woe.   

It was not thou, (though worldly wits accuse thee)  
That set Mount Gibel of my plagues a burning:  
It was not thou, my conscience doth excuse thee,  
It was my sin that wrought mine overturning.  
It was but justice, from the heavens inflicted  
On lustful life, defamed and convicted.   

As when the paul that under-props the Vine,  
Is rest away, the crimson clusters fall,  
And as the buildings suddenly decline,  
That want the means to stay them up withal:  
So when the King, and all his trusty friends  
Were fled or slain, then lo mine honour ends.   

My little daughter left alone with me,  
Both traversing the fatal blood-dewd plain:  
More fit to fear, than fleet away to flee,  
At last arrived where as my love lay slain:  
Oh slaying sight, wounds wounding, death, death breeding,  
Pale looks (ye seals of sorrow) paleness feeding.   

Sweet Image of his living excellence,  
Whilst thus it lay (alas that thus it lay)  
Impatient grief would leave me no defence,  
I called on death, but tears wept death away.  
His worst was passed, I sighed, but sighs nor slender  
Tears work no truce, but where the heart is tender.   

And as the straw unto the jest fast cleaveth,  
So clung I both mine arms about his neck:  
Pouring my plaints in ears that nought conceiveth.  
Ah love (quoth I) unkind, why dost thou check,  
Why dost thou mate the minds that most admire thee,  
And in our needs, in constant thus retire thee?   

breath life in him again, or leave me breathless,  
Or from thine envious triumphant throne,  
Send forth Despair with locks unkempt and wreathlesse,  
To join by death two souls in life but one.  
And since at once our hearts thou didst inspire,  
Let both of us (O Love) at once expire.   

Oh spent on barren ground, my flood-like weeping  
Love would not hear: though 'gan I trembling try  
If kisses could revive his ceaseless sleeping,  
But death repines these baits of fond desire.  
I sucked his wounds, and wrapped them round about,  
But (ah) the life before was issued out.   

I fainting fell, enfeebled through my sufferance,  
My child that saw me fall, for grief fell by me:  
I wept, she cried, both gave grief sustenance,  
I fainted, and she fainting laid her nigh me.  
Even what I kissed, she kissed, and what I said  
She said, and what I feared, made her afraid.   

For every sigh, a sigh, for every tear,  
A tear, she was no niggard of her moan;  
Ah beauties blossom blasted in the ear,  
Thou daughter of the hapless woeful one,  
The crops of cares together must thou gather,  
And lose at once, both Mother, life, and Father.   

Whilst thus we breathed our Elegies of sorrow,  
Not recking who beheld, or who surprised us,  
The freebooters that range the Champion thorough,  
(Who by our robes, of some high race surmised us)  
Laid hands on us, and brought us to the Queen,  
Who sat triumphant royally beseen.   

Look how fair locked juno was affected,  
When she the monster-queller did behold,  
With self-like proud-full enmity infected  
The Queen sat, hatching murders manifold;  
And as the wrathful tempest, that doth follow  
In high-topt trees, long murmureth ere it blow,   

So 'gan she to evacuate by her tongue,  
The Hydra's of revenge she had intended:  
With tiring taunts at first my heart she stoonge,  
And fierce upbraydes with bitter buffets ended.  
Suborner of lasciviousness, (she cried)  
Hast thou no vale of shame, thy looks to hide?   

Misgoverned Minion, in whose wanton brows  
The registers of wretched life are written:  
Suborner of contempt, lascivious blows,  
By whom my joys were blasted and frostbitten.  
Mistress of murders, looseness, and what not?  
Now are you compassed in your proud complot.   

The Cedar tree is fallen, that did protect you  
From every stormy threat and hate I meant thee:  
But now fierce rage by footsteps shall direct you  
To timeless death; for-thy vain wretch repent thee,  
Thou art but dead: for death my hate must bond,  
Thy child, thyself, together shall be drowned.   

This said, she willed the Ministers to bind  
Our tender arms: and now pale fear addressed  
Our waning roses, quite beyond their kind,  
To fly our cheeks, and help our hearts oppressed.  
Fear summoned tears, tears came, and strove to stint  
A ceaseless hate, within a heart of flint.   

But welladay our Doomsday was ordained,  
For when the oceans of our moan assailed her:  
A ruthless rock, deaf-eared, she disdained,  
We failed not to submit, but pity failed her.  
Then lowlie-creeping prostrate at her feet,  
In these laments for mercy I entreat.   

Pitiful Queen (said I) vouchsafe t'assommon,  
The partiallest opinions of thy mind:  
And yet remembering thee thou art a woman,  
Hear thou with reason, not affection blind:  
Then lo my proofs to such effect shall sort,  
As they from thee some pity shall extort.   

If under covert of ambitious rising,  
Or fond intention to suggest the King,  
Or by complots of mine own lewd devising,  
I had surmisd or practised any thing,  
Wherethrough Locrine should affect me so,  
Just were my death, and just mine overthrow.   

But happy heavens have registered the truth,  
They know my cause, and they can thee assure  
It was not I, it was thy husband's youth  
That made him love, and trained him to the lure.  
What should poor Captives do? or what should I?  
'Twere better love and live, than loath and die.   

My sex was weak, my senses far more weaker,  
Afflictions taught me to accept occasion:  
I am a poor unwilling wedlock breaker,  
I was unable to withstand invasion:  
For where the Conqueror craved, I knew full well  
He could command, if so I should rebel.   

What is the Wren, to wrestle with the Gripe?  
Or mine unarmed will to resolution?  
Although my beauty made affections ripe,  
His was the palm, and his the execution.  
My sufferance was my fault, he did exact all,  
He sought, he taught me first for to enact all.   

Then mighty Sovereign mitigate thine ire,  
For why I sinned unwilling and enforced:  
And though an exile, let me hence retire.  
But if compassion be from thee divorced,  
O let me die, and true compassion take  
Upon my daughter, for her father's sake.   

Look how in royal characters inchased,  
She bears the records of his haughty heart.  
Stoop princely maid, be not so losty paced,  
Not what thou wert think thou, but what thou art.  
Wilt thou not stoop? ah wretch, perhaps thou deemest  
The Queen will pardon, since so sweet thou seemest.   

Fayre-looking soul, how often did I seal  
Kisses upon her cheeks, whilst thus I pleaded?  
But all in vain for pity I appeal,  
Sentence of death already was arreaded;  
Fast bound, to severn's bank I was conducted,  
Ready to die, yet not to death instructed.   

Meanwhile, my sweet Sabrina weeping hasted  
To Gwendolyn, and with her little palm  
Struck on her marble-breast, by no grief wasted,  
Striving by smiles her moody wrath to calm.  
She kissed her hand, and strait embraced her neck,  
As if enforcing mercy by a beck.   

Pardon she cried, oh Madam, save my Mother.  
Yea Mother so I cried, said Sabrine tho.  
Oh let me now no longer sorrow smother,  
But by myself capitulate my woe:  
Since none are fit, or meetest to reveal it,  
Then those who like myself, do likewise feel it.   

I saw the death prepared for my life,  
I saw the tears my Mother wept for me:  
I saw the woeful lover and the wife,  
Th'one past pity, th'other pitying me.  
I pitied both, th'one, wanting remorse,  
Th'other, since her plaints had little force.   

And both of these with self like pity wounded,  
Beheld me, whilst I dallied for my death:  
I dallied with that lip which me confounded,  
The lip that gave ejection to my breath.  
The lip which through the office of the tongue,  
Made age-pursuing death to seize on young.   

How much for thee sweet mother did I flatter,  
Pledging transparent Crystal for some pity?  
I know, God knows, God knows, I know the matter,  
Will would not hear the words of wanton pretty:  
Both, both must die, I mother, thou must die,  
Thou must be drowned, sweet mother, so must I.   

As climbs the ancient shadow of the field,  
The Father-oake, whose roots so deeply enter,  
As where the spreading boughs midst heavens do build,  
The rest lies closed in the Tartarian centre:  
Whom fierce Vulturnus (wonder-working blast)  
Nor Southern healthles wind can overcast.   

So sat the Queen undaunted and untainted,  
Like to herself, an envious minded woman:  
With no kind pleas, her ears would be acquainted,  
Away with them she cries. Alas that no man  
Weeps now with me; for than what creature cursed not  
The cruel Queen, though reprehend they durst not.   Sabrine. 
Then you and I sweet Mother were led forth,  Elstred. 
We were led forth sweet daughter to our last;  Sabrine. 
Our words, our beauties had but little worth,  Elstred. 
So will the heavens: that purest, soonest waist.  Sabrine. 
I cried, help mother, help, when I was drowne●  Elstred. 
Ah helpless both, yet wanting help renowme●  

Thus cast at once into the woeful wave,  
That laughed for to embowel natures treasures:  
I forced myself, my Sabrine for to save,  
But death no time, no age, no reason measures.  
Help mother when thou crydst, I came unto thee,  
And then I died, when drowning did undo thee,   

Both died at once: the Annals of mishap,  
Wherein woe-tempted men may read their fortune:  
Since all are subject to the self like trap,  
And self like death may sweetest souls importune.   Sabrine. 
I thus we died, yet not with self like same,  
For floating Severne loves Sabrina's name.  

So may he prattle still unto his wave,  
Sabrina's name, whilst brine salt tears sea weary:  
And if the Gods or men compassion have,  
Compassion that with tender hearts near sleepeth,  
We both shall live. This said, both sought their Tomb●  
Within the waves, and sunk unto the bottom.   

The Water-Nimphes with their unkembed tresses,  
The birds that saw the Water-Nimphes assembled  
The fishes that were fed by their distresses,  
The stoods with all of these, together trembled:  
And I got home and weepingly thus penned it,  
Careless of those that scorn and cannot mend it.   
FINIS.