ALBA. THE MONTHS MIND OF A MELANCHOLY LOVER, divided into three parts:  
By R. T. Gentleman.  
HEREUNTO IS ADDED A most excellent pathetical and passionate Letter, sent by Duke D'Epernoun, unto the late French King, Henry the 3. of that name, when he was commanded from the Court, and from his Royal Company. Translated into English by the foresaid Author.  
Spes, Amor, & Fortuna valet.  
AT LONDON. Printed by Felix Kingston, for Matthew Lownes. 1598.   

As glorious Pearl, the MARGARITE  
At shine of Sun doth show:  
So doth she look, or very like,  
To whom I Duty owe.  
R.T.   

TO THE NO LESS EXCELLENT THAN HONOURABLY DESCENDED Gentlewoman, Mistress Anne Herne.  

PVre Lamp of Virtue, burning always bright,  
Who, Grace in me (unworthy) dost infuse:  
Clear Sun that drivest each doubtful Mist from sight,  
The firm'st Maintainer of my crazed Muse;  
Lo I this mournful Verse in sable weed,  
From sorrows Cell, do send thee for to read.   

Deign thou with cheerful look, what my sad eye  
distills from limbeck of a bleeding heart;  
Fruits of True Love disdained most wrongfully,  
Vouchsafe of me (as of my Duty) part,  
A Woeful Wight, indebted payeth thee so,  
Bankrupts in pleasure, can but pay with woe.   

As often as the Moon doth change her course,  
And Sun to novel Sign doth enter in:  
So often I do call still for remorse,  
Whilst endless sorrow doth new Grief begin.  
Once I each Month to CRVEL ALBA make,  
A MONTH'S MIND, yet no pity she doth take.   

Thou art the SHADOW of her SUBSTANCE fair,  
Resembling her most perfectly in Shape:  
Ah then but smile, and it shall ease my care,  
Though stint it cannot, her near dying hate:  
Grant me this Boon, and never shall my Verse  
Leave, of thy Crystal BROOK praise to rehearse.   
Humbly devoted unto your matchless Virtues. R. T.   

TO THE THRICE GENEROUS AND NOBLE Gentleman Sir Calisthines Brooke Knight, one of her majesties chief Commanders in IRELAND.  

MIrror of Knighthood, WORTHIES Cavalier,  
Touchstone of Valour, Chief of Chivalry;  
Honour of Field, to Foe a deadly Fear,  
Wars bloody Ancient, Plague to Surquedry:  
Soldiers Relief, Mars bravest Colonel,  
Bellona's Trumpet, battles Alarm Bell:   

Sweet to thy Friends, to Strangers nothing sour,  
Whose kind Behaviour hath been of such force,  
As o'er thy deadliest Foes, thoust had great power,  
Making them learn true Pity and Remorse.  
Witness the savage KERNS, and IRISH wild,  
Wrought through thy Carriage sweet, both tame and mild.   

Virtue and Honour, strive in thee t'exceed;  
Valour and Beauty, Interest in thee claim,  
Whilst thou thy Noble House noblest indeed,  
Thy House, not thee, through thy Palme-rising Fame.  
Worthy art thou to be (Fair matchless Wight)  
MINION to Kings to Queens, dear FAVOURITE.   

Then (Courteous KNIGHT) vouchsafe with cheerful smile,  
This woeful Verse (though worthless) to accept:  
Begot by Grief, brought forth as sorrows Child,  
Since Thee and Thine (as Sacred) I respect.  
Ah had mine ALBA seen thy lovely Face,  
For thy sweet sake, I (then) had found some Grace.   
At your honourable Disposition always to be commanded. R.T.   

To the right noble and magnanimous Gentleman Sir John Brooke Knight, one of her majesties chief Captains in the LOW COUNTRIES.  

Brave KNIGHT, whose Virtues far exceed thy years,  
The Ornament of thy thrice Noble House,  
Whose Worth is such as finds abroad few Peers:  
So Famous art thou, and Illustrious,  
Making the World to wonder at thy Praise,  
Whilst to thyself new Glory thou dost raise.   

Thou like unto another Alexander,  
Art to thy Country's Foes, a Tamburlaine,  
(A Bloody Scourge) whilst thou dost them endanger,  
The Proudst of whom, thou mak'st to yield with shame:  
Witness the Siege of AMIEN'S late in FRANCE,  
W●●re Knightly Honour thy Service did advance.   

Vouchsafe thou then great MARSI's Parent Heir,  
To lay aside thy Martial mind a space,  
And view these lines, Th'untimely Fruits of Care,  
Which I desire (though not deserve) to grace:  
Gracious thou art with All, than grace to One  
This Verse, whose Grace I do entreat alone.   

May be, when my coy ALBA shall perceive,  
This Favour done so kindly unto me,  
She (for a while) from Rigour then will breath,  
Taking Truce, (though not Peace) from Cruelty.  
Grant me this Suit, and I with zeal will pray,  
That when thou lov'st, thy Mistress near say Nay.   
At your honourable Disposition always to be commanded. R.T.   

Richard Day to the Author.  

WHilst lovely ROBIN redbreast thou dost sing,  
In chirping note her Beauty most divine,  
Whom thou to heaven with peels of praise dost ring,  
The gentle Air with thee keeps tune and time:  
Aurora, from the skies on ALBA sweet,  
rains Roses, her in kindness more to greet.   

To hear thee sing the Winds are whist in th'air,  
And calmy Zephyrus a cool fresh blast doth blow:  
Flora doth smile, and Justice forced are  
To stay their course, they like thy music so:  
Willing they lend to thee their listening ear,  
As who would say, Him only would we hear.   

The savage beasts do run; the lifeless stones  
Tumble apace, and moving Mountains hie,  
To hear how sweetly thou thy Love bemoans,  
Taking delight in this rare melody,  
Whilst LOVE himself hearing thee making Love,  
The ●eat● thereof as ravished doth prove.   

So did the Thracian Orpheus heretofore,  
Upon the flowering banks of Heber play  
On skilful Harp, (as thou dost now implore  
'Longst TAMESIS) for fair Euredisay.  
Be then our English Orpheus, raise thy Verse,  
Thy worthy ALBA'S praise, bravely rehearse.   
R. Day. Gentleman.   

An Answer to his kind friend Richard Day. Gent.  

NO lovely, nor beloved redbreast I,  
A ROBIN poor refused, such one I am,  
Which I'll ascribe unto my Destiny,  
And not impute it unto ALBA'S blame:  
Yet will I chir● her praises to my skill,  
Where Art doth want, my heart supplies goodwill   

Sweet Friend, 'tis thou that lovely sweet dost sing,  
No swan, but raven I; my voice is hoarse:  
Thou DAY to the day the clearest light dost bring,  
And of thy DIAMANTA findest remorse.  
Heau●●s, Air●, Windes, Earth, Beasts, Stones, Hills, Seas and all,  
Thou canst command by thy sweet Verses call.   

To praise me thus thou dost me too much wrong,  
This waight's too heavy for my back to bear:  
To thee, and to thy Mistress, Praise belong;  
For you, not me, this Garlands fit to wear.  
Yet since some Flowers thereof you do bestow  
On ALBA mine, I thankful still will show.   

Be thou our ALBIONS ●epheus most divine,  
I cannot play, my ioy●●● not nimble are:  
Thou that art best in loves sweet t●ne and time,  
Sound thou directed by a beauteous Star.  
My Star is bright, you let me tell the truth,  
Where Beauty most abounds, there wants most Ruth.   
R. T.   

A friend, though a stranger to the Author.  

WHen I by chance do read thy dulcet Verse,  
I cannot (though a stranger, yet thy friend,  
Thy passions be so pleasing, and so pierce)  
But give thee Due, and them (of right) commend.  
So cunningly thy Verse doth join with Art,  
Thy griefs makes yearn the hardest Readers heart.   

If thou dost write, thou others dost inflame,  
Thy style is pure (well nigh Celestial)  
Like to the Sun sparkling his beams amain,  
Or like the Fire, whose heat doth soon appall.  
To hear thyself (not others) sing, I long,  
Sweet Bird thy Notes are sweet, sweet is thy Song.   

Sing then sweet Bird with ruddy Breast thy fill,  
For I do love, affect and honour thee:  
Thou Sweet, I Constant, so continuing still,  
A Cignet thou, and I'll a Lover be:  
So shall no love be like the love of mine,  
No style compare with style so rare of thine.   

Then be not mute, when thou mayst gently move;  
Keep not (always) thy sorrows to thyself;  
Still moan not privately like turtle Dove;  
Content of Mind's worth all: seek thine own Health.  
Think All things have their course; the time may come,  
Though now obscured, yet bright may shine thy Sun.   
Per Ignoto.   

An Answer.  

BOund by Desert, (thy Merits, but not mine)  
A Stranger thou, how shall I make amends?  
That of thy friendship, such assured sign  
(To me scant known) such loving Verses sends?  
Thanks give I, that's a younger Brothers reward,  
Nought else I have, my Fortune i● so hard.   

My worthless lines thoust red, (as thou dost write)  
But (partial thou) too much the same dost praise.  
To sing still kindly thou dost me invite,  
My Glory (but indeed my Shame) to blaze.  
Alas I cannot; dead in that sweet Fire,  
Which did inflame in me such chaste Desire.   

Then boldly sang I, when those lovely Eyes  
Were guide●●o me: but now that they are gon●,  
Now that my Sun shines not in cheerful wise,  
Nor my Fire heats me, I will weep and 〈◊〉.  
I, weep, (saith Cruel A●na) weep thy fill,  
For never more I see or love th●e will.   

But thou that constant art in thy vowed Love,  
And (as Beloved) thy Lady's love dost gain.  
With thy sweet S●ile, and my sad Plains to mou●,  
Each Readers hearts seek thou in ●●●rous vain;  
In s●cre● still I'll sorrow like the Dove,  
And when my Sun shall shine, then will I move.   
R. T.   

To my dear friend R. T. Gent.  

SWeet Cignet that so sweetly dost deplore,  
Thy sad lamenting Passions and thy love,  
●here TAMESIS doth flow alongst the shore,  
●nd from clear Isis doth his passage move,  
Running alongst brave Troynovants right side,  
Till ceaseless she into the Sea doth glide.  
●hou to the Nymphs dost sing so sweet a tune,  
●racing thyself with such a sugared note,  
●s Waves and Winds, are still, and cal●nie soon●  
●o hear thee; nor desire they blow, or float,  
Whilst they do breath to us this gentle Gust,  
Only let ROBIN sing, All other Birds be hushed.   
I. M. Gent.   

The Answer of the Author.  

'tIs thou, not I, that singest so sweet a Song,  
Where MERSIE streams, whose waves are Silver found,  
Whose ba●kes are Gold, whilst he doth g●●de along  
●nto the swelling Trent his utmost Bound.  
You that in loves Choir sing, hear him alone  
Not me: my Song's unpleasant, full of moan.  
Hear him, who chants with such a pleasant Lay,  
As he, Seas storms, can (when he list) assuage;  
Make stealing Time against his will to stay,  
And calm the Winds, when most they seem to rage:  
Hear him; to us (to hear him) 'tis a Grace,  
Your Glory to be hushed, and give him place.   
R. T.   

The Author to Master R.A.  

Dear friend, in whom Euterpe doth in still  
Each rare Conceit, within thy learned breast,  
Guiding so happily thy pleasing quill,  
Whilst of thy Mistress Beauty thou'rt in Quest:  
Making our TAMESIS for fame as rare,  
As Tiber, when proud Rome World's sceptre bare.   

That LAUREL green which in my youthful years  
I loved so much, so dear, as like could none,  
A fatal barren Cypress now appears,  
Which scarce in harsh and hateful Verse I m●ne:  
Too true presage of Falling of my Sun,  
And hasty Post of my sad Griefs to come.   

Then to what end, since that it is in vain,  
My sickly pen, my bloodless hand to write,  
Calast thou on me? that thus live still in pain,  
Since blinded I, have lost mine ALBA'S sight.  
MERCY no Mercy me, no more will show,  
Now doth it ebb, where it was wont to flow.   

But thou whose Blood is hot, and in thy Prime,  
And daily joyest thy Cynthia's Company:  
Rouse thee, and of right Eagle show the sign,  
And with thy Verse (thy flight) cut through the sky,  
Whilst I mine ALBA'S absence still bewail,  
Whose sight being lost, my senses needs must fail.   
R. T.   

An Answer.  

EVterpe, nor the Muses (her sweet Mates)  
Parnassus drops infuse into my Brain:  
My table is not furnished with rare Cates,  
(Dainty Conceits) which come from Poets vain:  
No sacred Fury me inspires t'endite,  
But what first comes in brain (strait) that I writ.   

Thy Laurel green that thou hast loved so long,  
Doth flourish still, nor fatal Cypress 'tis;  
To fear too much, thyself them much dost wrong,  
And overmuch to grieve, thou dost amiss.  
No Sun but falls as well as it doth rise,  
And who (in Love) lives without Contraries?   

Though ALBA's gone, yet she'll again return,  
Then writ, that she may know thou dost her mind:  
What Ladies promise, HONOUR will perform,  
Nor thinks that Beauty always is unkind:  
ALBA is mild; MERCY will Mercy show,  
No River ebbs, but it again must flow.   

I am at best and in my youthful prime,  
My lovely Cynthia's Favour I enjoy:  
Yet think not but my Day is darkt sometime,  
As I do taste of Bliss, so feel I noy:  
Thus chirps one ROBIN redbreast to another.  
Ah do not thy rare Gifts through sorrow smother.   
R. A.   

TO THE PICTURE OF HIS MISTRESS.  

LIke to the purpose (Tempests prophesier)  
I play before the storm of my sad Tears:  
Or as the Swan whose sweetest Note is higher,  
When Death is nearest, which he gently bears:  
So sing I, now that ALBA mine is parted,  
Who hath me left disliude and quite unharted.   

Turn ink from Black to Gore in bloodiwise,  
Paper from white change thou to deadly pale,  
Whilst I my Readers eyes do rumatise  
With brinish drops to hear this woeful Tale.  
This woeful tale, where sorrow is the ground,  
Whose bottom's such, as (near) the Depth is found.   

But unto whom sha●● (now) dedicate  
This mestfull verse, this mournful Elegy?  
Even to my cruel Mistress COUNTERFEIT,  
Of Beauty's shape, the right Eternity.  
Then to her PICTURE I present this verse,  
Of my slain heart (dead for pure love) the Ho●●●   

Here may I touch, kiss, talk, do what I please  
Without Control, Frown, Anger, or Disdain  
To break one's mind in grief yet 'tis some  
And boldly speak without reply again.  
Ah that I were Pygmalion in this place,  
That Venus, me (as him she did) would gra●    

ALBA. Alla Crudelissima.  

Lo here the MONTHS MIND of my dear bough● Lou●  
Which (once a Month) I vowed to memorise,  
When first I sought the CRVEL FAIR to move,  
Who always did my sighs and tears despise.  
This must my SABBATH be, and HOLIDAY,  
On which I (to my Goddess) use to pray.   

This Feast I solemnize for her sweet sake,  
(In absence hers) as if she present were,  
For my proud CHOICE, who pity none doth take  
On me, that live twixt Hope, despair and fear.  
(Dear ALBA) then accept this Sacrifice,  
These duteous Tears, the Tribute of mine eyes.   

Think how perplexed fore PICTURE thine I stand;  
Think of the depth of my sad Passion;  
How I have always been at thy command;  
How none but thee my thoughts still muse upon.  
Think how I ever tendered thy Good na●●,  
Conserving with my dearest Blood the same.   

〈◊〉 how I still of thee had due respect,  
〈◊〉 thou (at all times) ●idst me use too hard;  
〈…〉 withouten cause thou didst reject,  
〈…〉 meaning too too mean reward)  
〈◊〉 ●hese wrongs which I endured have,  
〈◊〉 remember me: Nought else I crave.  
Troino●an●.   

Since spiteful Fortune (sore against my will)  
Hath drawn me far from place where thou dost live:  
And that of force I must obey her still,  
(Although to live so doth me deadly grieve)  
Yet though my Body is far off, MY heart  
Is still with thee, from whence is near shall part.   

Only of thee (sweet Lady) this I crave,  
That till our thread of life shall be unspun,  
Thou wilt vouchsafe me in thy mind to have,  
And not forget the Love twixt us begun.  
But in thy heart the same for to repose,  
As I (the like) in inward soul do close.   

This only can (still) me in life conserve,  
Thy gracious Favour and thy Pity sweet:  
This is the precious Balm, the pure Preserve,  
Which I do hope to find, and still will seek:  
This makes me live, although with great unrest,  
Since of thyself I have been dispossessed.   

Thou art my Hope, my Haven, my Comfort chief,  
On thee alone, on none el● I rely:  
Only to thee I come to beg relief;  
In thee it is if I shall live or die.  
(DEAREST) remember 'tis a Gift more rare,  
CONSTANT to be, then to be counted FAIR.   

Two sparkling stars, fine gold, pure Ebony,  
From whence Love takes his Brands, his Shafts & Bow,  
Two dainty Apples, which though hid from eye,  
Through vail of Lawn, through lawn more fair do show:  
A cherry lip with Iuo●ie teeth most white,  
Where Cupid begs within that Grate so bright.   

Vermilion Flowers that grow in Heaven above;  
Snow, which no wet can mar, nor Sun can melt,  
Right Margarite Pearl which always Orient prove,  
A Voice, that heart of marble makes to swelled,  
A Smile that calms the raging of the Sea,  
And Sky more clear makes then was wont to be.   

Grave, stayed wisdom in young and tender years,  
A stately Gate, and Port majestical,  
A Carriage (where in virtue (borne) appears,  
Looks that disdain, and yet delight withal,  
Numbers of Favours, Beauties infinite,  
With Modesty, chaste, pure, and mild Delight.   

An humble Soul within a Body rich,  
A lowly Thought within a conquering heart:  
These are the works which I commend so mich,  
Which Heavens & LOVE have framed by curious Art:  
All these I once enjoy: but they being gone,  
My Note is changed, my Mirth is turned to Moon.   

Ah might I once persuaded be at last,  
These scalding sighs of mine should have an end,  
That I for Sower, some Sweet (at length) might taste,  
And that the CRVEL FAIR would not contend  
Ever 'gainst me; I then would (gently) take,  
And suffer all these wrongs for her sweet sake.   

Too well I know (and I confess the same)  
That too too lofty is my proud Desire:  
My soaring Thoughts, deserving much blame,  
And I, over bold, presume too high t'aspire:  
Yet still (me thinks) mine Aim, being not base,  
I should deserve some little tynie Grace.   

Say then (sweet LOVE) for thou with ALBA mine,  
Dost sojourn, wheresoever she doth bide)  
Say, am I like, that, to obtain in time,  
From which I now am so far off, and wide?  
Ah say the truth, doth she once think on me?  
Doth she but wish that I with her might be?   

Ah had not Reason my Desires refrainde,  
I had, my Thoughts dear Sovereign, seen ere this,  
Whose Grace I sought (but bootless) to have gained,  
The only joy I in this world would wish.  
Rather would I see those chaste beauteous Eyes,  
Then choose to be in matchless Paradise.   

As Crystal Glass in which the Sun doth shine,  
I like mine ALBA'S Angels heavenly feature:  
But when she deadly wounds this Cor●e of mine,  
I loath her more than any murdering Creature:  
More than a Thief that robs and stealeth pelf,  
I hate her, when she steals me from myself.   

My heart is grieved cause it doth disagree:  
For whilst my Mind to love her doth devise,  
And thinks her worthy honoured for to be,  
A Sdainfull thought through Hatred doth arise,  
Which scorns that one so Rich, a Thief should prove,  
That one so Fair, a Murderess is in love.   

I know not what to seek, nor what I should,  
Yet have I sought till I have lost my sense:  
Although truth to confess, feign love I would,  
And yet not die for this too Cruel wench.  
Betwixt these two fain would I find a Mean,  
Alas, Women have none, they always keep ●h'extreme.   

Then how for me if't possible to love,  
If my best ALBA once from me be took?  
How shall I live when thousand Deaths I prove?  
When not this one (the least) I scarce can brook.  
Ah woe is me, a double mixed Desire,  
To haste my Death the sooner doth conspire.   

Such is the rare perfection of sweet Beauty  
Of my fair ALBA, my sole choice Delight:  
That if that any PAINTER doth his duty,  
To shadow forth her Luster passing bright,  
He loseth both his labour and his time,  
As one o'er bold, so high a step to climb.   

For whilst he gives his mind attentively,  
And studieth to match Nature with his Art,  
Marking her Feature with a watchful eye,  
To portray forth most lively every part:  
Such brightness comes from her, such glistering rays,  
As he's struck blind, and darkened goes his ways.   

This is the cause, that who in hand doth take,  
In curious wise her peerless Counterfate,  
Hoping himself immortal so to make,  
Doth fall into like dangerous estate:  
Thinking to shadow her, he shadowed is,  
And so his eyes, and purpose he doth miss.   

That, she were drawn in midst of heart it were  
Far better, (and (my self) have placed her so)  
For though in dark she hidden doth appear,  
Yet unto me she fair and bright doth show,  
My heart's the Board, where limnde you may her see;  
My Tears the Oil, my Blood the Colours be.  
Fano.   

Bright were the Heavens, and hushed was every wind,  
Clear was the day, when as mine ALBA fair,  
Brought forth with joy (Lucina being kind)  
A dainty Babe, for feature passing rare,  
Adorning all the world with this glad wealth,  
A gift t'enrich the World, Us, and herself.   

What time she was in travel of this Child,  
No thunder, lightning, nor no storm was heard:  
But all was quiet, peaceful, calm, and mild,  
As if the skies t'offend her were afeard,  
Whilst th'earth attended on her, and the Sea,  
As though they stayed at her command to be.   

Then did the Winds (not using so before)  
A gentle gale blow calmly every where,  
And filled the blissful Air with sweets great store:  
Each bird and fowl showing a merry cheer,  
Whilst that blessed Day a double Beauty fo●●d,  
One from the Sun, the other here on ground.   

This made the haughty proud Oceanus,  
To open all his wealth in outward show:  
And finding my fair Mistress honoured thus,  
He made his swelling waves in richness flow,  
Whilst that a MARGARITE brought forth a Pearl,  
A precious stone, a dainty lovely Girl.   

As I have lived, I live, and live so will,  
With self same bait that LOVE for me did lay,  
When he his net (to train me in by skill)  
Did open set, to bring me to his bay:  
Only that I might sigh for thee alone,  
And sue for Grace, although Grace found I none.   

Then ALBA let it not displeasen thee,  
Nor make thou show of anger for the same:  
Though my sweet Bonds so straight and inward be,  
Since I (not thou) do bear thereof the pain:  
And that my love to thee is grown so near,  
As than my life I value it more dear.   

Thine was I first, and thine at last I am,  
And thine I will be to the world his end:  
For thee into this world I willing came,  
And leave this world I will, fore thee offend.  
Mea●● time thy matchless virtues I will blaze,  
And ●pend my life, sighing for thee always.   

Ah LOVE 'twas thou that tookst my liberty,  
And of Freeman enforced me be a slave,  
Whilst Hers to be, and thine, most willingly  
I am content this servile yoke to have.  
LOVES prisoner then, begging at Beauty's gate,  
Some Alms bestow sweet Lady for God's sake.   

My mounting Mind, my never staid Conceit,  
Hath buil● a stately Castle in the Air:  
Which jove his lightning Fire, nor his fierce threat,  
Nor Fate, nor Fortune, nor ought else doth fear.  
Founded it is upon two running Wheels,  
The Gates of dust and wind (still turning reels.)   

Thousands of Motes are digged about the same,  
Which are capricious Humours fond and Toys:  
The Scouts and Guards thereof, Hopes dead and vain;  
The Food therein prepared, false fleeting joys;  
The fencing Walls are framed of fierce Desire,  
Which dreads nor Sea, nor earth, nor force, nor fire.   

The Armours, framed are in running Head,  
Of foolish Boldness, and of pensive Fear,  
Which None knows how they should be managed,  
Nor how the same 'gainst others right to bear:  
The Shot, Munition, and Artillery,  
Are divers Thoughts which in the Fancy lie.   

The Castellane doth fight against himself,  
Having nought else his soldiers for to pay,  
But with Ambition which is all his wealth:  
judge then my state, and mark my firmest stay.  
O LOVE how long learn shall I in thy School?  
The more I learn, I (still) do prove more Foole.   

Swift rolling Spheres, clear burning Lamps divine,  
That with your beams disgrace the glorious Sun:  
Fair Ladders by which I to Heaven clime,  
And by your Influence this rare course do run.  
Ah, if not quickly hither you return,  
Too late (in vain) my loss you then shall mourn.   

My Spirits for you did seek to open each way,  
That you might passage make into my heart,  
And joyful were they when you there did stay,  
But sorrowful when you from thence did part.  
And now my Soul is summoned by Despair,  
For want of you his only Hope and Care.   

All comfortless I live here all alone,  
Banished from Mirth, and Bondslave unto Noy:  
Feeding myself (now you from hence are gone)  
With sweet Remembrance of forepast joy,  
And ●●th kind Hope: these twain together strive  
To keep me, 'gainst despairing Thoughts alive.   

The first, doth ALBA'S self (for my relief)  
Present (of which I am now dispossessed)  
The other doth abate each swelling grief,  
Which else my heart would overmuch molest.  
Ah pleasing Hope, ah gracious Memory,  
You make me live, which else of force should die.   

Without my Sun, I live in darksome shade,  
Whilst I with sighing spend my hateful days,  
And in LOVES Sea without my Pilot wade,  
Whilst storm my leaking Bark to sink assays:  
I languish malcontent, deep drowned in Care,  
Witness mine Eyes, that running fountains are.   

Thou Northwest Village far from mine abode,  
Which dost enjoy my Mistress presence fair:  
Ah happy art thou where she makes her road,  
And where she bides whose self hath no compare.  
Happy art thou, but most unhappy I,  
Thou dost possess, I want her company.   

Feign would I (for long since I vow did take)  
As painful Pilgrim in devoutfull wise,  
A voyage in that Holy land to make,  
At my sweet Saint her Shrine to sacrifice,  
Where (for Oblation) I my heart would o●fer,  
Not doubting but she would accept the proffer.   

But to no end I wish, it is in vain,  
A lesser Favour should contenten me:  
It should suff●ise me if I might but gain  
A sight of her, Her once more for to see.  
Alack, this is not overmuch I crave,  
Only her sight, not her, 'tis I would have.   

Sad Tears, that from my mestfull heart do run,  
Thrust forth through watery Eyes by Sorrow kind:  
If you into LOVES paths by chance shall come,  
Where he doth walk, and pity think to find:  
In vain then do you stir abroad, in vain  
You lose your travail, labour, and your pain.   

For whilst the way unto an Humour new  
You open wide, fierce ALBA shutteth close  
Her breast from mercy, making me to rue,  
And for your Friendship, counts you as her foes:  
Wherein, she doth a dammed Example show,  
Forcing her heart 'gainst Conscience hers to go.   

Then woeful tears what will you do as now?  
LOVE's dead and gone, all pity is exiled:  
Scorned is my Constancy and loyal Vow,  
And through Disdain I daily am reviled.  
My Hop●s are blasted, and as withered seem,  
Whilst still Disgraces show before me green.   

Come then, turn back, and with me secretly  
Bewail my torment, lest my heart appear  
A senseless stone, through p●oud Impiety:  
And my blind eyes a fountain ●unning clear.  
And since not any will our Griefs bemoan,  
Let's swallow down our Sorrows all alone.   

LOVE hath me bound once more to make the way,  
From whence my heart hath never yet declined:  
And doubts lest He, from rightest paths should stray,  
Because so weak and crazed I him find:  
And marvel none, he wants his wont sight,  
How can he journey then but Sans delight.   

The silly Wretch looks up, yet nought can see;  
As who should say, my Help comes from Above:  
Yet grieves his service is not took boun gree,  
Since 'tis refined from Thought of purest love.  
My Mind doth burn in frost, but not in fire,  
Through uncouth passion bard from his Desire.   

My heart is like a Widower that's disdained;  
My soul a Figure of a MALCONTENT,  
To see that LOVE thus vildly should be stained,  
Not to requite, where nought but Love is meant.  
But I do see no pity is in spite,  
Where Malice reigns, Desert is banished quite.   

My Soul upon my heart for this doth plain,  
My heart (again) my Fancy doth accuse:  
My Fancy saith, mine Eyes were too too blame,  
Their over-boldnes wrought this great Abuse.  
Alas poor Eyes, too dearly do you pay,  
When for one Fault your Light is took away.   

Thy whiteness (ALBA) I may well compare  
To Delia, when no cloud doth her obscure:  
Thy hairs to Phoebus' lightning in the Air,  
When he doth shine with greatest Luster pure.  
Thy diamond eyes, like to a frosty Night,  
Where sparkling stars do shooting take their flight.   

Thy cheeks Aurora like, when with her Dew,  
The Rose and Lillie she doth sprinkle sweet:  
Resembling drops that seeded Pearl do show,  
As if that double Beauty did them greet.  
Thy Hand, no hand, it is the dainty Glove,  
Which Psyche's ware, when she was wed to LOVE.   

What art thou, but All fair in outward show,  
But inwardly thou'rt Cruel and unkind:  
In thy fair Face all Favours sweet do grow,  
But Thorns and Briars in thy heart I find:  
With s●ew of sweet thou lur'st and dost entice,  
But bitterly thou mak'st them pay the price.   

Thou cruel leadest my life to dismal Death,  
My hope from all her joys thou dost confine:  
Thou art the cord that stopst my vital breath,  
And Arms with Arms against me dost conjoin.  
Thou only art the SHE that's fenced with hate,  
And dost thyself of pity naked make.   

Tired with a Burden of Extremities,  
Which breaks, not bows, my woeful heart in twain,  
And checked with chiefest Mate of Miseries,  
I linger out my loathed life in pain.  
Then death, not life, I may this living call,  
Where ceaseless Noy, not joy, doth me befall.   

Black gloomy Thoughts 〈◊〉 me do tyrannize,  
And to my Soul appointed faithful Guides,  
Do her deceive, with her they subtellise,  
Nor in this ill to comfort me None bides.  
All my best Hopes are at an Ebbing low,  
Whilst stealing years, with griefs increasing grow.   

What shall I do? shall I to reason turn?  
Oh no, for her I too much have offended.  
What, shall I go to LOVE, and to him mourn  
For aid, and promise all shall be amended?  
Alas, it were in vain, and labour lost,  
Where he doth promise, he deceiveth most.   

See than ye fond Desires, what you have done,  
By headstrong Will, sage Reason to deprave:  
But what shall I, as now resolve upon?  
Whom shall I trust? of whom help shall I crave?  
Even her who first betrayed me will I trust,  
She can but be (as she hath been) unjust.   

Come gentle sleep (sweet sleep) my welcome Friend,  
Come comfort me with shadow of my Love,  
And her, in vision quickly to me send,  
For whom these griefs and bitter pangs I prove.  
Black Night be thou far darker than thou art,  
Thy chiefest Beauty is to be most dark.   

By thee my peace and pleasure doth arise,  
Whilst I through thy deceit (yet liking me)  
Do seem to joy with her in lovely wise,  
Although from hence (God knows) far off she be.  
Such is the pleasure that herein I take,  
As more I could not joy, were I awake.   

Thou showst to me the trammels of her Hair,  
Cleped SCALA COELI, locks of pure Delight:  
Her snowy Neck, the cause of my sweet Care;  
Her eyes like sapphires sparkling in the night:  
With ot●er sights, unseemly to be known:  
All these sweet sleep, through thee to me are shown.   

Only in this (my thinks) thou'rt too unkind,  
That when thou partest from me, all joy doth part:  
Nor any such thing left with me I find,  
Which then afresh renews mine inward smart,  
Then since herself (I waking) cannot have,  
Sleeping let me her shadow of thee crave.   

Like as the painful Merchant venterer,  
That is to leave his sweetest native soil,  
Being bound unto some strangy Country far,  
Whom hope of gain doth restless make to toil;  
Taking his leave of his dear Family,  
Through fear & hope, makes them to live and die.   

But afterward when he hath crossed the Seas,  
Fraughting his ship with richest merchandise,  
He than gins to frolic, Hearts at ease,  
And hoiseth up his sails in cheerful wise,  
Searching by skill the shortest cut to take,  
Of this his weary journey, end to make.   

When being almost tired, at the last  
He is in kenning of his wished Home,  
And when having of his Native Air a taste,  
Twixt joy and grief, his very soul doth groan,  
For grief, his Country he so long did in  
For joy, that Home he now returned is,   

So far I: for when I do call to mind  
The time in which my Liberty was lost,  
I shed salt tears, to think how I did bind  
Myself, being free, as slave unto my cost:  
But when I hope one day I shall be free,  
(Through my sweet Saint) my heart doth leap for glee.   

As many fiery darts as jove on high,  
Dingde down on Giants in his angry mood,  
So many whirl about my Body nigh.  
As longing causeless for my guiltless blood,  
The frighted Air rain Ashes down apace,  
And cheerful sun flies hence to hide his face.   

Thus stand I in a Maze of Misery,  
My Heart (seeing nought but signs of present death)  
Seeks how with clipped wings away to fly,  
And feign would scape to save his vital breath.  
Ah pover wretch, but how ●ft possible?  
I know not how, nor he himself can tell.   

The world's his foe, and LOVE doth him betray,  
Despair of help, his senses doth confound,  
His cursed Guide (for nonce) leads him astray,  
Fortune accuseth him on no sure ground.  
And which doth gall him most, & most doth grieve,  
His Mistress rash, 'gainst him doth judgement give.   

He Mercy cries, and calleth for his Book,  
But proud Disdain doth stop the judges eared,  
So that on ●im she'll not so much as look,  
And thus from Bar, they quickly do him bear,  
From ALBA'S presence is he qui●e debarred,  
Exiled from Her, this is his sentence hard.   

Great state and pomp this princely palace shows,  
And richly every chamber hanged is:  
Mine entertainment daily sweeter grows,  
What heart or thought can guess, I do not miss.  
Chief the Walks, and Gardens wondrous been,  
As they a second Paradise do seem.   

Yet though I find this kindness passing great,  
With hunting, hawking, fowling, and such sport:  
For all our feasting and our dainty meat,  
Our mirth and Music in most pleasing sort:  
For all these pleasures, yet live I in pain,  
Since Her I want, for whom I wish in vain.   

What others love, I loath, and quite dislike,  
And though I am in worthy company,  
Yet still (my thinks) I am retired quite,  
Into a place of matchless misery,  
Into an uncouth wood and wilderness,  
Where live such Beasts as pray on Savagenes.   

And if that long from her I be deprived,  
My life shall be like flowers that want the Sun:  
So shall I yield my Ghost as one dislived,  
Whilst my threads life shall quickly be unspun.  
Go scalding sighs then, fly unto her strait,  
Say that for life or death on her I wait.   

You stately Hills, you princelike Ruins old,  
Which proudly in your last remainders show,  
And who as yet the name of fair Rome hold,  
To whom did once the whole world homage own,  
The place where (now) so many Relics lie,  
Of Holy souls honoured for Christ to die.   

You theatres, you Conquerors Arches fair,  
Colossuses huge, and massy Pillars great,  
Triumphant Shows of more than Glory rare,  
Where Victory with pomp did take their seat:  
Lo what a wonder strange in you is wrought,  
You now are dust, consumed (as 'ttwere) to nought.   

Though conquering War, doth make in time to come,  
Many things flourish, and with Fame to rise:  
Yet in the end when all is past and done,  
Time doth All this consume in spiteful wise,  
All Monuments, all Monarches that have been,  
Time in the end destroys, and wears out clean.   

And since 'tis so, I will contented live  
In discontent: for if that Time can make  
An end of All, and end to each thing give,  
(May be) some order he for me will take,  
(May be) in th'end when I shall tried be  
To th'utmost, I my guerdon just may see.  
Roma.   

ALBA thinkest thou, thy Month shall still be MAY,  
And that thy Colour fresh, still fair will be?  
That Time and Fortune will not wear away  
Beauty, which God and Nature lends to thee?  
Yes, yes, that white and red, thy Cheeks now show  
Shall quickly change, and black and yellow grow.   

The Juniper the longer it doth flower,  
The older still it waxeth, bowing still,  
And that sweet face of thine, which now hath power  
Whole worlds with wondering at the same to fill,  
Shall (though it now sans blemish be) a Stain,  
Hereafter with thick wrinkled Cliffs remain.   

Great care to keep this Beauty frail must be,  
Which we (God knows) a small time do enjoy,  
Do what we can, we lose it suddenle;  
Why, then, being courted shouldst thou seem so coy,  
Fortune's wings made of Times feather●●eere stay  
But ear thou them canst measure flit away.   

Then be not over hard, like changeles Fate,  
But let my Cries force thee (at last) relent,  
Do not oppose thyself too obstinate  
'Gainst him, whose time to honour thee is spent:  
Ah let me speak the truth (though somewhat bold  
Though now thou'rt young, thou one day must be old   

Rivers of gory blood into the Sea,  
In stead of Waters shall most swiftly run;  
The huge Ocean dry as land shall be,  
And dark as pitch shall show the glistering Sun:  
LOVE shall of Love, and kindness be deprived,  
And vasty world (sans people) shall abide:   

The Night shall lightsome be as Day most plain,  
The Heavens with their coloured clouds shall fall,  
Fore LOVE in me, a new IDEA frame,  
Or my firm Heart, from ALBA altar shall,  
Ah fore I change, let horror stop my breath,  
Unworthy Her, unworthy of this earth.   

As heretofore, so still I will her love,  
Near shall my constant Heart lie languishing,  
In hope another Beauty for to prove,  
Which flitting fancy to mine eyes might bring:  
My fa●●h Acanthus like shall flourish green;  
Which th'older 'tis, the fresher still is seen.   

I am no glass, but perfect Diamond,  
My constant mind holds still where first it took,  
Though not myself, my soul's in English ground,  
ITALIANS looks, but not there LOVES I brook.  
The Globelike World is round, and hath no end,  
Such is my Faith to her, my Fairest friend.  
Fano.   

Gold's changed to Led, and Emmeralds into Glass;  
Lilies prove Weeds, and Roses Nettles be:  
No harmless Beasts now through the fields do pass,  
To feed on Hill or Valleys shade we see:  
Wild Tigers fierce, and ravenous Lions fell,  
In open Plain, and cool Groves do dwell.   

In stead of mild and pleasing Accents sweet,  
From hollow Places fearful Voices sound:  
Echo amongst the craggy rocks doth weep,  
And (heavy) makes her noise with sighs rebound.  
Rivers against their wont course do run,  
The Moon looks black, eclipsed is the Sun.   

The Sallow shakes his boughs, and inward grieves,  
The Cypress showeth as if he sickly were,  
And (melancholy) bears his loathed leaves,  
A sign presaging some great cause of fear.  
Phoebus no more doth comb his tresses f●●re,  
But careless lets them feltered hang in th'a●re.   

Ghosts through the City ghastfully appear,  
And hideous shapes the minds of men affright:  
No Day we have, but darkness every where,  
And turned the World is topsie turuy quite,  
The cause of all this change is my fair Love,  
Since to the country (hence) she doth remove.   

On bended knees low groveling on the ground,  
Before the CRVEL FAIR I prostrate lay:  
But what I sought of Her could not be found,  
My kind request was dashed with ruff Denay.  
With me she sharply 'gan expostulate,  
Nor would she once pity my hard Estate.   

Tears I did shed, but tears I shed in vain;  
Vows I did make, my Vows she did reject;  
Prayers I offered, Prayers she did disdain;  
Presents I sent, but them sh'would not accept.  
If tears, vows, prayers, nor presents can do good,  
What then remains, but for to offer blood?   

Then Cruel take this Blood, Oblations Fee,  
Which at thy shrine from heart I sacrifice:  
I know 'twill do thee good and liketh thee,  
And I bestow it in most hearty wise.  
Never ●o much I of my life did make,  
But that I could dispend it for thy sake.   

What needst thou then add water to the Seas,  
Beams to the Sun, or light unto the Day,  
When I more ready am, if so thou please,  
Myself to kill, than thou my life to slay?  
Ah let me know thy mind, thus vex not still,  
A kind of Pity 'tis, quickly to kill.   

In stately Bed twixt sheets more white than snow,  
Where late my Pearl mine ALBA fair did lie,  
I restless up and down toss to and fro,  
Whilst trickling tears distill from blubbered eye.  
Ah gentle sleep do thou devise some Mean,  
For comfort mine, whilst I of her shall dream.   

You downy Pillows, you which but of late,  
Her dainty self did kindly entertain,  
(Once) of two loving Bodies charge do take,  
By your soft yielding, call her back again:  
For she is gone, and Troynovant hath left,  
And being gone, my heart with he● hath rest.   

For both of us here's room enough to see,  
We b●th in rest with ease may here remain,  
And he●e two souls (united) one, shall be,  
Two bodies (joined together) One, not twain.  
But 'tis in vain, for were she here I know,  
Though you agreed, agree she would not so.   

Yet call her back, and pray to her for me,  
For I am hoarse with praying over long  
Ah to no purpose 'tis to call, I see,  
She cannot hear, she too too far is gone.  
Yet will I still her praises haroldise,  
And 'mongst the beauteous Saints her canonize.   

Hear me, a Martyr for religious Love,  
Thou Fair Tormentor, (Motive of my pain)  
All Racks and Tortures 'gainst my patience prove,  
And when thoust done, begin afresh again.  
Weary shalt thou be of tormenting me,  
Before I grieved at these plagues will be.   

Too dear I prize thy beauty to repent,  
Or wish I had not such sour storms endured:  
Though I thy hard heart find near to relent,  
Custom and time, to woes ha●e me enured.  
What ill so great but I would willing take,  
And bear the brunt assured of thy sweet sake.   

The sweet remembrance of thy sight of yore,  
Th'only companion is of my dear life,  
Thy presence was, which absent I ado●e,  
My paradise and place of joy most rife.  
So I al●ne am not, though None's with me,  
And was in Heaven, when I thy face did see.   

But this thou thinkest not of, this is least part  
Now of thy mind, nor hast thou hereof care:  
This never comes God knows into thy heart,  
But as heat's joined with fire, and breath with air:  
So cruelty in women's stomachs dwells,  
Which with Disdain (as Fury) always swells.   

Ye Valleys deep withouten bottom found;  
Ye Hills that match with height the azure sky;  
Ye Caves by Nature hollow under ground,  
Where quiet rest and silence always lie,  
Thou gloomy Air which ever to the sight  
Bringst darkness still, but never cheerful light.   

Ye uncouth Paths, ye solitary walks,  
Ye break-neck Rocks, most ghastly for to see,  
Ye dreadful Dens where never any stalks,  
And where scarce hissing Serpents dare to be:  
Ye fatal Vaults where murdered Corpse's lie,  
Haunted with hateful spirits continually.   

Ye Wildernesses and ye Deserts wild,  
Ye strangie Shores near yet inhabited,  
Ye Places from all pleasures quite exiled,  
Where sad Melancholy and Grief is fled,  
Hear me, who am a shadow and a Ghost,  
Damned with eternal sorrow to be crossed.   

Hear me, since I am come for to bewail,  
'mongst you, my Faith, my Constancy, and Love,  
I hope with my loud Cries and dreary Tale,  
Though not the Heavens, yet Hell at least to move:  
Since more the Griefs are which within me grow,  
Then Heaven hath Pleasures, or Hell, Plagues below.   

●ow can the ship be guided without Helm,  
●he storm arising in a troubled Sea?  
Needs must the churlish Waves it overwhelm,  
Needs must it drown, and cast away must be.  
How should I live, and not my life enjoy?  
Feeding on Grief, what should I taste but Noy?   

●h Cupid think upon thy Servant true,  
● crave for my Deserts but some reward:  
seek mine Own, not more than is my due,  
Hate for Goodwill to reap is too too hard.  
If I for Well with Ill am paid again,  
Had I done ill, what then had been my pain?   

Love with Remembrance lieth in my breast,  
All other Thoughts he cancels out of mind:  
To think what's past I cannot quiet rest,  
Yet I in those Conceits strange joy do find,  
Whils●●ow for her I think All I forsook,  
And wholly to her Grace myself betook.   

My wont Mirth is turned into Moon,  
Because my state is changed and altered quite:  
In company I am as One alone,  
Whilst what doth Others please, doth me despite.  
Ah when shall I once from these Plagues be free?  
Neue●, less ALBA Mercy show to me.   

My joyless heart a troubled Spring is like,  
Which from the top● of matchless Alps most high,  
Falls with a mighty noise down headlong right,  
By uncouth stony ways most dreadfully,  
Where all his Hopes he in the Deep doth drown,  
A fatal sign of fortunes heavy frown.   

Dark pitchy clouds of huge Mountains steep,  
The loftiest part do hide from Sunny heat:  
Seeled any wind of Pity there doth fleet,  
Them to dissolve, their thickness is so great.  
For no calm Air of gentle Love doth blow,  
Where swelling Anger frets in furious show.   

Thence doth my Tributary heart forth send,  
Through peable stones, now here, now there along,  
A little Brook into the Sea to wend,  
As sign that I my duty would not wrong:  
For ALBA mine, (Degree above Compar●)  
A large Sea is of sundry Beauties rare.   

A bitter cause, me bitter tears makes shed,  
Whose envious Stepdame is a Froward Will,  
Which is by Self conceit too wanton fed,  
Th'efficient cause that I these drops distill:  
Which though in outward show you white them see,  
Yet pure Red blood they in my Body be.   

●et base-born Minds of basest matters treat,  
Myself (with them) to trouble I not list:  
The vulgar sort (they know not what) do speak,  
Whilst 'gainst the Truth and Virtue they persist.  
honour's the mark whereat I seek to aim.  
Shame light on them that think on beastly shame.   

●o many men, so many Minds (they say)  
Yet at the last Truth always shall prevail,  
Bringing her vowed Foe unto her bay,  
falsehood (I mean) for all her masked vail.  
No Woman blame I, only I do seek,  
Swan-like to sing, of my fair Sun I le●ke.   

The Beauties which in other Ladies be,  
● never had once thought for to disgrace▪  
Mine ALBA hath enough in store for me,  
Thousand of Amours find I in her face:  
Her wo●ld I praise, whose looks have pleased me ever,  
From whom in heart disjoind I will be never.   

Feign would I make mine infant Pen to swell,  
Through fervent zeal to blaze her Deity,  
That he her praise as Oracle might tell,  
Raising the same t'the skies bright Canopy:  
That she (since she deserves) might famous be,  
Beyond the Bounds of All●●ons utmost Sea.   

The Conclusion of the first Part.  

WHo so acquainted is not with my mind,  
Nor knows the Subject fair of whom I writ,  
Nor how mine ALBA me, to her doth bind,  
Of whom I still discourse, talk, and indite.  
How I do hope, how I do fear and grieve,  
How I do die, and how (again) I live.   

Let him but LOVE seek out, and him demand;  
And he shall wonders strange to him declare,  
Such as at Beauty's gaze shall make him stand,  
So exquisite, so strange, they be and rare,  
he'll tell him of so rich a Precious stone,  
As like before hath been enjoyed of none.   

And if he be desirous for to know,  
The Heaven where my fair Angel doth abide,  
Northwest from Troynovant he will him show,  
Alongst which place, fair MERSIE clear doth glide.  
WAR IN that TOWN, LOVE (Lordlik●●●epeth still,  
Yet she (o'er him) triumphs with chastest will.   

Some say she's Lovely Brown; but I dare say  
She is Fair, BEAW? SE, so Fair as Fair may be,  
Fairer than is the break of beauteous Day,  
When sweet Aurora smileth in her glee.  
Put why do I praise herself praising Face?  
I praise her not, 'tis she, (her self) doth grace.   
R. T.    

THE SECOND PART OF THE months MIND OF A MELANCHOLY LOVER.  
By R. T. Gentleman.  
AT LONDON. Printed by Felix Kingston, for Matthew Lownes. 1598.   

Alla Crudelissima.  

THese few (yet zealous) line come● from my heart,  
Dried with my Sighs, and written with my Tears,  
I send to her the Author of my smart,  
●hough (subtle Serpent like) she stop her ears:  
Who, more to her I sue, her Grace to gain,  
The more incensed against me doth remain.   

● love not I to pharisee, nor praise  
Myself, for to her own self I appeal,  
●f I devoted have not been always,  
To do her good, as one that sought her weal.  
Heavens I forswear, and utterly abjure,  
If that my Faith be tainted or unpure.   

Mallevolent, Malicious, Planet, Star,  
Was it my Fortune, so for to be borne,  
My COAT so true, to have so cross a BAR,  
That for my service thus she should me scorn?  
Must my dear Sun eclipsed be with Spite?  
Must envious Clouds still seek to dark my Light?   

What remedy? I'll think 'twas Fortune mine,  
And not her fault) that wrought me all this pain:  
Her Cruelty 'twas not, but Destiny mine,  
Myself, not she, was cause of mine own bane:  
Yet shall the world by this my LOVES months' MIND,  
A ●hast Fault, though no Folly in her find.   

Since that mine ALBA took her leave of me,  
I leave have took of pleasure and of joy:  
And did with sorrow at that time agree,  
To sojourn with him in his chief Annoy.  
My Woes (still green) increase continually,  
Which feign I would, but cannot remedy.   

And were it not but that my dauntless heart,  
Doth comfort me with hope of better cheer,  
I soon would rid me of this uncouth smart,  
And leave this life which I have bought too dear.  
Oft do I weep to LOVE, and him I pray,  
Either to ease my pains, or me to slay.   

Yet though I beg, I find but small relief,  
As do at Rich men's gates the Needy poor:  
Who more they cry to aggravate their grief,  
The less they find their Alms at the door.  
So LOVE, the more my cries I to him sen●,  
The less my plants, he scornful doth attend.   

And yet my suit is small, small is the Grace  
That I desire, (for somewhat I deserve)  
'tis only for to die before her face,  
From whom in Duty (yet) I near did swerver:  
That she might know my life doth me annoy,  
Unless I might her company enjoy.   

Lady, when first upon fair Venus' Day,  
I came acquainted with thy seemly ●elfe,  
And vowed thy loyal Votary to stay,  
Proffering to thee my living, life and wealth:  
As I was then, so am I still the same,  
Never to change, for change exchangeth shame.   

Within the Centre of mine inward heart,  
(As sign of everlasting Monument,  
Which fatal Death shall hardly from me part)  
Thy high prized Love full surely have I penned,  
Never to be removed, but there to lie,  
World without end for ay, continually.   

For thee I longed, for thee I much did dare,  
For thee I hoped and feared, bid sweet and sour:  
Liking thee, I▪ for Others did not care,  
o'er this my heart thou hadst so great a power.  
All other Faces, (in respect of thine)  
I skornde as Masks, thou only seemest Divine.   

Since LOVE, then me with such affection framed,  
That he hath me adopted Thine, alone,  
That I delight not but to hear thee named,  
And only like to hear thy praises shown.  
Ah keep thy plighted Faith unstainde to me,  
Though now far off from hence thou Absent be.   

Disdain assaulted hath mine ALBA fair,  
Fixing fast foot deep in her marble breast:  
A blacksome Cloud hath darkt my beauteous Air,  
Where cheerful Sun before with smile did rest.  
She most unlike herself a Tyrant shows,  
Whilst as a Tiger mad with rage she grows.   

All for her pleasure (me for to displease)  
Pity she bandies from her tender heart:  
Poison, not honey, now must her appease:  
Yet my Desire runs headlong to his smart,  
Headlong he runs to her spite-tainted mind,  
Which over fierce and cruel he doth find.   

My hopeless Chance, through vail (as 'ttwere) I see,  
Her quondam beauteous eyes are bloodshot now:  
Exorde, desired, entreated, they'll not be,  
They'll not relent, repent, nor yield or bow:  
Lightnings of Anger they do show aright▪  
Thunders of Fury darting forth despite.   

The dangers great my harmless heart doth spi●,  
Yet for all this, from her he'll not retire:  
And whilst more humble he fore her doth lie,  
The more she sullen swells with wrathful Ire.  
A Monster than I may her mirorise,  
Since she delights in such strange Tragedies.   

Dried hath th'injurious Fever those fair Flowers,  
Which in the cheeks of my fair ALBA lay:  
Scorched are those paradised coloured Bowers,  
LOVES LOBBY where he wanton did play:  
Yet not extinguished is mine amorous flame,  
Some sparks are yet remainders of the same.   

As she looks now, so looks the Moon in skies,  
When 'mongst the gloomy clouds portending rain,  
She with her watery horned head forth pries,  
Spreading abroad her dewy beams amain:  
So we Aurora use for to depaint,  
'mongst palish violets, when she looketh faint.   

pity is mixed with grief in her fair face,  
And Grief with Pity in the same conjoin,  
Where LOVE (though sick) sits with a lovely grace,  
In midst of sickly paleness in her eyen.  
Sickness itself so lovely near did look,  
But since her Inn in ALBA'S breast she took.   

That stately Haughtiness she had before,  
Now changed is into low Humility:  
And that same glance that faithless was of yore,  
Now faithful showeth and full of Loyalty.  
So with her Colour if she did Cruel take,  
Yet Pitiful her Paleness doth her make.   

Like bloody Lion, or a stinging Snake,  
With proud Disdain to aggravate my smart,  
Love into me (unasked) his way doth take,  
Died all with blood, (and Blood 'tis of my heart)  
Which wounded deep, still languishing doth lie,  
Expecting every minute when to die.   

Thousands of Wounds my life hath quite bereft,  
And wanting blood, Paleness sits in my face:  
My soul this Corpse (his mansion House) hath left,  
Nor dares he back retire to his old place.  
This Martyrdom, although there's many see,  
None me caresseth, or doth comfort me.   

My Life runs fond to his mortal Foe,  
Hoping for Help, where he his hurt did find:  
My spirits after him amain do go,  
Whilst lifeless Body doth remain behind,  
On which grim death doth seize, as on h●s pray,  
And of his breath to reave him doth assay.   

A far off Peace I see, but War at hand,  
Love single strikes me, (but with double pain)  
Killed is my heart by Cruel she's Command,  
And he that slew him cleped is Disdain:  
Lo here of my kind Dame the Exercise,  
Hate is her Chapman, Blood her Merchandise.   

Praxitiles, and Myron (workmen rare)  
Apelles skilled, learned Homer (famous wight)  
Were these alive, the Picture of my Fair  
To carve, to cut, to paint, and thereof write,  
In marble, brass, board, or in books at large,  
They soon would faint, over priest with so great charge.   

And yet may be her beauteous Countenance,  
With chisel, tool, with pencil and with pen,  
They rightly might have shadowed (though by chance)  
Because they, in their Age were rarest Men.  
But had they come the nobler part to show,  
Their cunning than had soon took th'overthrow.   

If my bright Sun (renowned per Excellence,  
Through the illustrious splendour of her gleams)  
Doth dim and darken our Intelligence,  
By virtue of her more than radiant beams:  
What Hand or Thought in hand could ever take,  
A work so endless, with good end to make?   

Dear ALBA I by thee am still forbidden,  
By Statue, Image, Picture, or by Verse,  
To show the virtues rare within thee hid,  
As not being able lest part to rehearse,  
It shall suffice (as sacred) I admire,  
Thy spotless life, thy more than chaste Desire.   

To thee far off (from me) these sighs I send,  
To thee far off from Love, I, near to die,  
To know if thou thyself will mind wilt mend,  
Desisting from thy hateful Cruelty.  
Beauty if it be mild, it is renowned;  
If it be proud, a foul reproach 'tis found.   

Thou mak'st a show as if thou wouldst be kind:  
But 'tis a shadow, not a substance right:  
For coming unto trial strait I find,  
Thy sdainfull chaste looks puts my Hope to flight:  
Whilst thou dost seem at these my Woes to grieve,  
Yet them with succour never dost relieve.   

Thy Grief (for me) a passion's in a play,  
Which men doth ravish with Melancholy:  
But acted once, and out of sight away,  
In mind, no longer there doth stay, but die:  
Thou art the Actor playing such a part,  
My griefs near deeply pierce into thy heart.   

O would I could from Reason's Court obtain,  
A Supersedeas, LOVE for to remove,  
From out my Breast to thee to ease my pain,  
That thou the force thereof a while mightst prove.  
But Destiny wills that I thy slave do stay,  
And so I will, who bound is, must obey.   

Why have the Heavens thus changed mine Estate?  
Deserving well to complot my Decay?  
Why rather was not so ordained my fate,  
That ALBA near should wend from me away?  
I never changing my first vowed Love,  
Why should (unconstant she) from me remove?   

(Fond man) is she unconstant to be called,  
Who after course of world doth run her race?  
Are not all men by fortune pulled and hauled,  
Never to bide (still) in one certain place?  
Nothing is more commended in the Sea,  
Then th'often Ebb, and the Flow be.   

Ah ALBA, if thou shouldst continue still  
In one self place, 'twould be a Paradise:  
But thou (t'allay our proud Affectio●s will)  
T'eclipse thine own perfections dost devise,  
Thinking it is enough, if but with eye  
We joy a small glimpse of thy Majesty.   

Then to increase our Griefs, thou dost decrease  
Our pleasures, and thyself from us dost hide,  
When we for nothing looked but peace and ease,  
Even at thy Best, and in thy Beauty's pride.  
But why talk I, where I cannot be hard?  
Or heard she me, she would not me regard.   

Where are my Vows withouten number now?  
My tears withouten measure that I shed?  
My scalding sighs to make proud ALBA bow?  
They all are gone, forgot, quite banished.  
Yet though they not deserve her love they crave,  
Me thinks some better fortune they should have.   

But if the Gods in judgement partial fit,  
Unequal viewers of each injury:  
And with condign revenge seek not to quit  
So monstrous wrong, such near heard Cruelty:  
Why then I Reason none for Lovers see,  
That they should bide such pain for loyalty.   

Yet neither Hope's preferment, were it great,  
Nor fear of punishment, though to my pain:  
Nor counsel of the Wisest that entreat,  
Nor company of best where I remain,  
Shall ever make me once my Humour change,  
Nor from my first devoted Vow to range.   

My youths chief Flower (of all my life the prime)  
In melancholy passion I will spend:  
Careless behaviour shall my latter time  
(Because (forsook) she cares not for me) end.  
Thus will I still continue during breath,  
Doting on her, who doth devise my death.   

Fond that I am like Greekish Wrestler vain,  
Striving to lift a weight impossible,  
I caught so strange incurable a strain,  
As thereby (bruised sore) I brainsick fell:  
Fixing my thoughts above my reach, I fall  
Into Disease, without recure at all.   

The stately Cedar whose tops seem in show,  
For height, to reach unto the azur'd sky,  
Never his head bows to the shrubs below,  
That in the deep and hollow Valleys lie.  
Th'ivy that climbing up by th'elm doth run,  
Never can get hold of the beams of Sun.   

ALBA I honour in humility,  
Whom none ought, or should dare venture to love:  
Though I presume with importunity,  
Sometimes my suit (in vain to her to move:  
For her ●ffections be immortal, rare,  
Her virtues such as infinite they are.   

Then suffer me to gaze on ALBA mine,  
With my minds eyes, though absent now she be:  
I knew when I enjoyed her sight (ah happy time)  
That time (I fear) I never more shall see.  
But 'tis all one, for were the Cruel here,  
I of my purpose should be near the near.   

Am I so mad, to think that such a Toy,  
As Sorcery is, should aught prevail for me,  
That witchcraft power hath for to make me joy;  
And cause me here, mine absent Mistress see?  
I cannot choose but think all to be tales,  
And that Enchantment little here prevails.   

What though the Sun is darkened by this skill,  
And moon's removed from out her settled course;  
Wild beasts made stand, amazed, tame, and still,  
And waters turned from their first wont sours:  
Yet cannot Art, by force make settled Love,  
From his first Centre (where he resteth) move.   

The Gods, not men, do rule the inward heart,  
They can appoint Affection as they please;  
Stones, Yearbs, and Words, may use be by Art;  
Yet these the lovers griefs can smalely ease,  
Not Exorsisms, Spells, Metals, Planets, Fire,  
Can alter once the settled firm Desire.   

Then I'll with Discontent be satisfied,  
And hopeless live in hope, though Hope in vain:  
Resolving all base coins to abide,  
Since I despair her grace for to obtain:  
Unhappy I, may case over desperate,  
No Skill nor cunning can my pain abate.   

Hard hap had I, to fall into thy hand,  
Who giv'st thyself to endless cruelty;  
When to thy flinty heart wilt give command,  
To change his wont, and somewhat gentler be?  
Wilt thou thy Beauty fair, adulterise,  
And seek'st thou still on me to tiranise?   

if'ft possible thy years so few and small,  
So many ancient mischiefs should contain,  
Thy swelling pride, I long have borne withal,  
Because that Beauty thereof is to blame.  
Which still the more in fairness it exceeds,  
The more it joys in coy disdained deeds.   

I grieve at thy devices 'gainst me wrought,  
And sorrow, that wits sharper that they show,  
The shrewder and unhappier should be thought,  
Prove unto ill, but unto Goodness slow.  
But for ●o seek to murder (through disdain)  
A harmless heart, is worse than Murderers stain.   

What moves thee then, thyself thus to disgrace,  
Unfitting for thy Sex, where nought should be  
But kindness mild; far altering from thy face,  
Where nothing but rare beauty we can see?  
If then so fair a Sun, such foul clouds hide,  
Let me still in eternal Darkness bide,   

The bitter plaints wherewith my soul I wound,  
With scalding sighs which smoke from forth my breast:  
My cheeks through grief, pale wan and hollow found,  
My troubled Thoughts which reave me of my re●t:  
Salt watery tears, which rain from blubbering eye,  
Warm blood from Ha●t distilling inwardly.   

The servile yoke which did my freedom break,  
My willing mind to do what wild Command,  
The state wherein I brought myself most weak,  
The frost and fire wherein I still did stand,  
The snare in which LOVE wrapped me so about,  
As from the same I near (yet) could get out.   

All these, and many another worse grief,  
Are no such plagues as is that Marble heart,  
(That Marble heart) that yields me no relief,  
Nor ever sought some comfort to impart.  
The revolution of the Heavens, nor any ●ime,  
Can make (that Breast) to yield to my Design.   

Virtue doth hinder it, in my despite,  
Chaste Honesty maintains her in her force:  
Then LOVE farewell, all Hope I'll banish quite,  
I see in Flint is found no kind remorse.  
If Tears, Vows, Gifts, Prayers, Oaths no good can do,  
Nor Love obtain; in vain 'tis then to sue.   

Dear to my Soul (for Dear I may thee call,)  
Since thou far dearer than myself I hold,  
When wilt thou rid me from this loathed thrall,  
In which I am through Fancies bands enrolled?  
When wilt thou keep thy promise unto me?  
Whereof no deeds, but words I yet can see.   

Why (doubtful still) dost thou my joys prolong?  
And driuste me of, in dalliance without cause?  
Me and thyself, why dost thou double wrong?  
To keep thy word, why, so long dost thou pause?  
Thus for to lo●e thy golden ●ime, 'tis sin,  
Which once being past, again, thou canst not win.   

Matters of state we use to politize,  
Procrastinating for advantage great,  
LOVE, lingering hates, and loathes to temporize,  
Delaie's too ●olde, for his orewarmed heat:  
Ah, do not drive me of thus (still) in vain,  
Still for to lose 'tis much, once let me gain.   

Dearer to me then th'apple of mine eyes,  
Let word and deed, but once for all agree,  
Not any can in face thee equalize,  
If but a little more thou kind wouldst be.  
Then with allusive Sights, feed not me still,  
But grant (at last) for to perform my will.   

Ye lukewarm Tears which from my near dried eyes,  
Stream down amain like fountains day and night,  
Wend to my Lady in most humble wise,  
And show to her, my most unhappy plight:  
Wend unto her, who outwardly in show,  
Seems pitiful, but (inward) is not so.   

Weep you ●o her and say; be't possible  
A Creature that so courteous seems to all,  
Should have a heart more cruel and more fell  
Than Tiger, harder than a stony wall?  
Ah why seems she not inwardly as kind,  
As she doth outward show, the world to blind?   

This my Icarian soaring ('bove my reach)  
(Though Beauty, serenising falls my heart)  
How I over bold, my headlong fall doth teach,  
Whilst LOVE doth play 'gainst me a subtle part:  
Yet Beauties Birth I am, by her I breath,  
Though live against her favour and her leave.   

Wild fire with milk is quenched, rigour with tears,  
Yet nought her stubborn mind can mollify,  
Unto my prayers she stops her deafened ears,  
And with Despair requites my Courtesy,  
Thus am I still star crossed in my Love,  
As one bewitched, with whom no good doth prove.   

How long shall I dive in this vasty Sea,  
To find this Pearl, this Orient MARGARITE!  
How long this bottom founding shall I be?  
Yet near attain this precious jewel bright?  
My labours (like to Hercules) abound,  
Who more he did, the more to do, still found.   

I am too weak with Osprays eyes to look,  
Against the fiery beams of this fair Sun,  
Too great a Burden have I fond took,  
For my weak shoulders long since overcome.  
The more I seek, the farther I, to find,  
Like to the wretch, that of his sight is blind.   

My bruised Bulwark is not strong enough,  
For to resist this beauteous Battery,  
My yoke too small, to draw so huge a plough,  
Mine eyes too dim, such Brightness to descries  
This shows, that as unlucky I was borne,  
To die unfortunate I must not scorn.   

Yet I'll not leave to intercessionate,  
To her hard Breast, for my too gentle heart:  
That if her Rigour she'll not mitigate,  
At least she'll somewhat ease me of this Smart:  
I only crave, if she'll not yield relief,  
T'adiourne my pain, and to prorogue my Grief.   

Thrice treble blessed BRACELET, rich in prize,  
I envy not thy pearly fret, nor gold,  
But fortune thine, because in happy wise,  
The place of perfect pleasure thou dost hold.  
About that wrist thou turnst and windst so oft,  
More white than Snow, than thistle down more soft.   

Base minds love Gold, 'tis not thy Gold I steam,  
For this I only value thee at much,  
Because an Ornament thou'rt to be seen,  
Of her white Hand yclept of right, NONESUCH,  
NONESUCH indeed, whose Beauty is so rare,  
As near the like, attained the perfects Fair.   

This is the cause so highly I thee rate,  
As all the golden Mines of Indian ground,  
Nor Seas of Pearl can countervail thy state,  
Wherein thou art this present to be found.  
And, if that truth I shall confess inde●●e,  
The wealth of all the world thou dost exceed.   

But when I mark, how by strange cunning Art,  
Fair lovely Hairs, with Pearl and Gold conjoin,  
A pleasing joy doth seize upon my Heart,  
Whilst with strange pleasures, Fancy feeds my mind,  
So as (sweet BRACELET) thou dost rightly prove,  
To be th'enchantment of bewitching LOVE.   

Live Lovely Fame, which when thou first didst take,  
Possession of my Heart, wert stony cold,  
And bashful; but when entrance thou didst make,  
Then, as Triumphant thou didst keep thy hold:  
Changing both Thought & state, that where before  
Cold chillie Ye was, hot Desire burnt sore.   

If I thee honour, worship, serve, and love,  
He knows, who guides the restless Globe on high,  
But envious Fates on me their force do prove,  
And me, from thee have banished spitefully.  
So that more pain I do each hour abide,  
Then if that thousands sorts of deaths I died.   

But fore that peerless matchless shape of thine,  
(The better part wherein my Soul doth rest)  
Shall out of mind, or memory of mine,  
(Whereby I only happy live and blessed,)  
All things shall chance, impossible that be,  
Myself, forget myself will I, fore thee.   

The Sun shall lose his power, and dark become,  
The Skies shall melt, and into horror fall,  
The earth shall sink, the world be quite undone,  
And fore this chance, all strange things happen shall.  
Though (now) thou bidst in Albion's fruitful land,  
And I, where Mantuan Duke, his Court doth stand.  
Mantua.   

Such as do liggen in Delight and joy,  
And have what heart can wish, or Thought devise,  
Spending their time withouten dire Annoy,  
Living amongst their friends in iocondwise,  
And who with Love of Ladies theirs are blest,  
May in Eternam Requiem, happy rest.   

Me, silly travailer (a pilgrim poor)  
(Who through hard hap these blessings all do miss)  
Care doth become, since want I do endure  
Of Country, Friends, and Love, my chiefest bliss:  
And yet this CARE not Ill, but well, with me,  
Observing still Decorum doth agree.   

A travailer, far from his Native coast,  
With Care doth rise, with Care him down doth lay:  
And though from pillar tossed he be to post,  
When All him leave, yet Care with him doth stay.  
Not like vain pleasure, who away doth p●ake,  
When he his Bark through want perceives to leak.   

Thanks then to Care, of Poor the comfort chief,  
The best companion that we Strangers find,  
In Country's strange forlorn, without relief,  
Who quiet, gentle, patiented is and kind.  
Then constant CARE, not Comfort I do crave,  
And (might I choose) I CARE with L. would have.   

This Tower, this Castle, this huge Prison strong,  
Begirt with high and double fenced Wall,  
(Where I to be kept prisoner, thus have wrong)  
Can never hurt, nor do me harm at all:  
Since I was penned here, I am (nothing changed)  
But as before, when I abroad still ranged.   

This place restrains my Body's liberty,  
But hath no power over my Thoughts or Mind,  
Which is the cause I count myself most free,  
Though I myself in greatest Bondage find,  
I can so feed on Fancy, and subdue  
Envy, by sweet Imagination true.   

No sweeter Music to the Miserable,  
Than is Despair: therefore the more I feel  
Of bitterness, of sorrow sour and fell,  
The more of Sweetness it doth seem to yield.  
Vain ' esteem my life, all liberty,  
Since I do want mine ALBA'S Company.   

Use, Misery hath made familiar now  
With me, that I count sorrow chiefest joy:  
And him the welcom'st Guest I do allow,  
That saddest tales can tell of bloodiest Noy.  
Then (Cruel) think what life I still have led,  
Since so in post away from me thou'rt fled.   

Thrice precious purse, by dainty Hand ywrought,  
Of Beauties First Borne, Favours rightful Heir,  
Not for a world of wealth, purchased or bought,  
But freely given (for Love) by ALBA fair:  
Given to me, unworthy of the same,  
As one not meriting so great a Gain.   

'tis not the richness hereof, though 'tis much,  
Nor rareness of the work surpassing skill,  
That I account of, though that it be such,  
As every eye, with masement it doth fill:  
But cause 'twas made by that Alconquering Hand,  
Whose beck, even loves own self doth countermand.   

Dan Fortunatus Bag, which Histories  
Affirm, endless to be for golden store,  
And that it held of Quoin Infinities,  
To this my purse is needy, base and poor,  
Gold in the inside (only) of his purse wa● seen,  
But mine, hath (always) Gold without and 〈◊〉▪   

Pure gold 'tis wrought with, yet her Hairs more bright,  
Saft is the Silk, more fast her snowy skin,  
Orient the Pearl, yet are her teeth more white,  
The Colours rare; her cheeks the prize, though win:  
Ah precious Purse, where what I do behold,  
Are Colours rare, fine Pearl, saft Silk, pure Gold.   

Warm showers rain fast from forth my blubbered eyes,  
My heavy Thoughts are Clouds ●eplete with woes:  
Hot lively Flames from out my breast arise,  
My scalding sighs the wind's that forth them blows:  
Fire burning Cancer and Aquarius cold,  
o'er me their powers predominant do hold.   

The flames, themselves up to the heavens lift,  
Where they by thousands round about do turn:  
The waters run like to a Torrent swift;  
Hence comes it that myself I drown and burn,  
By reason of two spiteful Qualities,  
(Moisture and Heat) my life in danger lies.   

My tears a great stream make, they so abound,  
A quenchless burning this my secret Fire:  
Hope doth despair, and there herself hath drowned,  
And heart to cinders burns through her Desire:  
Fancy 〈◊〉 frolic, and doth still revive,  
Reason's so sick, not long she'll keep alive.   

ALBA my Tears accounteth as a Toy,  
And for a sport mine ardent Heat she holds:  
For in her eyes, Cocytus (me to noy)  
And Phlegeton in breast she fierce enfolds.  
Thus she my heart doth still anatomise,  
With keenest razor of her Crueltise.   

Hairs lovely Browne immured with pearl and gold,  
How ill fits you this Ribbon Carnatine,  
Since I no more your Mistress now behold,  
Of my disaster, most unlucky sign,  
Who to me gave this Bracelet for a FAVOUR,  
A work by Beauty framed through LOVES true labour▪   

How often would she, 'bout my Wrist still pry,  
And undermined me (by devise) as 'ttwere,  
Making a show of Doubt and jealousy,  
As if I it forgot 'bout me to bear?  
But now I fear me, through her staying over long,  
Both LOVE, Herself, and Me, she much doth wrong.   

Who ever saw a Beauty such, so fair,  
Lodged in a subject so unconstant found?  
Who ever saw more loyal Lover rare,  
To ●uch hard Fortune (causeless) to be bound?  
Ah why is not (as is her face) her Mind,  
Th'one's Fair, the other, I Forgetful find.   

Then lovely Hairs, my dearest Hearts best Ease,  
You must from Handwrist mine to Hatband black:  
There must you bide, though me it doth displease,  
Since whom I would, I most of all do lack.  
This sable place doth fit you best to mourn,  
Where you unseen, shall lie till she return.   

●h happy Handkèrcher, that keep'st the sign,  
As only Monument unto my Fame)  
How dear my Love was to sweet ALBA mine,  
When (so) to show my Love she did me blame.  
Relic of LOVE I do not envy thee,  
Though whom thy Master cannot, thou dost see.   

Only let me entreat this Favour small,  
When in her chamber all alone by chance,  
Open her pretty Casket for some work she shall,  
And hap her eye on thee unwares to glance:  
Ah, than the colour of her face but mark,  
And thou by that shalt know her inward heart.   

If she shall blush, and grieve, thee so to view,  
And wistly cast on thee a piteous eye,  
It is a sign her love continues true,  
And that her faith she doth not falsify.  
Ah, the● (a fresh) (her faith more firm to move)  
Bleed thou again, for to revive her love.   

But if she (seeing thee) no account doth make,  
Flinging thee here and there without regard:  
Know then expired is my loving Date,  
My Hope deceived, my Fortune over hard.  
Yet if she doth but sighing say to thee,  
(Saftly) (Farewell dear SERVANT) happy me.   

Those ebbon windows sweet, those cheerful eyes,  
Where LOVE (at LAWGH and sweet look on) doth play  
Are on the sudden changed in strangie wise,  
And do Disdains Ensign ('gainst me) display:  
Dark now they seem, and sour, o'er passing bad,  
Making my life seem to me black and sad.   

Those cheerful eyes, which want to comfort me,  
And to mine angry soul yield nourishment,  
Deny me food, nor will they pleased be,  
But mew me up, as starveling closely penned.  
My walks I v●de, which fair and easy were,  
Are stopped with blood-drawing brambles every where.   

My crazed heart thus scorned for his Love,  
And plagued with proud disdain and sdainfull Pride,  
Wa●les so as would a Rock (though flinty) move:  
Nor ●etter course hath this Disgrace to bide,  
Then sighs and Tears, which forth he se●ds apace,  
And damned like) still begs, but near finds grace.   

Sweet stay of my weak tottering life nigh fallen,  
●alme to my wounds, and Cordial to my grief,  
●●ght to my darkness, to my storm, mild Calm,  
Ease to my pain, and to my want, Relief.  
Ah who hath now (and that so suddenly)  
Of pity thee deprived, to make me die?   

Poor wasted heart that wanderest not astray,  
Although the PEARL her orient colour change:  
Thou, which in thy first Faith unstained dost stay,  
Although she from her plighted vow doth range.  
Ah, where are now thy cheerful days of Hope?  
Thy Lives line, Love, what wretched hand hath broke?   

Alas, poor soul, how badly art thou used,  
For thy much loving (loving over long?)  
Causeless without desert to be refused,  
And for thy right to be repaid with wrong?  
(Fond) do betimes from Fancies Fort retire,  
Reason retain, and banish rash Desire.   

What meanest thou careless thus to seek thy Car●?  
Call home thy Wits, give over although with loss:  
Else like one blindfold art thou caught in snare,  
And wilt too late return by weeping cross.  
Seest no● that shut is loves sweet passage plain,  
That opens wide the path of proud Disdain?   

If so, why shouldst thou beg (in vain) for grace?  
Rather demand thy passport and away:  
Better at first give over in midst of Race,  
Then lose in th'end, though longer time thou stay.  
Then if she'll not admit thee as a friend,  
Let her thee manum it (as Free) to wend.   

O that I were where bides mine ALBA fair,  
Whose person to possess is pleasure such,  
As drives away all melancholy Care,  
Which doth the heart through Griefs impression touch  
Whose lovely Locks All do more curious deem,  
When they most careless to be dressed seem.   

Her sweet Looks most alluring be, when they  
Most chaste do seem in modest glancing show:  
Her words, the more they virtuously do way,  
The more (in coun●) for amorous they go:  
Her dress such, as when neglected most,  
She's thought as then to have bestowed most cost.   

Sweet Fortune, when I meet my lovely Treasure,  
Dash my Delights with some small light disgrace,  
Lest I (enjoying sweetness 'bove all measure)  
Surfeit without recure on that fair face.  
Her wont coyness let her use a while,  
My fierce Desire by Diet to beguile.   

Lest with the fullness of my joys, abate  
The sweetness, and I perish strait before  
I do possess them, at too dear a rate.  
But soft (Fond Icarus) how high wilt soar?  
Thou dreamest I think, or foully dost mistake,  
I dream indeed, Ah might I never wake.   

Like as the Hawk cast from the Falconer's fist,  
Freed from the Mew doth (joyful) take his flight,  
Soaring aloft in th'air as best him list,  
Now here, now there, doth find no small delight,  
Enjoying that, which Treasures all doth pass,  
(His liberty) wherefore he prisoner was.   

But when th'acquainted Hollow he doth hear,  
And seethe the Lure cast forth him home to train,  
As one obedient full of awful fear,  
He leaves his flight, and backward turns again,  
Choosing in ancient bonds for to be bound,  
Fore faithless to his Lord he will be found:   

So (ALBA) though I wanton, otherwhile,  
Do run abroad, and other Lady's court,  
Seeking the time with pleasures to beguile,  
And oft myself with words of course do sport,  
Dissembling with Dissemblers cunningly,  
As is the guise, with tongue, with hand, and Eye.   

Yet when I think upon thy face divine,  
Thy Beauty calls me home, strait as a Lure,  
All other banishing from heart of mine,  
And in LOVES Bands to thee doth bind me sure.  
And since my Faith, and Fates do so ordain,  
I am content thy prisoner to remain.   

Where are those Hairs so lovely Browne in show?  
Where is that snowy Mount of ivory white?  
With damask Rose where do the Lilies grow?  
Whose Colours & whose sweetness All delight?  
Where are those cheerful Lights, Lamps of clear Love,  
Wherein, a beauteous Heaven doth always move   

Where are those Margarite Pearls withouten prize,  
And Rubies rich (my matchless Treasures store)  
With other Graces, wonders to the Wise,  
Worthy that every Laurel them adore?  
I know not I, unless in her they be,  
In Her who's Fair, Alas too Fair for me.   

Why have not then my Stars so courteous been,  
In this to me, as they are in the rest,  
That I by lofty style might Beauty win,  
And blaze abroad her praise deserving best?  
Why have not I the Gift, her Gifts to th●nder,  
And make the world thereat admire and wonder!   

Can I (but as she doth deserve aright)  
Sing as a Cignet sweet with pleasing vain,  
Her virtues rare, her staining Beauties sight,  
As I am blunt in Wit, and dull in Brain,  
I then should see, her Courteous, Gentle, Mild,  
Where now I find her, Cruel, Proud and Wild.   

Needs must I ALBA leave, yet she'll not part,  
Though I do love her, yet still my Desire,  
Seeks her to keep in Closet of my heart;  
And though she doth against me thus conspire,  
Yet with my Soul, I must her Error moan,  
Since so unkindly she herself hath shown.   

My secret griefs I'll in myself digest;  
The world shall never know her hateful Pride,  
Her shame (my Bane) I will conceal in breast,  
And as a Monument there shall it bide.  
ALBA farewell, all pity now is fled,  
And since 'tis so, Adieu, I am but Dead.   

But thou (my heart) come thou from her thy way;  
'tis time (I think) to leave that witching face,  
Where too too much unkindness still doth stay;  
For Loyal Love, there is no resting place.  
Simple goodwill, to sojourn finds it vain,  
Where Thoughts are falls, and Double do remain,   

My near stained Faith, my life shall testify,  
To future Age, that shall hereafter come,  
To show the world my spotless Loyalty:  
And yet perhaps again may shine the Sun,  
When as my Truth unto her being known,  
She may at last receive me for her own.   

The Conclusion of the second Part.  

IF I should count the spending of my time,  
Since Her I lost, with whom I left my life;  
How I in Grief without relief do pine.  
My seldom Pleasures, and my Corsies rife,  
If I should take upon me, these to tell,  
It were in vain, for 'twere impossibell.   

Yet still the more I suffer for her sake,  
The more my heart doth study to endure,  
The world shall know the Penance he doth make,  
And how his Thoughts are loyal, chaste, and pure.  
So small account he maketh for to die,  
At his own Death he seeketh wilfully.   

Of Her he still doth buzz me in the ear,  
And wil● me make a journey to that place,  
To have a sight of Her, (to him so dear)  
Whose beauteous shape all Beauties doth disgrace.  
Alas I would full feign, Herself doth know.  
But Danger to offend, doth still say No.   

Then since poor heart, thou canst not have thy will,  
But longest ●or what thou never shalt obtain,  
Consume t●y self with thy recureless ill,  
As Women, that with Longing breed their ban●.  
And as thou diest, let this thy Comfort be,  
Thy LOVE was VIRTUE, hers was CHASTITY.   
R.T.    

THE THIRD PART OF THE months MIND OF A MELANCHOLY LOVER.  
By R. T. Gentleman.  
AT LONDON. Printed by Felix Kingston, for Matthew Lownes. 1598.   

Alla Crudelissima.  

LO here the course spun Web of Discontent,  
Extract from out the cause of my true Grief,  
The Quintessence of my Complaint close penned,  
Wherein my heart hath line without relief:  
The Glass wherein my sorrows each may see,  
Thou cruel ALBA, thus haste plagued me.   

Think on the Mestfull MONTHS MIND I still keep,  
Deprived of thee, how I do live forlorn,  
All night I sigh, all day I wail and weep,  
As one that hath all pleasures quite forsworn:  
Thus (careful I) do care for careless thee,  
Whilst wretchles thou, mak'st no account of me.   

Knewst thou what 'twere to Love, and what to hate,  
I know with Malice thine thou wouldst dispense,  
And wouldst enhance my Bale to blissful state,  
And Love with Love, not Rigour recompense;  
Ah 'gainst me do not thou thy wrath incite,  
Monstrous it is, Love to repay●e with spite.   

Be gracious then, though I have graceless been,  
Let Favour thine, above my Merit show,  
Against the Tide, why shouldst thou always swim;  
And as a froward Tortoise backward go?  
Not Night, but Light give me with those fair Eyes,  
Fierce Serpents (not mild Doves) enuenomise.   

To thee (Dear Fair) that makest me far amiss,  
To thee my Goddess I my prayers make,  
And prostrate fall before thy Shrine of Bliss,  
Craving of thee, that them in worth thou take,  
Whilst I to thee my heart in humble wise,  
Upon thy beauteous Altar sacrifice.   

Peruse with kindness this my sad complaint,  
Since I with patience do abide the pain,  
And but thy willing ear herewith acquaint,  
So thy remembrance not forget the same:  
Thy heart 'gainst me, not still induratize,  
But my sad thoughts in me retranquillize.   

I will not leave, until I leave to love,  
(And leave to love, I will not till I die)  
But thy hard flinty Breast, I'll somewhat move,  
To moan my Grief, the cause I always cry.  
Cry will I to thee till my Voice be hoarse,  
And never leave thee till thou take remorse.   

From thy fair eyes, the suns Pr●cursors bright,  
This fire hath sprung, which all my parts doth burn,  
No Art-Enammeld lines that I do write,  
No prays nor prayers, to Mercy th●e ●an turn:  
Yet come the worst, the Age (to come) shall say,  
I bore the prize for Constancy away.  
Burnham.   

Now earthly Goddess have thou some regard  
To me thy servant, craving what is just,  
Though long at last, yield to me some reward,  
Since I rely on thee, and wholly trust.  
Think on the penance sore I do endure,  
Which to my Soul, thine Absence doth procure.   

Support my feeble Thoughts, that scarce can move,  
For thou wert wont, such, better to commend,  
Who would persist more loyal in their Love,  
And persevere unto the latest end,  
Then those, who when loves course they 'gan to run,  
Would give it over, before half way were done.   

I cannot do so, for my longing heart,  
Is knit in thine, in such perfection strange,  
That Death these twain in sunder cannot part,  
Nor length of Time, nor Places distance change:  
Thy Beauteous Virtue, Virtuous Beauty ti●,  
That makes me joy in noy, take Bale for bliss.   

Ah where art thou kind Friendship that of yore,  
Still with thy cheerful smile, didst comfort me?  
And sweetly wouldst with me my state deplore,  
When heavy, sad, and grieved thou didst me see?  
Ah where are those Alcinoi days as now?  
I Metamorphosed am, I know not how.   

Clear shines the Son, yet shines it not on me,  
Fair is the Morn, yet darkened is my Light,  
Others the Spring, I Fall of leaf do see,  
Whilst I enjoy no Day, but gloomy Night;  
Thou art the cause (sweet ALBA for thy Love,  
In absence thine) these bitter-Brunts I prove.   

Whilst thou like Princess entertained art,  
By thy kind Tenants in most duteous wise,  
Seeking to show the zeal of their pure heart,  
By all the pleasing means they can devise.  
Striving who shall thee better entertain,  
(Signs of thy welcome home to them again.)   

I here am left alone, all post alone,  
As LOVES true Pledge, that lies for Faith to Pawn,  
Only to wait thy parture and to moan,  
Whilst my Conceits on sorrows Tent are drawn,  
Like to the Bird, on solitary branch,  
Wailing his Mates sour loss through hard mischance.   

Then lovely thou my Hearts dear Treasurer,  
Let me obtain this Favour at thy Grace,  
That tho● delay no longer nor defer,  
But deign me once more, see thy heavenly face.  
Else here I vow, (if so thou come not soon)  
Me, shalt thou not see, thou shalt see my Foome.   

Now that my weary spirits do run their race,  
To those transplendent Lamps of ALBA fair:  
And gazing there (in vain) do plead for grace,  
Leaving their ancient lodging nakte and bare.  
She as their Foe stands on her Bravery,  
And passage to their Entrance doth deny.   

They finding shut fast close mild Pity's gate,  
And seeing in what danger I remain,  
With haste return from whence they came of late,  
Retiring to their wont Home again,  
Where they repose, of Hope quite dispossessed,  
And there with Fear and Care together rest.   

Disdain those eyes spoils, that before were bright,  
And fierce Desire, that to revenge hath mind  
Increaseth still in heart to work me spite,  
Devising how to make her more unkind:  
The or●, the bellows unto Fury blows,  
The other, Slave to wrathful Anger shows.   

But though to me she seems as pitiless,  
Seeking my Death, without cause to conspire:  
Yet wi●● I bear with all wrongs near the less,  
Resolved to bide the utmost of her Ire:  
Against her wrath I'll true and Humble be,  
For Faith's my Fence, my Shield's, Humility.   

Poor Meleager being in disdain,  
With furious Altea (cruel mother his)  
She flung his fatal Brand in fiery flame,  
Long time kept by her, (as her chiefest bliss)  
So as through fire it did (consumed) decay,  
His wretched life did piece-meal waste away.   

Altea, mine ALBA is, Meleager, I,  
The fatal Brand where bides my life, her Love:  
No longer than she keeps this happily  
For me, no longer may my spirits move,  
Long time Affection kept it, but as now,  
She flings it in the flame with angry brow.   

Anger's the Fire, Suspect kindles the Flame,  
Conceit's the Bellowss, wherewith she doth blow:  
Haste was the hand which fling it in the same,  
The Coals, Unkindness, that did burn it so.  
Ah, but one drop of Water of her Grace,  
If so I had, 'twould quenched be in small space.   

Thus do I burn, and burning breath my last,  
And breathing last, to nought consume away:  
Like to that Lamp whose Oil when it doth waste,  
By lesser light, and lesser doth decay.  
Yet in this Fire I cry still for to move her,  
Ah pi●ie me th'unhappiest loyal Lover.   

Thou solitary Mountain, Mount of Moon,  
Pleasing to me, mine only solace chief,  
How like are we? we two seem but as One,  
Since thou showst sad, and I still, to have Grief,  
Thou with wild savage Woods art compassed round,  
And in my Breast sharp austere Thoughts are found.   

The huger Hill in bigness thou dost show,  
The more, (All) thee uncouth and savage deem:  
The more that I in years in Love do grow,  
The more deformed Creature I do seem.  
Water from thee, from every side doth come,  
And tears from out mine eyes as Fountains run.   

Thou dost abide the blustering furious wind,  
The pain of scalding sighs perforce I feel:  
Tempests and storms, to thee are oft unkind,  
But worse to me is ALBA'S heart of steel:  
Tho●●rooken art by Ioues sire from above,  
And I am blasted with Lightning of love.   

Thou wantest Fruit, and I am without heart,  
Only in this my Griefs do thine exceed,  
That where as thou insensible still art,  
I (living) feel too well the Brunt indeed.  
Yet wert thou worse I like in thee to stay,  
Since that my Pearl, mine ALBA's gone her way:   

O that I might my Griefs set down at large,  
And to the world make known mine Injury:  
But I not dare, the Cruel gives in charge  
Them to keep close, and This bear patiently:  
Being so grievous, as but part to know,  
Would make the flintiest heart to split for woe.   

Besides, if I my Crosses should reveal,  
They would renew my sorrows fresh again:  
Therefore I vowed have them to conceal,  
The more to feel the depth of lasting Pain:  
Reaping not only discontent hereby,  
●ut all Despair of future remedy.   

How secret have I been, this seven whole year,  
That scarce I have not yet, nor yet scarce dare  
To tell her Name, I so much still do fear,  
To purchase th' anger of this ●dainfull FAIR▪  
How Faithful, that have offered her to plea●e,  
To die for her? so ought I might her ease.   

But what avails all this? for all my grief,  
I cannot hope she ever will be kind:  
When she was present I near found relief,  
And (in her absence) think you she'll me mind?  
O no, as likely ●is, she'll pity me,  
As I am like (unlikely) her to see.   

●o great a grief did never pierce the heart,  
Of any loving Mother over kind,  
When she her only son ready to part,  
Doth see to foreign Country 'gainst her mind,  
Losing the staff of her old Age and stay,  
On whom the Hope of all her Comfort lay;   

As woeful I, when I those lovely Eyes  
Saw to look back, which I should see no more  
Of many days, and when in piteous wise,  
They showed by signs Our parting grieved them sore.  
Ah when her last look back on me she cast,  
Then, then, I thought I should have breathed my last.   

Yet for my Heart's sake did my spirit's revive,  
And life once more recovered they again,  
Whilst staring after her I kept alive,  
And thought that I (not seeing her) saw her plain,  
Long t●me my Powers were got into my sight,  
Deluding me with pleasing false Delight.   

But now that her rare Beauty lives else where,  
I'll wail with tears her Absence, (my Disgrace)  
With weeping I my sight away will wear,  
Which scorns to look on any but that Face.  
Eyes be Recluses, you can weep no more,  
And (heart) since She is gone, weep bloody gore.   

Ye Hoary Hills and Icy waters cold,  
If what fresh April gives; sharp Iani●●ere  
To take away from you himself shows bold:  
Yet quickly doth the Sun with pleasing cheer,  
Restore to you your Liuerie● green again,  
And flowering Banks longest which you stream a●●ain.   

But now to me, from whom mine ALBA fair,  
Still hides herself, all Hope is withered quite:  
Nor will she show herself, to ease my Care,  
For my young Plant an envious frost doth bite,  
Since that same heart that gentle was of yore,  
Hardening itself 'gainst me, still swelleth more.   

Nature (you) governs, but Love rules o'er me;  
Nature is loving as a Mother kind,  
Love, worse than cruel Stepdame is to see,  
And to my loss ('gainst conscience) doth me bind,  
Taking from me mine ancient Privilege  
Whereby I live, my days for to abridge.   

Then happy Hills you shall be green again,  
And blessed Springs your Courses you shall hold:  
But if that she revive not that hath slain,  
I soon shall die, Conceit is grown so cold,  
Lest her warm Sun glide hither it to thaw,  
My freezing heart no more his breath shall draw.   

How long shall I knock at that Iron Gate,  
Of thy hard heart, for mercy? (but in vain?)  
How long my Griefs to thy deaf ears relate,  
And reap nought else but travel for my pain?  
Yet still I'll hope, since Acorns, Oaks become,  
And tynie drops prove Floods that streaming run.   

Thy f●ce is fair, yield Favour then to me;  
Thy heart is flesh, not bone, then gently show;  
Ah let thy Love with thy sweet Cheer agree;  
And to atonement we shall quickly grow:  
My Love which is to thee more than extreme,  
Requite not with a fortune, over mean.   

If thou shouldst be Unfaithful in thy Love,  
Where should I fly for succour, or for Truth?  
If th'owlt not hear my suit, whom should I move?  
If thou be Cruel, who will then show Ruth?  
If thou ●eceit shalt use, 'twill likely be,  
Others dispense will with deep'st subtlety.   

More trial than thoust had thou canst not have;  
(How oft) my secret Heart's depth wilt thou sound?  
Wilt thou my blood spill when thou mayst it save?  
When thou mayst heal my Grief, still wilt thou wound?  
Ah do not (Surgeon like) Anatomise,  
Each mu●●le of my grief in cruel wise,   

Sick in my loathed Bed I languish fast,  
Nor can my learned Doctor help me aught,  
His cunning now is at the latest cast,  
Yet he no ease to crazed me hath brought.  
And marvel none though he no help can find,  
Sick am I not in Body, but in mind.   

My heart each hour doth worse and worse prove,  
And my Disease increaseth more and more,  
Because he wants her sight whom I do love:  
Nor can I have a salve for this my sore,  
Less so much labour, LOVE for me doth take,  
As my Physician, ALBA fair to make.   

Sick is my soul, my Body languisheth,  
Th'one's far f●om health, the other's nothing nigh:  
So as I doubtful l●ue, scarce drawing breath,  
Twixt fear and hope in this extremity.  
A strange Consumption hath me wasted l●ng,  
And for a Pearl restorative I long.   

This for me, than all Physic is most sure,  
Or else I doubt I never shall be whole:  
For whilst that Nature would my Body cure,  
Love pestilenzing) doth infect my soul.  
Then ALBA show now if thou beest Divine,  
Raise Dead to life, for now, or near 'tis time.   

Why should I love, when I am loathed still?  
And praise her still, who seeks me to dispraise?  
Why should grave reason yield to headstrong will,  
My Griefs the more to multiply and raise.  
I do commit Idolatry extreme  
With her, whom I should rather right blaspheme.   

Fire if it warm not, for no Fire we deem,  
The Sun, no Sun we count, except it shine,  
Water, no water, bu● it were do seem,  
Virtue, no Virtue, lest it show some sign;  
No Woman is she, that's not pitiful,  
Rather Pri●es Spawn, a nice disdainful Trull.   

Have I transgressed the Bounds of Modesty?  
Whispering undecent speeches in her Ear,  
Or have I (ere) assailed her Chastity,  
And sought the spoil thereof away to bear?  
If I have ●●●mde myself in such gross wise,  
Why then she reason hath me to despise.   

●h, no, fat be it from my harmless Thought,  
●uch base unseemly tricks to her to move,  
● matter small it was (God knows) I sought,  
Only to be Receiver to her love.  
No scandal 'tis, 'tis no Disparagement,  
Service t'acc●pt, where nought but Honours meant.   

Feign would I take of quiet sleep the Say,  
My wearied Corpse with ease for to delight,  
But I no wished rest can find by Day,  
Nor slumber sweetly in my bed by Night.  
No rest I wretched man as yet can take,  
My woes are such, as force me still to wake.   

My Truth is measured by my Fortune hard,  
And (I poor soul) Unfaithful judged am,  
Because I seem Unhappy; and am bard  
Fron all good Chance: ('Gainst right) I bear the blame,  
But willingly; (since she doth will) I shall,  
Whose Absence turns my Honey into Gaul.   

Yet feign I slumber would, though but a while;  
But if I cannot with that Food be fed,  
I will embrace (the time for to beguile)  
Such golden Thoughts as are within my head.  
Golden indeed, Gold Thoughts of s●●h a one,  
As I prefer fore Gold, though she a Stone.   

But sleep, or die, Then, die, thou canst not sleep,  
For thee to sleep it is impossibell,  
To think what's past, broad waking will thee keep●●  
Which thou must still conceal, not any tell.  
My comfort's this, that waking as I die,  
I see my Love in Thought, though not with eye.   

Pure Iu●rie, white with spot of Crimson red,  
Where Beauties First Borne lay the perfect Mould,  
Or like Aurora rising from her Bed,  
Such was mine ALBA fair for to behold.  
Such was She, when She lovely LOVE over came,  
The Conqueror's Glory, Conquereds' Pleasing Shame.   

But now that Cull●r fair hath changed his grace,  
Through Burning Fever, (deadly in his kind)  
And Sallow Paleness stained hath that Face,  
To whom the Prize for Favour was assigned,  
Sick is my Lady, sick is all Delight,  
And brightest Day is turned to darkest Night.   

Fortune hath stolen from ALBA, took from LOVE,  
From him she takes his, Solace, Sport and Play;  
From Her her Beauty which she would improve,  
And to herself, would (falsely) it convey.  
Being Pitiful she Cruel seems to be,  
And in her blindness showeth ●hat she can see:   

False Fortune dark as Mo●●● in any Good,  
●ut to do Hurt, as Argus, full of Eyes,  
●n outward show, a Tiger fierce and wood:  
●nd yet to me she's Kind in piteous wise.  
Since She, by drawing Beauty from that place,  
Quenched hath my Fire, to ease me for a space.   

My Heart upon his Deathbed, sick, did lie,  
Calling upon proud ALBA but in vain;  
Too Cruel she, (for pity) it did cry,  
Yet had Repulse through Rigour of Disdain.  
So as to live thus (long) it could not bide,  
But soon gave up the Ghost, and so he died.   

Then to the Chapel of bad Fortun● hard,  
By smoking sighs it quickly was conveyed,  
A place for these sad Funerals prepared,  
Where in a Tomb of Loyalty 'twas laid.  
Anger, Suspect, Grief, Sorrow, Care, and Fear,  
With dismal Doubts, the chiefest Mourners were.   

About the Hierce, great store of Tears were shed,  
The Torches that did burn so clear and bright,  
Were ALBA'S eyes by Cruelty misled,  
Whilst she triumphed to see so woeful sight.  
Pity the Dirge did sing with woeful Pl●●●,  
Assisted with a black and dismal Saunt.   

Upon the Monument yplac●d was,  
Fire, Sword, and Cord, with Arrows sharp & keen●●  
The Epitaph (for such as by should pass)  
Was thus subscribed, an carved to be seen.  
Lo here that gentle heart entombed doth lie,  
Whom cruel ALBA causeless, forced to die.   

Poor Soul, in covert joy, thy Care fauns rest,  
Wear Willow in thy Hat, bay in thy heart,  
Gold when it bubbleth least, then boils it best,  
Water runs smoothest in the deepest part.  
By thy great wariness let it be seen,  
Not what thou now art, but what thou hast been.   

The greatest comfort (as a lovers dew)  
Is, of his Mistress Secrets, much to know,  
Yet no less labour for him (being True)  
Than nought to say, nor ought thereof to show,  
Of men we learn to speak, things to reveal,  
Of Gods, silent to be, and to conceal.   

Yet sweete's the Beauty of mine ALBA fair:  
What blabst thou it? yea blab it willingly,  
Bees that do die with honey, buried are,  
With dulcet notes, and heavenly Harmony;  
And they that dying, do Beauty still commend,  
Shall be with kindness honoured in the end.   

Then hope thou well, and have well (as they say)  
Long have I hoped, but Hoping is in vain,  
Hope with Allusions, dallying doth me pay,  
Yet but for Hope, the heart would break in twain.  
Ah MELT my heart, would Melted once thou were,  
Thou shouldst not then have cause so much to fear.   

The Fall of Leaf, the Spring tide of my Love,  
Flowering a fresh with Hope I found to be:  
But now (alas) the Spring time for to prove,  
Fall of the Leaf of my lost Love I see.  
The Carnovale of my sweet LOVE is past,  
Now comes the Lent of my long Hate at last.   

LOVE is revolted, whilst he (Traitor like)  
Against his prince ('gainst me his Sovereign)  
Weapons unjust (sans cause) takes up to fight,  
And doth his fealty and his Homage stain.  
He is revolted and mine ALBA's fled,  
I seem alive here, yet in deed am dead.   

In vain I wish for what I cannot have,  
And seek with grief to aggravate my Moon:  
What is to me denied, that still I crave,  
Galling myself with fond Conceits alone:  
Yet I forgive her, little knoweth she,  
That she her own heart wounds, when she ●ils me.   

Mean time in uncouth Sorrows secret Cell,  
My hapless Fortune hard I will digest,  
Hating all joy, I private there will dwell,  
Because I of my wish am dispossessed.  
Like petrarch chaste of Laura coy I plain,  
Of whom I (never yet) could Favour gain.   

How long shall I importune thee with Cries,  
And press thee for some Grace (barred flinty Dame?)  
How long my suit deplore in piteous wise,  
And yet be frustrate of that I complain?  
Urge me with aught if so thou canst of Ill,  
Do but object, and answer thee I will.   

Cite me at LOVES great Audit to appear,  
And if a just account I give not thee  
Of all my Life, since Loyal I did swear  
Unto thy Cruel self, cashier thou me:  
But if I true have been and dealt upright,  
Thou dost me wrong to set by me so light.   

More than high time 'tis for thee to relent,  
My sorrows flows above their wont Bound,  
And well nigh break my heart where they art penned,  
(For so great Force) a too too slender ground.  
Then 〈◊〉 supplant not from my wished rest,  
But do abjure harsh Rigour from thy breast.   

Affect me (not inflict on me) fresh woe  
Thy Love, my service merits, not thy Hate,  
My loyal heart to thee, didst thou but know,  
Thou wouldst not thus revenge, but rue my state:  
Nor am I over bold in what I crave,  
Pity (not Favour) I desire to have.   

TAWNY and BLACK, my Courtly Colours be,  
Tawny, (because forsook I am) I wear:  
Black, (since mine ALBA'S Love is dead to me,  
Yet liveth in another) I do bear.  
Then welcome TAWNY, since I am forsaken,  
And come dear BLACK, since my love's from me taken.   

The princelike Eagles' never smit with Thunder,  
Nor th'olive tree with Lightning blasted shows:  
No mar●●●l●●hen it is to me, or wonder,  
Tho●gh my ●oy Dame, in Love to me hard grows:  
More deaf to me she is then senseless stock,  
Her heart's obdurate like the hardened rock.   

But what mean I thus without Reason prate?  
I am no more forsaken than I was:  
My love's no more dead than it was of late;  
For yet mine ALBA near for me did pass:  
My love's not dead, she never me forsooth,  
For ALBA (near yet) me in favour took.   

As many Favours have I as before:  
For since I her (first) loved, she me disdained,  
And still doth so, still wounding me the more,  
As in despair I have ere since remained:  
Yet I in BLACK and TAWNY Weeds will go,  
Because Forsook, and dead I am with woe.   

LOVES LABOUR LOST, I once did see a Play,  
Cleped so, so called to my pain,  
Which I to hear to my small joy did stay,  
Giving attendance on my froward Dame,  
My misgiving mind presaging to me Ill,  
Yet was I drawn to see it 'gainst my Will.   

This Play no Play, but Plague was unto me,  
For there I lost the Love I liked most:  
And what to others seemed a left to be,  
I, that (in earnest) found unto my cost.  
To every one (save me) 'twas Comical,  
Whilst Tragic like to me it did befall.   

Each Actor played in cunning wise his part,  
But chief Those entrapped in Cupid's snare:  
Yet All was feigned, 'twas not from the heart,  
They seemed to grieve, but yet they felt no care:  
'twas I ●hat Grief (indeed) did bear in breast,  
The others did but make a show in jest.   

Yet neither feigning theirs, nor my mere Truth,  
Can make her once so much as for to smile:  
Whilst she (despite of pity mild and ruth)  
Did sit as scorning of my Woes the while.  
Thus did she sit to see LOVE lose his LOVE,  
Like hardened Rock that force nor power can move.   

My life's Catastrophe is at an end,  
The Staff whereon my sickly Love did lean,  
And which from falling (still) did him defend,  
Is through mischance in sunder broken clean,  
Gone is my Mediatrix, my best Advocate,  
Who used for me to intercessionate.   

Ah that my Love cannot aright be weighed  
In Balance just, as merits due desert,  
But must with Hate (for her Goodwill be paid)  
Whereof Th'exchequer is mine ALBA'S heart:  
The sapphire cut with his own dust may be,  
Mine own pure Faith, in Love confoundeth me.   

O be not still unto me (thus) severe,  
But rather Simplest mild in sickness mine:  
Honey with Gaul, Oil mix with Vinegar,  
With frowns, blithe smiles, some sweet with sour of thine,  
Give me (to comfort mine) a Lenative,  
But not t'increase my Pain, sharp Corasiue.   

Canst thou endure that as a Ghost or Spirit,  
I still should haunt thee with my irksome cries?  
Ah yet at last unto thyself be like,  
Some pity show from out those murdering eyes.  
If th'owlt not grant my suit, nor loving be,  
At least, yet in my Grief, do flatter me.   

Dear Parlour, (loving lodging unto me)  
Mine only Walk and Garden of Delight,  
Ah who hath took thy Beauty now from thee?  
And rest from me what most did please my sight?  
Ah if our wont Sun do not return,  
(As absent Her) so, me, (dead) shalt thou mourn.   

My heart that scarce his fainting breath draws hard,  
Demandeth still his tribute of mine eyes,  
Needs must I say a too too small reward,  
Whilst he his Master's sorrows o'ermuch tries.  
(Poor heart) thy Master wrongs thee I confess,  
Yet cannot he amend it near the less.   

I bear my part with thee in this sad moan,  
In this sad Choir where doleful Notes I sing:  
For not to any but to me alone,  
This Roomth as uncouth seems and grief doth bring,  
Yet sin●● she here did use her walk to make,  
These naked Walls I'll honour for her sake.   

Ah Quondam Temple of my Goddess fair,  
Great reason have I thee for to adore:  
Thy Boards and Windows I do hold as rare,  
Since thou hast entertained her heretofore,  
Though Saint be gone, and nought be left but Shrine,  
Yet for her Love I'll hold thee as Divine.   

Shall these same Eyes, but now no Eyes at all,  
Rain Tears still thus? and shall this my poor heart  
In vain upon a flinty Corpse still call  
For mercy, who no Mercy will impart?  
Shall this my Tongue now hoarse, with (Pity) crying,  
Near find relief, but still a Voice denying?   

Ah partial LOVE! Ah, World unmeet for men!  
Ah manners fit for savage Beasts to loath!  
Ah wicked Fortune thus dost quit me then!  
Because thou seest myself with Love I clothe,  
Another shall despoil me and vnbare?  
Is this reward for faith vowed to the FAIR?   

Sweet meat sour sauce deserves, I must confess,  
But pure Love, should near purchase Hate in right:  
By Ones Disdain, which is remediless,  
I live to like (unloved) to work my spite.  
Wretched's that Wight, but faithful Pat●●ne rare,  
That doth through Love, Death to himself prepare.   

Now by these brinish tears that outwardly  
Distill from weeping eyes, like showers of rain:  
And by those drops of blood unseen of eye,  
Which inwardly from heart stream down amain:  
And by what else I have; All which, is Thine,  
Begin to love, else end this life of mine.   

Ah ALBA fair, ah me unfortunate!  
Ah that my Birth's so low, my Thoughts so his,  
My due Desires so great, so poor my state,  
As not to joy my Right, deservingly!  
How might I please thee, thee for to possess?  
With how gteat will would I myself address?   

Will Labours patiented of Extremities,  
Obtain the favour of thy long sought Love?  
I will attempt, if so thou but devise,  
Monsters to tame, and Mountains to remove:  
Alcides like, all things I will subdue,  
So I may find thee gracious when I sue.   

Dost thou ●he passions of deep Love desire?  
The sad despairing mood of perplexed mind,  
The near expressed through hidden torments) Fire  
Of racked Thoughts? dost covet this to find?  
Mark 〈◊〉 deep sighs, my hollow eyes, salt tears,  
My broken sleeps, my heavy countenance bears.   

Wouldst thou I to thy Beauty vowed should be●▪  
And in thy service spend my long life's time?  
Remember then my solitary life for thee,  
This seven whole years (a Prenticeship of mine)  
'tis true (thou know'st) where ere thou (now) remain,  
Then be appeased, and pleased to ease my pain.   

Say then fair ALBA, fair, yet full of spite,  
What have I done that thou shouldst me undo?  
Holding thee Dear, why setst 〈◊〉 me so light?  
Why silent art thou when to thee I sue?  
The more Submissive I, and Humble am,  
Why 'gainst me dost thyself still sdainfull frame?   

Whom have I but mine own Thoughts entertained,  
And thy rare Virtues and what company  
But Contemplation, hath with me remained?  
And whom have I still wondered at but thee?  
Whom have I not contemned for thee, since time  
I first beheld that matchless shape of thine?   

Have I not crept to some, not trod with feet  
On them, cause thou to favour them I saw?  
Have not all Injuries to me been sweet?  
If thou didst will me bear them, 'twas a Law,  
Have I not spent my golden years with I open?  
Seeking nought but thy Love (my Wishes scope.)   

Yet in the midst of these distempered Thoughts,  
Thou art not only jealous of my Truth,  
But mak'st account of me, far worse than Noughts,  
Nor dost by Message yield me any Ruth:  
My Love unspotted, cannot be accepted,  
My Truth (O strange) vnspeakable's, rejected.   

Like to this Sea, LOVE hath me fashioned right,  
He full of water, I replete with woe:  
He boils and bubbleth up in open sight,  
I fret and rage where ere I (wandering) go:  
He flows, and 'bove his banks the surges rise,  
(From me) salted tears gush forth in streaming wise.   

He water wants not, nor my Griefs decrease;  
Thousands of quicksands hath he all about,  
I, thousand cares that on my heart do seize:  
His waves are cut in twain, my heart, throughout.  
The whistling reeds about his banks do sound,  
Sorrow in me is of my song the ground.   

Both winds and rain upon him (daily) fall,  
I still, distill salt showers and sighs amain:  
By tempests, oft his Channels broke are all,  
My Bowels cloven be with continual pain:  
His bottom none can well perceive or see,  
My Torments without depth sans sounding be.   

Only we differ thus, he still doth bide  
Here, swallowing them that pass alongst this place,  
I vade away, and (Cruel Homicide)  
Murder I do myself in piteous case.  
Who then can rid me (Notamie of Woe)  
From these hell plagues? None, but my Cruel Foe.   

ALBA I have not lived over long,  
Yet have I hollow eyes, and hairs half grey:  
My years not many, for I am but young,  
Though wrinkled be my cheeks and limbs decay.  
But is this Destiny, or if't pure Deceit?  
That hath on me (thus) wrought this cunning fea●?   

if'ft be the first, why then none could prevent  
My wretched Stars to scape this misery?  
if'ft be the latter that such ill me meant,  
I needs must think it was mine Enemy:  
It was (indeed), thyself it was (Fair Witch)  
That with thy beauty wrought me to be sich.   

Thou art too Fair (I see) for to be true,  
And too too False for one that is so Fair:  
Yet for my wrongs thou seemest not to rue,  
Nor for my Crosses ought at All dost care:  
And yet my love's more fervent still towards thee,  
My sparks grown flames, my cinders bonfires be.   

Only I grieve my days are at an end,  
Before I can of thee any favour gain:  
And which is worse, I likely am to spend  
All the Remainder, yet no Grace obtain.  
Unhappy Pilgrim I, borne still to evil,  
To shrine her for a Saint, who is a Devil.   

When Beauty sickeneth, than Desire doth die,  
favour doth vade most flowering in his prime,  
Then LOVE doth ebb, when flows Adversity,  
But Friendship bides out every stormy Time.  
Ah ALBA I not doted have on thee,  
But loved thee dear, as dear, as dear might be.   

Affection, (always) either grounded is  
On Virtue; (and Virtue near peevish showe●)  
Or else on Beauty; (counted chiefest bliss)  
And Beauty praised, (through Love) more fairer grows:  
I never Perverse was, nor Sullen yet,  
But praised thy Beauty to mine utmost wit.   

To thee, I, both a Friend and Lover am,  
Yet every Lover is no Constant Friend,  
But who a Friend in Nature is and Name,  
As Lover true gins, and true doth end:  
Thy trues● Friend am I, more than another,  
And unto thee the faithfullest loyalst Lover.   

Virtue (in me) Affection shall subdue,  
Wisdom, all Lust, my Friendship sweetest Beauty,  
I'll not be fickle, false, but constant, true,  
Serving thee still, with all respect of Duty;  
And when I shall be buried, dead and gone,  
My Ghost shall (as thy Slave) thee tend upon.   

Ah Speak then, shall these Torments I endure,  
Of Bloody Thoughts, and near expressed pain  
Never remorse of stubborn thee procure?  
And shall they breed (still) my eternal bane?  
Yet grant me, things impossible to wish,  
To feed Conceit, since that no hurt it is.   

Then shalt thou see (through this I hold so dear)  
I'll long my life prolong, and Spiri●s spend,  
And to myself that Creature none may hear,  
I'll softly call it Love, till life shall end.  
And if what I, thus whisper Any urge,  
I'll name it Honour, so myself to purge.   

May I but this sweet Contemplation hold,  
I then shall live of All men most content,  
Taking more pleasure in my Thoughts though old,  
Then ere I did in youthly Actions spent.  
Grant me this ●race, (to thee 'tis matter small)  
And all my Crosses I'll sweet Blessings call.   

Ah that tho'wldst deign, this might be christened Love,  
That Favour (as rewards for it might be,  
But I do fear, I shall thee too much move,  
This over boldness (Dearest) pardon me.  
And l●t me hope one day some gentle power,  
May turn to Sweet, this my most bitter Sower.   

Time was and is, and ever shall be still,  
That I to honour thee will n●uer spare,  
But for to call it Love or Pure Goodwill,  
I never durst, although I seemed to dare,  
Then suffer me, to follow this my vain,  
Flatte●ing myself, although I nothing gain.   

None pleased hath mine eyes, but ALBA bright,  
None but sweet ALBA doth possess my Ha●t,  
Mine ears in ALBA, only take delight,  
And ●his my Soul, from ALBA near shall part.  
To follow th●e, all Fortunes I'll forsake,  
And unto thee alone, myself betake.   

The God● have set such difference twixt our slate,  
That all must be, pure duty, Reverence;  
Nothing I must ter●e LOVE (such is my Fate,)  
Except thou deign, therewith fo● to dispense.  
And since I know that so th●u dost command,  
I condescend will to it out of hand.   

Yet my Unspotted Thoughts my pining Corpse,  
My Discontented Life, let them obtain  
One blessed Favour throu●h thy kind remorse,  
Though they not merit least part of the same.  
So I with joy shall end my weary days,  
And dying, sound abroad thy near dying Praise.   

The Conclusion of the last Part.  

IF Virtuous Love be Honour and no Shame,  
Let no man (causeless) seek my chaste Desire,  
To bridle in with base conceited rain,  
Since Virtue kindled in my breast this fire:  
The Wise (I hope) will no Exceptions take,  
Nor 'Gainst my Love, nor 'gainst these Toys I make,   

For by the Dial of Discretion sound,  
Mine Actions all ●nd Carriage I direct,  
And fearful am I, lest I should be found,  
T'have done amiss, in any due respect.  
(LADY) I hope no live is here set down,  
Sans awful looking back unto your frown.   

No Worthless Thought doth lodge within my breast,  
Since (as my Guides) I follow thy fair Eyes,  
Sparks of true Virtue in me now d●e rest,  
Infused by those beams in wondrous wise,  
Those with an uncouth Flame set me on fire,  
The rightest paths of HONOUR to aspire.   

By these conducted to Eternal joy,  
I hope fo● to be lifted up toth' Sky,  
From all Disgrace, from trouble and annoy,  
Where, (of myself) I near d●●●mount so high.  
Be gracious then (Sweet Goddess) of my Thought,  
For thy power 'tis, doth make me soar aloft.   
Il Disgratiato. R. T. G.    

CERTAIN DIVINE POEMS, WRITTEN BY THE foresaid Author R.T. Gentleman.  
●mprinted at London by F. K. for Matthew Lownes.   

Deo, Optimo, Maximo.  

WIth Tears in Eyes, with drops of Blood from heart,  
With scalding sighs from inward grieved Soul,  
A CONVERTITE, from Vain LOVE now I part,  
Whilst, for my Sins, fore Heaven I do condole.  
I know, and knowledge I have lived wrong,  
And wilful sought mine own Destruction long.   

The Temple of my Heavenly GOD I have,  
For earthly Goddess, stained blasphemously,  
Selling myself to Satan for his Slave,  
Whilst I transgressed in vile Apostasy.  
Banished myself I have from Paradise,  
Through thriftless Toys of base-born Vanities.   

O thou that on swift Cherubins dost ride,  
Creator of all Creatures that do live,  
Whose Love was such as thou for Man hast died,  
Though he thee hated, scorned, and did grieve:  
Vouchsafe to view and rue my desperate state,  
And me once more from sin regenerate.   

Ah look upon me with mild Mercies eye,  
Cleanse me with purest Water of thy Grace:  
Remember not how I have gone awry,  
Since I renounce to run more such a Race.  
Ah glorious Spouse, thy Beauty I desire,  
For now to Heaven, not Earth, my Thoughts aspire.   

Grief, that was once far off removed from me,  
Gins (as now) for to approach me near,  
Clad in his Weeds, which Black and fearful be,  
And crowned with fatal Cypress doth appear,  
With wring Hands he doth bewail my ruth,  
And mourns, that I have strayed so wide from Truth.   

Reason the Cochman to my wandering Thought,  
As in a Crystal glass, doth show most plain  
My gazing eyes, how I have fond wrought,  
Spending my Time in Toys, and Fancies vain,  
He showeth me now another Novel LOVE,  
Another path, wherein my feet to move.   

As One, who in his Travail doth espy,  
(By chance) a hideous Serpent or foul Snake,  
That long before unseen did closely lie  
Behind some stub, where he his Nest did make,  
(Shaking his three-forkt hissing tongue apace)  
Quickly himself retireth from that place:   

So I by loving wrong (unhappy Wight)  
Having amiss strayed long time, and awry,  
When I (at last) of Death had but a sight,  
(Although far off) yet backward, 'gan I hie:  
Backward I came, with hasty speedy foot,  
Leaving that Course, which I at first had took.   

Thou windering Spirit, to whom jove doth commit  
(Of this my Body frail) the government:  
Why, gadding thus from Truth so far dost flit?  
Why, are thine eyes with wilful blindness penned?  
Why, dost not mark what Danger is at hand?  
What damned Death doth at thine elbow stand?   

Ah, be not flattered with this poisonous LOVE,  
But call thy former Wits to thee again:  
Those wicked Thoughts root out, and hence remove,  
Whilst Life in thee to do it doth remain,  
What Mortal is, by mortal Death suppress,  
Thy Gain shall be the more, thy Loss the less.   

Heaven once thy Mansion was, and dwelling place,  
Now Hell thou seek'st by running thus astray,  
Unhappy Soul to be in such a case,  
So wilfully to seek thine own Decay:  
Thou woundst thy self, to God a Rebel thou'rt,  
And only strivest to please the World in Hart.   

Alas, in whom now dost thou put thy trust?  
On whom dost thou rely, or hope on now?  
Ah turn, and (still) live shalt thou with the Just,  
Ah turn again, and treble blessed thou:  
Thou, then shalt be, whereas the Blessed are,  
Pure Soul▪ 'mongst Souls▪ 'mongst Stars, a brightsome Star.   

What's God? The Source of Goodness and the Sprin●▪  
What is that Goodness? Such a Goodness sound  
As aye increaseth without perishing.  
How is it made? In frame and fashion Round,  
Like to a Form that in it doth contain,  
His End and his Beginning in the same.   

This Goodness, (first) from whence did it proceed▪  
Three proper Veins there be, that forth do run  
Out of one sacred Sea, from Heaven decreed,  
Which co●passe doth, All, what so ere sees Sun.  
Cannot we see it? This ESSENCE most Divine.  
No Mortal Man hath seen at any time.   

How can it then be, if it near be seen,  
That i● our minds (oft lifteth up on High,  
As if (in Vision we in Heaven had been?  
It makes us view such Wonders with Faith's eye,  
With, Faith● clear eye which shines to us so bright,  
As unto Heaven it is our Guide and Light.   

What is that Faith? A Gift, which if Defect  
In him, that firm believeth, be not found,  
It blindfold leads him (yet with steps direct)  
Unto that place, where perfect joys abound,  
Where God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,  
Do reign in Glory great, of Mightiest most.   

Thou LIFE which Life art called, and yet art Death,  
Thou DEATH, which Death art termed, and yet art Life,  
Say; which of you maintain my v●tall breath,  
Within thi● wretched Vale of Worldly strife?  
Say, which prolongs my Life, most of you Twain?  
Or thou LIFE, or thou DEATH: say both the same.   

I (more than LIFE) strait DEATH doth answer make.  
Nay, I (quoth LIFE) far more than DEATH, to me,  
And for this Cause this only Name I take  
Of LIFE, which by my means alone can be.  
Because whilst I within thy Body live,  
Death no way can thee hinder, hurt, or grieve.   

But I, by cutting off DEATH strait replies)  
This slender Thread, whereby Men run their race,  
Bring every Faithful soul, in friendly wise,  
Where he a better path (for aye) may trace,  
Making him lead a Life eternally,  
A LIFE, that (still) doth live, and never die.   

Wherefore, what ere he be, that means to joy  
This other LIFE that is Celestial,  
He mu●● not scorn (to scape from world's annoy)  
Nor think it much, to come when DEATH shall call.  
For DEATH no● LIFE, doth help us at the end,  
LIFE is our Foe, but DEATH, our dearest Friend.   

All frail, most happy Day in blessed wise,  
A Day of Grief, yet Honourable Day,  
In which the Father did (for Sacrifice)  
Offer his Son, to save Man from decay:  
Cleansing our Souls, defiled with sinful mind,  
With Innocent, with pure and precious Blood.   

Upon that Cross (now sacred) then Profane,  
He ●ide for us, who could not die indeed:  
Whilst closing his fair eyes for Mortals gain,  
He opened all the Gates of Heaven with speed:  
Restoring them that Kingdom we had lost,  
Which nothing, Us, but Him, too dearly cost.   

Not his, but our Due, was it, for to Die;  
Those Torments which he meekly did endure,  
His Crown of Thorns, his Wounds done spitefully;  
That Cursed Scourge that spilled his Blood so pure▪  
All these, to Us, and not to him, did long,  
Yet for our sakes, our Christ himself did wrong.   

Then if for pity, Graves do open wide,  
Hills cleave, and Marble pillars rend in twain:  
If Heavens themselves, their Lights for grief do hide,  
And if the Sun for sorrow clip'st remain:  
What Mortal heart is there that doth not break,  
When he but thinks, or of this Day doth speak?   

That Virtue, through whose power ruled is my soul;  
(Only through Virtuous Love, from Love set free)  
Takes force afresh as one that would control:  
And finding strong himself within to be,  
Unbridled Will he seeks to bridle now,  
And tries to break what fore he scarce could bow.   

New Lords, new Laws; New Customs break the Old,  
And where before a dark and misty cloud,  
My mind as in a prison did enfold,  
Now is it loosed from out that gloomy shroud,  
My heart doth jump even just with his desire,  
And by their Eye know both what to require.   

My watchful Soul recovered hath well nigh,  
The former state in which he lived in:  
And being free, doth call to memory,  
What (bound) he did forget through wretched sin,  
Whil●● for his life repentant he attends,  
Immortally to live for his amends.   

Not any part there is of Body mine,  
But filled is with true, not false Delight:  
Yet doth it grieve still at her former Crime,  
And with Remorse doth mortify the sprite,  
Whilst wronged Soul, on Others lays the blame,  
Yet reprehends herself even for the same.   

This earthly Beauty doth the Sense delight,  
But Heavenly Beauty doth ●he mind mo●e please:  
The one the World hath as an Object right,  
And seeks the World to pleasure with sweet ease:  
But th'other hath ●ehouah for her glass,  
Nor she for any but for him doth pass.   

The Sense doth burn with ●oues unperfect works.  
Which like a blaze in th'air doth flit away:  
The Soul thirsts after that which never hurts,  
And hunts for that which never will decay:  
That, which not subject is to any time,  
But of itself most Perfect and Divine.   

Thou (Lord) the Mortal and Immortal both  
Created haste, mark humbly I require,  
How much within my body they be wroth;  
Mark how within me, 'gainst me they conspire  
Within themselves they vary so and grudge,  
That which of both shall win us hard to judge.   

My bad Conceits from Adam sprung of yore,  
Do headlong run to endless death with shame:  
And less that Reason do th●m bridle sore,  
Hardly my Soul can ●asse from whence it came.  
Then pardon Lord the Course that I have run,  
And I from Sin a new Man will become.   

A Tyrant great, fair Beauty is in Love,  
When it doth triumph in a lovely face:  
And who with cold Disdain, this doth not move,  
Is caught by subtle sweet alluring Grace:  
Who stands at Beauties Gaze, and doth not fly,  
Is soon entrapped by wilful glan●ing eye.   

This which of true Love is but Picture bare,  
With shadowing Vale doth dim our clearest sight:  
And if to follow it we do not spare,  
It soon deceives us with a false delight,  
And to perpetual prison sends our soul,  
Unless her sleights by Reason we control.   

Fair Pearl, fine gold, base excrements of th'earth;  
What's Beauty but a little White and Red?  
revived with a little lively Breath,  
With Wind, or Sun, or Sickness altered?  
All this ●oth Time consume and bring to nought,  
And all what ere into this world is brought.   

The fairest Colours dry and vanish shall;  
The youngest must pack as well as doth the Old:  
All mortal things to mortal death must fall,  
And therefore first were cast in earthly mould.  
That which doth ●●orish green as grass to day,  
Tomorrow withereth like to dried Hay.   

Swift flies our years as doth a running stream,  
And loathed Age comes stealing on apace:  
Our youth doth pass away as 'ttwere a Dream,  
And Death doth follow for to take his place:  
Death comes, and our Life's patent to his hand  
For to resign, he strait doth us command.   

Strength to his course, and wind unto his flight,  
With feathers to his wings, Time joineth fast:  
And this sweet life which we so much do like,  
Though near so loath, yet must away at last.  
The fairest Flower must whither with the weed,  
What so doth live, to die was first decreed.   

Thrice happy man and treble blessed is he,  
That never treads his steps from rightest way,  
Nor with the mist of World will blinded be:  
But keeps right path, and never goes astray:  
Contemning all these mundaine Treasur● base,  
In hope to joy the heavenly Wealth of Grace.   

Who dieth ill, dies; who dieth well, never dies,  
But lives a life above Eternally:  
Like good ●l●as, who in wondrous wise,  
Was from base Earth took up to live in sky:  
Where bide Th'elect of Christ for ever blest,  
In Abraham's bosom there for aye to rest.   

For thee my heart doth burn like fire (Dear Lord)  
Which freesde before like Frost and chilly Ice,  
For thee to leave my sin I do accord;  
Through which thy heavenly grace I did despise.  
All Follies now, as Shadows vain I'll leave,  
And unto thee (the Substance true) I cleave.   

In thee I burn, and in myself I freeze,  
Frozen through fear, but burning through thy love.  
Reason o'er Senses mine, now oversees:  
And her Authority o'er them doth prove.  
Which makes me humbly call to thee for grace,  
Though (proud) before I run a self wild race.   

Repentance right, sad Grief, salt Tears, sure Faith,  
Renew in me a sorry Contrite heart:  
My guilty Conscience oft within me saith,  
I Death deserve, yet Merciful thou art:  
Sighs from ●y soul I offer for my Fee,  
As precious Blood thou offeredst once for me.   

My heart now cleansed (and yet not mine as now)  
●weet Christ to thee his first Home turns again,  
●rom me he flies, and unto thee doth bow:  
● give it thee, Accept I pray the same.  
Ah Sovereign Saviour, do not now despise  
A broken heart, for pleasing Sacrifice.   

Weak is my Bark in which my Life doth row,  
My wretched life, through grievous faults misspent,  
And in the World (his Ocean) sails but slow,  
Because it falls into the Occident:  
My sickly Mind runs self same doubtful way,  
And Soul doth grieve that fancy ●o doth stray.   

And though a gentle calm Wind to blow,  
She finds about her, as she fresh do●h sail,  
Yet under Waters do I spy below,  
The Foe of my poor Soul her to assail:  
And in that part wherein he doth espy  
The Ship to leak, in that he close doth lie.   

Ah, now it grieves me, now I do repent  
My re●chlesse Race, that I so jewde have run,  
Yet hath my God in mercy to me sent  
Help to my Vessel weak, else I undone:  
Hope at the left hand stands, that part ●o guide,  
And constant Faith on right hand doth abide.   

Earth was my flesh before, and earth again  
Ere long it shall be, but my Soul on high,  
Shall be lift up in brightest heavens ●o reign,  
If I from false alluring Sin can fly:  
When at his feet, who first life to me gave,  
A Glorious Seat for ever I shall have.   

Full 7. times four of years my life hath run,  
Whilst to myself a heavy B●rthen sore,  
To others I a gainelesse charge become,  
Soiled with beastly Thoughts uncleanly gore:  
Whilst in true Light being blind I farther go  
From Reason's path which judgement did me show.   

Slow to good works, but too too swift to ill,  
My Soul abroad with flitting wings doth fly,  
And in the world's dark bottom of Self will,  
'mongst 1000 Snares she carelessly doth lie.  
Where sensual Sense and Ignorance astray  
Her doubtful leads, quite out of her right way.   

Too obstinate she headlong forward runs,  
In greatest Light she tumbleth in most dark,  
Nor takes she thought what of herself becomes,  
Be it right or wrong her course she doth not mark:  
So that although Immortal she should live,  
Most mortal Death she seeks herself to give.   

But now thanks to the Sovereign King of all,  
She (no more blind) the dangers 'gins to spy,  
And looking back unto her former fall,  
She doth repent through faith most hearty:  
Where she doth see of Heaven the narrow Gate,  
Which (once) was shut, now open for her escape.   

King of all Kings which from thy sacred Throne,  
Dost ma●ke and view from forth the Heavens hie,  
Thy Graces unto Adam's Offspring shown,  
Of thy great Love (although unworthily)  
Thou that dost fill with true Delight the mind,  
With true Delight, wherein true joy we find.   

Behold how I, over laid with grievous sin,  
With Soul defiled, with Heart infected sore,  
Do fly to thee, thy Mercy for to win,  
And with Repentance do my faults deplore:  
Lord if thy Laws and thee I have offended,  
Let mine old Follies, with new Tears be cleansed.   

My Sorrows, to my Sins are sparks but small,  
So loathsome they appear unto my sight;  
On thee, I at thy Gate of Pity call,  
Thou art the Flame that canst them purge most brigh●.  
The bellows is Amendments pure desire,  
Which doth inflame through thy hot loving Fir●   

Let thy great Bounty me forget, forgive,  
And bad Conceits that idle Fancies wrought,  
Let them no more within me (working) live,  
But to Confusion and Contempt be brought:  
Oh let not Sin my Soul still Satanise,  
But with thy Spirit the same imparadise.    

A most excellent pathetical, and passionate Letter of Duke D'Epernoun, MINION, unto Henry the third, King of France and Polonia, when, through the Duke of Guizes devise and means, he was forbidden the presence of the King.  
MY gracious Sovereign, a great combat had I in my mind, and no little or small ado, to resolve myself what way to take, having received express commandment not to approach the royal presence of your sacred Majesty any more; a matter of no small consequence (as that was unto me) and such as was hard for me to believe, and therefore not unlikely to be but of long resolution. Willing I was (my good Lord) to obey your letter, and so did I; but yet, (for to make manifest the cause of so sudden an alteration) I did greatly desire to remove from my heart, whatsoever might have displeased your Grace in any of my actions whatsoever: yet could I find none, being thoroughly determined, and wondrously desirous to answer the same with my life, and bid you farewell with a lively and open voice, before the face of all the world.  
I most humbly beseech your Majesty to pardon this my Disobedience, seeing I have not committed this fault (only) for fear of disobeying you, but rather, because I am pricked forward by the great affection I own unto your service, more than all the men in the world. I see (Sir) I am the only mark whereat the Envy and Slander of France do draw their most fierce Darts of their Rigour and Force; I must needs undertake ●o resist, no less those, who are Enuyers of my good Fortune, than heretofore I have done the Admirers thereof; not doubting, but that God will give me the Grace, not only to repulse them, but also to beat them down wi●h the only Sunshining Beam of your royal Favour, which (alone) shall suffice without any more need of other Armour; being as strong unto me, as the foundation of a Rock, which no Accidents whatsoever shall ever be able to undermine. For I do not place in the rank of transitory things, the Friendship wherewith your Majesty with so great affection so long time hath honoured me: It hath continued without ceasing with so great goodwill, and sustained so many sharp assaults, that I fear nothing at all that it should perish in one small moment and on the sudden. Haphazard did not build it, Fortune therefore shall not overthrow it, and the works of your majesties bounty, shall never (I hope) yield unto the malice of the Enemies of my Good.  
Neither will I have any other proof of the Eternity of your rare Favours towards me, than the answer you made unto one of the Nearest about your Majesty, who affirming you would make me too GREAT; you answered; And so Great will I make him, that it shall not be in my power hereafter to undo him, although willingly I would. These are the words (worthy Prince) wherewith you have pricked forwards the violence of my malicious ill willers; Words in truth, most worthy the greatest, noblest and most bountiful Monarch of the world. In so much as I have engraven in my soul an immortal desire to make myself worthy the effects thereof.  
But I must not now behold, nor at this time look into, what part your goodwill hath showed itself most firm and most affectionate, to make famous my good Fortune. The principal beginning there●● was resolved upon with judgement, the sequel with reason, and the end shall not be variable with ill destiny. The proceedings thereof were voluntary; your Majesty will not suffer (I trust,) that the chance thereof should be forced, you have raised me out of the dust, unto the greatest honours of your high Estate, and of an unworthy younger brother that I was, you have created me a great Duke. I am of your own fashioning; I hope you will not suffer your work to be unperfect: and for to lift me up unto the heavens of your greatness, you will not give me wings of so soft a wax that I shall melt in the violent lightnings of the rage of mine enemies, to make me miserably to sink into the bottomless floods of their bloody desires. But rather contrariwise, that it would please you to protect me, and to take a certain kind of pleasure and pride, to see, and behold that the power you have given me may be sufficient to overthrow these Infidels and base Creatures, their 〈◊〉 estate being full of discommodities, and their devilish determinations guilty of horrible treasons.  
But if your Majesty desire to see the rest and quietness of your poor People, imagining that I am the cause of their poverty and need, and not the quarrels and conflicts that these jewde fellows have attempted; if my prosperity causeth the trouble of your pleasures, and if you think, that ceasing the pretext of your unfeigned goodwill towards me, by the same means they would cease their evil behaviours also; let us then (Sir) overthrow this good Fortune, let us remove that which serves for a colour to the enterprises that these turbulent Companions go about, to put themselves into possession of your Estate; let us overthrow the means, which they call the Motives and occasions of their Factions; yet in the end it shall plainly be seen, that aspiring Ambition & cankered Envy of these malcontented minds, is the only cinders which covers the fire, wherewith they would embrace your Realm, and the break neck overthrow, into which they covet to thrust your people, to accompany them unto their endless miseries. But Sovereign Liege, I do not hold the liberality your royal Person hath bestowed on me, so dear, as I do the least of your desires, my obedience shall frankly yield to you, all that, which your princely Liberality hath bountifully given unto me; whether it be to take away the colour of the wars ensuing, or to make it good, (in good-earnest) upon them which bear a show to desire it: The loss of my Goods, shall be the least of my Crosses: I have always considered, that Fortune giveth nothing, but what she can always take again, and that all worldly riches are of the variable condition of the world, and of the uncertainty of mankind. Your Majesty which gave me all whatsoever I have, cannot take any thing, but what was your own (before) from me; and willingly if you please will I yield up all I have without enforcing mine own will at all: I will more easily discharge myself of my Goods, than they may be taken from me. I will resign not only the Estates, the Honours, the Offices, and Possessions, whether they be of mine own Person, or belonging unto my dear Wife, but also my life into your princely Hands, I say, that happy and contented life, which I own unto your liberal integrity; do me I most humbly beseech you, so great a good as to receive it: Leave me only I desire so little as 10000 franks of yearly rent, (mine own poor patrimony) it shall be enough, that I may maintain myself in your royal Court with the small train I had before you knew me. I shall have sufficient, being in your presence, and your only sight shall be more unto me, than all the treasures of the earth. I will leave without any grief at all, unto your Majesty the livings you have bestowed on me, without making any other request in this respect, but only to beseech you most humbly not to suffer that mine enemies, namely those who have played me no small bad pranks about you, should be put in possession and invested with my spoils; neither to suffer them to find their happiness through the loss of mine own good Fortune, n●r that they may have cause to erect them glorious Trophies of mine undeserved overthrow: for that (only) and only that alone, would be the greatest adversity, that loss of wealth or goods might bring unto me.  
See then my (gracious Lord) the account I make of riches. But of your gracious Favours I have in such ample wise promised myself the eternity thereof, and have taken such a HABIT in the possession of the same, that this Custom is turned into a natural Order. I cannot draw breath, but with them, & my life hath no moving but their influence, that day wherein they shall be taken from me, shall be the last of my life and the separation of them, cannot be without the parting of my soul out of this body: which notwithstanding I will hold for very fortunate, to have so honourable a subject, and will not a little glory to have so long and well lived: that I have been thought worthy the friendship of so great and mighty a Monarch, who hath so much esteemed thereof, as not to have been able to live without it.  
One of the most apparent signs that your Royal self gave me of your rare Affection towards me is, in that you have always desired to have had me near about you. Then I most humbly beseech your Majesty, let me not (now) be banished far from you; Banish rather my Fortune than my Person, they rather gape at it, than at myself; It is not at the youngest Son of VALETTA, that these spiteful Oppressors do seek● to take hold of, but it is on the Duke D'Epernoun, and to his Princely greatness: they are rather enemies of the Effects▪ than of the Cause, and desire rather the possessions▪ than the absence of the Possessor Suffer not then (dear Sovereign) this his forced withdrawing, whom you have so greatly loved, and change not your royal countenance from him at this time, will ill fortune.  
Notwithstanding (most gracious Prince) if of my being far off, depends the rest and quietness of your poor people, and the execution of your majesties worthy will and pleasure, I will not gainsay it at all: rather would I be as low under the earth, as you have raised me on high in dignity. Your commandments herein, as in all other things, shall be my Counsellors: you will shall be a law unto me, and your desires my affections. It is more reason that I should perish, than your Will & Hests be unaccomplished, seeing I was not raised up, but by those meane●.  
I praise God, for that he h●th left me one comfort in this my luckless disaster: that is, to know my ill hap▪ and not my fault, my hard fortune, and not my King, my Envious and not my just Enemies do seek this my fall. My just behaviour hath not any way caused it, and therefore it will not leave me any place of repentance, for my soul is free from all scruple and doubt, and my upright intentions of all offences towards your Majesty. Besides this, I have placed the friendship wherewith it hath pleased you to honour me, in a perfect heart, not tainted at all. I call thereof to witness, the Divinity of your excellent Spirit, which never deceiveth itself in the knowledge of his own. Amongst which in despite of the rage of his enemies (who are almost in despair) I will appear in loyal sincereness of zeal, and in dutiful obedience as the Sun amidst the Stars, and I will make it to be seen, that the jealousy of my pestilent Slanderers, is a mere injury of time, and my life a splendent light of your Kingdom. Neither call I to mind these matters, for that I fear you suspect me of horrible ingratitude or beastly forgetfulness The ●are manner wherewith you have bound me unto you, was such as could not come from a rude Scythian, but from a most magnanimous King, who hath restored a woeful heart cruelly wounded, to happy life, being therefore obliged unto his princely Throne for ever. So that my Actions hereafter, and not my words at this present time shall answer for my continual loyalty. I will evermore have in memory the liberality of my Prince, as a passing pleasing witness of the honourable affection he hath borne me, and will repute that day accursed, wherein I shall not think of the happiness he hath done unto me; being not able as now to do him any other duty.  
Then (my sweet Sovereign) honour me I beseech you always with your Commandments; it shall be a kind of comfort unto me, to be ever employed in your Princely Service. Adieu, my good Lord, adieu: the greatest good I possess in this life, is, the happy thought of your gracious Favour. I beseech you, still to preserve me therein, and to believe that never soul separated itself from a goodly body, with greater grief than E ' Pernoun now hath, in being divided from your Majesty: and not ● little do I complain, for that Fortune hath no other means to beat me down, then in depriving me of your noble presence, in such sort as it hath done.  
But since it hath pleased God and your Majesty, I should withdraw myself from you, I beseech his goodness, that there may remain with you as great joy, as in parting from you, I carry away both heaviness and anger; that it may please his holy spirit to conduct and favour you in such sort in your enterprises, that your Good may be as fairhfully sustained, as I would desire to see manifested the Favourers of the troubles of your Realm, and the just punishment due unto them, for their rash Wilfulness, and over presumptuous Boldness, to the glory of God, the increase of your majesties Royalty, the ●ealth of your People, & the contentment of your magnanimous and Princely Desires.  
Your no less dutiful, then sorrowful Subject, for that he must lose the sweet sight of your Princely Majesty. jean Lovis de Nogaret Duke D'Epernoun,  
FINIS.