BRITONS BOWER OF Delights. CONTAINING Many, most delectable and fine devices, of rare Epitaphs, pleasant Poems, Pastorals and Sonnets By N. B. Gent.  
Imprinted at London by Richard Ihones, at the Rose and Crown near Holborn Bridge. 1591.   

To the Gentlemen Readers.  
GENTLEMEN: I present you here, in the Authors absence, with sundry fine Devices, and rare conceits, in English verse: by the names of Epitaphs, Poems, Pastorals and Sonnets: some of worthiness, and some of wantonness, yet (all in my poor censure) witty, pleasant, & commendable: It any like you, (as I hope they will) partly, for the well penning of them: but specially, for the Subiet and worthiness of the persons they do concern) though (haply) you esteem the rest of less regard: I then have my desire, and count my labour and charges well bestowed. I am (only) the Printer of them, chief to pleasure you, and partly to profit myself, if they prove to your good liking: if otherwise, my hope is frustrate, my labour lost, and all my cost is cast away. Pardon me, (good Gentlemen) of my presumption, & protect me, I pray you, against those Ca●…ellers, and findfaults, that never like of any thing that they see printed, though it be never so well compiled. And where you happen to find any fault, impute it to be committed by the Printers negligence, than (otherwise) by any ignorance in the Author: and especially in A 3, about the midst of the page, for lime or lead, I pray you read it line or lead. So shall your poor Printer have just cause hereafter to be more careful, and acknowledge himself most bounden (at all times) to do you service to the utmost of his power.  
Yours, R. I. Printer.   

Amoris Lachrimae.  
A most singular and sweet Discourse of the life and death of S. P. S. Knight.  

AMong the woes of those unhappy wights,  
That have set down the sorrows of their time,  
Whose lives are most devoid of all delights  
And pass in grief the pleasures of their prime:  
Let me discourse the secrets of my care,  
More than conceit or sorrow can declare,   

Some lose their wealth, it is a slender loss,  
My life hath lost the treasure of my trust:  
Some lose their health, alas a common cross,  
My life's delight is buried in the dust:  
Some lose their friends, it is no one man's woe,  
I lost a friend, such one there are no more.   

Some lose their love, a sorrow near the heart,  
In kind affect the cross of only crosses:  
Some lose their lives, where sorrows never part,  
Some lose themselves in thinking of their lossesses:  
More than myself is such a friend bereft me,  
All wealth, nor health, nor love, nor life, hath left me.   

And shall I tell what kind of man he was,  
Whom thus I loved? and never creature hated,  
Imagine first it doth my reason pass,  
To write of him whom highest power created:  
For every part that virtue had desired,  
〈◊〉 of the heavens, and of the world admired.   

Yet as my heart for grief and sorrow can,  
I will describe the substance of his state,  
In childish years he was esteemed a man,  
And half a man, more half a magistrate,  
On whom the Arts and Muses so attended,  
As all, in all, for all, he was commended.   

Whose wisdom was not seen in wanton toys,  
And though a wanton, yet not devoid of wit,  
Of worldly jests he never made his toys,  
Although sometimes he had a taste of it:  
For let the best that lives do what he can,  
In some things yet he shows himself a man.   

But if on earth there were a man divine,  
For Nature's gifts and Virtues secret grace,  
Then give me leave to say this love of mine,  
Was here too good to have a dwelling place,  
But lives in heaven in some high Angel's office,  
Where God himself doth use him in his service.   

To say yet more what (in effect) he was,  
Let this suffice, in sum he was a man,  
Whose heavenly wisdom found the way to pass,  
More than the power of Wit and Reason can:  
In whose attempts the world thus well did know him,  
Nothing but death could ever overthrow him.   

Comely of shape, and of a manly face,  
Noble in birth, and of a princely mind,  
Kind in effect and of a courtly grace.  
Courteous to all, and careful of the kind:  
Valour and Virtue, Learning, Bounty, Love,  
These were the parts that did his honour prove.   

Whose full perfection thus hath wisdom peased,  
His words were substance, and his deeds divine,  
Reason the ground whereon his hope were raised,  
Labour his life, and Learning was his line:  
Truth was his love, and Trial his intent,  
Care his couceipt, and Honour his content.   

He spoke no word, but carried full his weight,  
He nothing did that ever took disgrace,  
He had no mind to muse upon deceit,  
He built in heaven his only biding place,  
He loved the Church where Saints do build the steepls,  
And sought the world where Angels are the people.   

He travailed far when he was nearest home,  
Where was no earth he could behold a land,  
He saw a house without ear, lime or lome,  
And sailed the seas where there was never sand.  
He sounded depths, without ear lime or lead,  
And found out life, where other men were dead.   

He feared no foe, nor ever sought a friend,  
He knew no want, and made no care of wealth,  
He nought begun, but had a care to end,  
And never loved the honour had in stealth:  
By fire and sword he won his worthy fame,  
That hath advanced the honour of his name.   

In all the sky he honoured but a star,  
That was his course of all his kind affection,  
Whose flame was near, although the fire a far,  
Gave him the light of loves direction:  
He was so kind and constant where he loved,  
As once resolved, he could not he removed.   

His hands was free to help the needy heart,  
His heart was frank to fill the empty hand,  
His most desire was to reward desert,  
And hold up state where honour could not stand:  
His only i●…y was honour of the stelde,  
To conquer men, and make the Captains yield.   

Much was his care, and of his Country most,  
Little his joy, and in himself the least,  
All for his friend, did seem but little cost,  
Yet to himself a little was a feast.  
High was their hap that might but be about him,  
Death is their life that mourn, to be without him.   

Now judge the life in leaving such a joy,  
The death in loss of such a dainty friend,  
What may remove the root of this annoy,  
Or how this grief may ever have an end.  
And if it be a care incurable,  
Think of the death where it is ●…urable.   

To live in death is but a dying life,  
To die in life, is but a living death,  
Betwixt these two is such a deadly strife,  
As make me draw this melancholic breath:  
Wherein conceit doth live so discontented,  
As never heart was ever so tormented.   

A torment only made but for the mind,  
A mind ordained but only to distress,  
And such distress as can no comfort find,  
But leaves the heart to die remed●…esse:  
And such a death as liveth to behold,  
Ten thousand torments more than can be told.   

Yet though my pen can never half express,  
The hi●…eous torments of my heavy heart,  
Let me set down some touch of my distress,  
That some poor soul may help to bear a part:  
That in extremities when we are woe-begone us,  
The world may weep to sit and look upon us.   

Nature and Art are got about his grave,  
And there sit wailing of each others loss,  
Hard by the tomb sits Sorrow in her cave,  
Cutting her heart to think on honour's cross:  
And Wisdom weeping, wring of her hands,  
To see the world in what a case it stands.   

In this dark hole of death and heaviness,  
Sits woeful Beauty with her blubbered eyes,  
By her sits Love, with Care all comfortless,  
Recording of his mother's miseries:  
Among the rest that wails the loss of friends,  
Sits Patience pricking of her fingers ends.   

From Pity's face do fall the trickling tears,  
Of torments such as tear the heart of Love,  
The Muses sit and rend their shrivelled hears,  
To see the pain that Love and Beauty prove.  
Among them all how I am torn in sunder,  
And yet do live, confess it is a wonder.   

I live, oh live, alas, I live indeed,  
But such a life was never such a death▪  
While fainting heart is but constrained to feed,  
Upon the care of a consuming breath:  
O my sweet Muse, that knowest how I am vexed,  
Paint but one passion how I am perplexed.   

I call for death, but yet he will not hear me,  
I read my death, and rue my destiny,  
I see my death, but he will not come near me,  
I feel my death, but yet I cannot die:  
But where nor death will kill, nor grief be cured,  
Think what a death of deaths I have endured.   

Yet while I live in all this misery,  
Let me go quarrel with this cruel fate,  
Why death should do so great an iniur●…,  
Unto the stay of such a happy state:  
At living things to make his level so,  
To kill a Phoenix when there were no more.   

Oh cruel Death what led thy hand awr●…e,  
To take the best and leave the worst behind,  
To youth thou art untimely destiny,  
Thou mightest have been a comfort to the blind:  
And end the aged of their weary time,  
And not a youth in pride of all his prime.   

Thou monghtest have shot at such a wretched thought,  
As had passed over all his pleasant years,  
And killed the heart that is consumed to nought,  
Which being ●…angled ●…n these worldly briars,  
But Beauties love, and honours heart to bleed,  
Fie ou thee death, it is too fowl a deed.   

But well, the world will curse thee to thy face,  
Beauty and Love will to thy teeth de●…e thee,  
Honour and Learning draw thee in disgrace,  
Where no good thought shall ever once come nigh thee:  
And for myself to see thee woebegone thee,  
Will pray to God all plagues may light upon thee.   

For I have lost the honour of my love,  
My love hath lost the honour of my life,  
My life and love doth such a passion prove,  
As in the world was never such a strife:  
Where secret death and sorrow are consented,  
To see the terror of a heart tormented.   

Thou camest too soon, but now thou comest too late,  
Thy force too great, but now it is too small,  
Half had in love, but wholly now in hate,  
destre of some, but cursed now of all,  
Oft I confess that I have quakte before thee,  
But do thy worst, death now I care not for thee.   

But dost thou think thou canst thyself excuse,  
To say (alas) thou hast but done thine office,  
Unhappy hand whom so the heavens dost use,  
On such a Saint to execute thy service;  
But since it was the will of God to do it,  
His will be done, I can but yield unto it.   

Yet for the care that Virtue hath conceived,  
For loss of him that was his dearest love,  
And for the death that Honour hath received,  
Where patience doth the deadly passions prove,  
I cannot those although my heart would hide it,  
To show my grief so great I cannot bide it.   

Oh that I had but so divine a head.  
As could bewray the sorrows of my breast,  
Or from the grave to raise again the dead,  
And not offend my God in my request:  
Or by a prayer I might the grace obtain,  
To see the face of my desire again.   

But all in vain, my wishes not ●…uaile,  
My words are wind and carry none effect▪  
And with my grief I feel my senses fail,  
That Fortune thus should cross me in affect:  
As by the loss of one sweet heavenly friend,  
My heart should die, and yet no dolour end.   

End, no God wots, there is no end of grief▪  
Where sad conceit will never out of mind,  
And bootless hope to harp upon relief.  
Where Care may seek, and never Comfort fin●…  
For in the wor●…d I had no joy b●…t one.  
And all but death, now he is dead and gone.   

Gone is my joy, alas and well-away,  
What shall I do now all my love is gone,  
All my delight is fallen unto decay,  
Only but heaven I have to hope upon.  
Oh heavenly powers take pity of my cry,  
Let me not li●…e, and see my Lover die.   

Oh my love, ah my love, all my love gone,  
Out alas silly wretch, well-aday woe is me,  
Of a friend, ever friend, such a friend none,  
In the world, through the world, may the world see:  
Holy Saints, higher powers, heavens look upon me,  
Pity me, comfort me, thus woebegone me.   

My heavenly Love, heavens loved as well as I,  
Heaven was his care, and heaven was his content,  
In heaven he lives, in heaven he cannot die,  
From heaven he came, and to the heavens he went,  
Oh heavenly Love, heavens will I look for never,  
Till in the heavens I may behold thee ever.   

But what, me thinks I see a sudden change,  
The world doth seem to alter nature much,  
The state of things is to my reason strange,  
And sorrows such as there were never such.  
Such lack of love, such mourning for a friend,  
Such world of woes, as if the world should end.   

Me thinks I see the Queen of kind affect,  
Sighing and sobbing with such inward grief,  
As he that could consider the effect,  
Might see a heart lie dead without relief:  
And ●…n conceit so overcome with care,  
It kills my heart to see her heavy fare.   

Me thinks I see a sight of armed horse,  
Led in by boys as if the men were dead,  
Me thinks I hear men murmur of a corpse,  
And gallant youths go hanging of the head:  
methinks I hear a thunder in the air▪  
Bids far well Hope & look upou Despair.   

Me thinks I hear the trumpet drum and fife,  
Sound all a mort, as if the world were done,  
Me thinks I see the'nd of unhappy life,  
Or second joy since latter age beg●…ne:  
methinks I hear the hor●…or of the cry,  
As if the day were come that all should die.   

Oh what I hear, oh what I feel and see▪  
Hold heart, help heavens, how can I longer live,  
But in the heavens there is no help for me,  
Not all the world can any comfort give:  
When death doth of my dearest friend deprive me.  
What can remain in comfort to revive me.   

Yet for the world shall witness what thou art,  
Which in the world did leave no like behind:  
I will set down though short of thy desert,  
The happy honour of thy heavenly mind,  
And on thy tomb I will with tears engrave,  
The death of life that for thy lack I have.   

Look on the hills how all the Shepherds sit,  
Heavy to think upon their honest friend,  
How Phillis sits as one besides her wit,  
To see the sorrow of her shepherds end:  
Hark how the lambs go blaying up & down,  
To see their Shepherds carried to the town.   

Look how the flock begin to leave their feeding,  
While cruel beasts break i●… among the sheep,  
See how the heart of love ●…ooth lie a bleeding,  
That Mars was slai●…e while Venus was a sleep,  
See how the earth is bare in every place,  
To see that death hath done the world disgrace.   

And Corydon poor silly wretched swain,  
Doth make such mo●…e as if he should go mad,  
All in despair to see good days again,  
To lose the joy that on the earth he had:  
Who since the time he heard but of the wound,  
Lived like a ghost that goes upon the ground.   

And so forlorn abandonde all content,  
Keeps in the Caves where comfort is unknown,  
Borne but to live, and only to lament,  
The doleful life that by his death hath grown:  
Who in his life would let him know no care,  
But by his death all griefs that ever are.   

Pan in a rage hath broken all his pipes,  
Pallas alas sits poring on a book▪  
Her weeping eyes see how Diana wipes,  
And poor Apollo casts a piteous look:  
The Nymphs come in with such a woeful crying,  
As if that Love or Venus lay a dying.   

The Nightingale is stopped in her throat,  
And shrieking Owls do make a fearful noise,  
The doleful Ravens sing a deadly note,  
And little Wrens the end of eagle's joys:  
The Phoenix droops, and Falcons beat their wings,  
To hear how Swans of death and sorrow sings.   

The trees are blasted, and the leaves do whither,  
The dainty green is turned to dusky grey,  
The gallant vines are shrunk and gone together,  
And all the flowers do fade and fall away.  
The springs are dried, and all the fish scale beaten,  
And all good fruit the earth itself hath eaten.   

Oh what a woe it is to see the woes,  
Where nought but woe is left to look upon,  
A grief too great for Reason to disclose,  
And in effect a death to study on:  
Where man and beasts, birds, fishes, flowers and trees,  
Do half the hope of all their comfort lose.   

When on the earth was ever such a sight,  
Hardly the world can such a sorrow have:  
Never did death more seize upon delight,  
Then when this knight was carried to his grave:  
Which when I saw, so near my heart I set,  
As while I live I never can forget.   

First comes the brother all in mourning black,  
Mourning in deed in body and in mind,  
Folding his arms, as if his heart would crack,  
Feeling the death that Love and Nature find:  
Looking upon the last of his delight,  
Oh heavenly God it was a piteous sight.   

The Scholars come with Lachrimis Amoris,  
As though their hearts were hopeless of relief,  
The Soldiers come with Tonitr●… Clamoris,  
To make the heavens acquainted with their grief:  
The noble Peers in Civitatis portis,  
In hearts engraven come in with Dolour mortis▪   

The strangers come with Oh i male sort,  
The servants come with Morte dila vita,  
The secret friends with Morte pui che morte,  
And all with these Felic●…ta finita:  
Now for myself, Oh dolour infernal,  
Da videre morte, & non da vivere tale,   

Now if the grief of all the world be great,  
How great is his that is the grief of all,  
Who doth in thoughts more deadly pangs repeat,  
Then ever did to all the world befall,  
Whose pains and passions only do approve,  
The only true anatomy of love.   

But since I see there is no remedy,  
What God will have, must never be withstood:  
And Malcontent is but a malady,  
That may consume, but can do little good,  
I will to God refer my whole relief,  
In heavenly care of my unhappy grief.   

And on my knees beseech his holy will,  
To cast on me those sweet and loving eyes,  
That heal the heart of every hateful grief,  
And give the life where comfort never dies.  
And where my heart is gone, my hope may thither.  
That faith and love may live in heaven together.   

But till my soul may see that heavenly sweet,  
Where Virtue doth her dearest love embrace:  
Where Comfort, Care, and Kind affect m●…y meet,  
And have the joy to see each others face:  
Upon thy Tomb I will these words set down,  
That all the world may read of thy renown.   
FINIS   

Poems and Sonnets.  

A pleasant Poem  

A| Angels have not their honour for their 〈◊〉,  
N| No beauty like the virtue of the mind,  
N| No life to love that cannot prove untrue,  
E| Esteem the comfort of the highest kind.   

P| Pure is the mind that cannot mean amiss,  
A| And sweet the life that is maintained by love,  
R| Rare is the heart where such affection is,  
K| Kind the conceit that doth such honour prove,  
E| Excellens rare that wit and reason winneth,  
R| Read but each letter as the line beginneth.   
A. P.  
Finis.   

Another.  

T| Time made a stay when highest powers wrought,  
R| Regard of love where virtue had her grace,  
E| Excellence rare of every beauty sought,  
N| Notes of the heart where honour had her place,  
T| Tried by the touch of most approved truth,  
A| A worthy Saint to serve a heavenly Queen,  
M| More fair than she that was the fame of youth,  
E| Except but one, the like was never seen.   
Trentame.  
Finis.   

Another.  

G| Good is the best, the most can say no more,  
A| And yet is good, and better, and the best,  
R| Reason requires the best be set before,  
R| Regard of love finds reason in the rest,  
E| Except the best in every good excepted,  
T| though better serve the good may be accepted.   
Garet.  
Finis.   

A sweet Pastoral.  

GOod Muse rock me asseepe with some sweet harmony,  
This weary eye is not to keep, thy wary company.  
Sweet Love be gone a while, thou know'st my heaviness▪  
Beauty is borne but to beguile my heart of happiness.  
See how my little flock that loved to feed on high,  
Do headlong ●…umble down the rock, & in the valley die.  
The bushes and the trees, that wear so fresh and green,  
Do all their dainty colours lose, and not a leaf is seen.  
The Blackbird, & the Thrush, that made the woods to ring  
With all the rest are now at hush, & not a note they sing.  
Sweet Philomele the bird, that hath the heavenly throat,  
Doth now (alas) not once afford recording of a note.  
The flowers have had a frost, each herb hath lost her savour,  
And Phillida the fair hath lost, the comfort of her favour.  
Now all these careful sights, so kill me in conceit,  
That how to hope upon delights, it is but mere deceit.  
And therefore my sweet Muse, that know'st what help is best,  
Do now thy heavenly cunning use to set my heart at rest.  
And in a dream bewray, what fate shall be my friend,  
Whether my life shall still decay, or when my sorrow end.    

A Sonnet.  

THe pretty turtle-dove, that with no little moan,  
When she hath lost her loving mate, sits mourning all alone,  
The Swan that always sings an hour before her death,  
Whose deadly gripes do give the groans, that draw away her breath:  
The Pelican that pecks the blood out of her breast,  
And by her death doth only feed her young ones in the nest,  
The Hart imparked close within a plot of ground,  
Who dare not overlook the pale, for fear of hunter's 〈◊〉.  
The Hound in kennel tied, that hears the chase go by,  
And bo●…tles wishing foot abroad, in vain doth howl & cry:  
The Tree with withered ●…op, that hath his branches dead,  
And hangeth down his highest bows, while other hold up head:  
Endure not half the death, the sorrow, nor disgrace,  
That my poor wretched mind abides, where none can wail my case.   

For truth hath lost his trust, more dear than turtle-dove,  
And what a death to such a life, that such a pain doth prove:  
The Swan for sorrow sings to see her death so ●…e,  
I die because I see my death, and yet I cannot die:  
The Pelican doth feed their young ones with their blood,  
I bleed to death, to feed desires that never do me good.  
My heart imparked round within the ground of grief,  
Is to beset with hounds of hate, it looks for no relief.  
And sweet desire my dog, is clogged so with care,  
He cries and dies to hear delights, & come not where they are.  
My tree of true delight, is sabd with sorrow so,  
As but the heavens do sooner help, will be his overthrow.  
In sum, my dole, my death, and my disgrace is such,  
As never man that ever lived, knew ever half so much.    

A Poem.  

GO Muse unto the Bower, whereas my mistress dwells,  
And tell her of her servants love, but tell her nothing else.  
And speak but in her ear, that none may hear but she,  
That if she not the sooner help, there is no help for me.  
Not that I ●…eare to speak, but it is strange to hear,  
That she will never look on him, that holds her love so dear.  
Perhaps she knows it not, or if she do she will not,  
Yet let her kindness have a care, that though she hurt she kill not.  
And though it be to strange, yet let her this believe me,  
That dead men live, yet I am dead, yet live if she relieve me,  
For yet are not so cold the coals of kind desire,  
But in the ashes lives a spark, to kindle love a fire.  
Which fire his fuel hath, but from those fairest eyes,  
Where faith doth burn & fancy flame, & favour never dies    

A Poem.  

PUre of the fair that never fadeth hue,  
Exceeding sweet that every sweet exceedeth:  
near to the heavens where highest glaces grow '  
Excellent fruit that such a fancy feedeth,  
Love in the eyes, and honour in the heart,  
O Princes, Angels Goddess, heavenly feature,  
Perfection far above all nature's art,  
Exception none, was ever such a creature.  
Rich, virtuous, wise, fair, courteous, comely, kind,  
joy to the hearts of all that do behold her,  
Courtly of grace, and of a princely mind,  
High in the heavens, the Angels have enrolled her.    

A Pastoral.  

MIne eyes have seen the Idol of my heart,  
Mine eyes have heard the wonder of the wise,  
Mine heart hath touched the comfort of mine eyes.   

Now hands be true unto your happy heart,  
Tongue say thy heart shall all in silence serve,  
Heart to thy head do not thy thoughts impart,  
Eyes see the sight that doth your sight preserve.   

And now thou eye, thou tongue, thou hand and heart,  
But look, or speak, or touch, or turn awry,  
The heavens pronounce the due of your desert.  
Be true and live, but if a Traitor, die.    

A Poem.  

LIke to an Hermit poor in place obscure.  
I mean to spend my days in endless doubt:  
To wail such woes as time cannot recure,  
Where none but love shall ever find me out.  
My food shall be of care and sorrow made,  
My drink nought else but tears fallen from mine eyes,  
And for my light in such obscured shade,  
The flames shall screw that from my heart arise.  
A gown of grief my body shall attire,  
And broken hope the staff of all my stay,  
Of late repentance linked with long desire,  
The Couch is made whereon my bones to lay,  
And at my gate Despair shall linger still,  
To let in Death when Love and Fortune will.    

Of his Mistress love.  

TO try whose art and strength did most excel,  
My Mistress Love and fair Diana met,  
The Ladies three forthwith to shooting fell,  
And for the prize the richest jewel set.  
Sweet Love did both her bow and arrows gauge,  
Diana did her beauty rare lay down,  
My Mistress pawned her cruelty and rage,  
And she that wan had all for her renown:  
It fell out thus when as the match was done,  
My Mistress got the beauty and the bow,  
And straight to try the weapons she had won,  
Upon my heart she did a shaft bestow.  
By Beauty bound, by Love and Uigor slain,  
The loss is mine where hers was all the gain.    

Of a discontented mind.  

POets come all, and each one take a pen,  
Let all the heads that ever did indite,  
Let Sorrow rise out of her darkest den,  
And help an heart an heavy tale to write.  
And if all these or any one can touch,  
The smallest part of my tormenting pain:  
Then will I think my grief is not so much,  
But that in time it may be healed again.  
But if no one can once come near the thought,  
Of that I feel, and no man else can find,  
Then let him say that dear his cunning bought,  
There is no death to discontented mind.    

Of his Mistress beauty.  

WHat ails mine eyes, or are my wits distraught,  
Do I not see; or know not what I see,  
No marvel though to see that wonder wrought,  
That on the earth an other cannot be.  
What meant the gods when first they did create you,  
To make a face to mock all other features,  
Angels in heaven will surely deadly hate you,  
To leave the world so full of foolish creatures.  
Cheeks, that en●…haine the highest hearts in thrall,  
Is it set down such fair shall never fade you:  
Hands, that the hearts of highest thoughts appall,  
Was not Minerva mad when she had made you,  
Fair: looks on you, and fate well Beauties grace,  
Wise: why your wits the wisest doth abash.  
Sweet: where is sweet, but in your sweetest face,  
Rich: to your will all treasure is but trash,  
Oh how these hands, are catching at those eyes,  
To feed this heart that only lives upon them,  
Ah, of these hands what humours do arise,  
To blind these eyes that live by looking on them.  
But heart must faint that must be going from you,  
And eyes must weep that in you lose their seeing,  
Heavens be your place, where Angels better know you,  
And earth is too base for such a Goddess being.  
Yet where you come among those highest powers,  
Crave pardon then for all these great offences,  
That when you dwelled among those hearts of ours  
Your only eyes did blind our wits and senses.  
New if you see my will above my wit,  
Think of the good that all your graces yield you:  
A mazed Muse must have a madding fit,  
Who is but mad that ever hath beheld you.    

A Sonnet.  

THose eyes that hold the hand of every hear,  
That hand that holds the heart of every eye,  
That wit that goes beyond all Nature's art.  
The sense too deep for Wisdom to descry.  
That eye, that hand, that wit, that heavenly sense,  
Doth show my only mistress excellence.   

Oh eyes that pierce into the purest heart,  
Oh hands that hold the highest thoughts in thrall,  
Oh wit that ways the depth of all desert,  
Oh sense that show the secret sweet of all.  
The heaven of heavens with heavenly powers preserve thee.  
Love but thyself, and give me leave to serve thee.   

To serve, to live, to look upon those eyes,  
To look, to live, to kiss that heavenly hand,  
To sound that wit that doth amaze the mind,  
To know that sense, no sense can understand.  
To understand that all the world may know,  
Such wit, such sense, eyes, hands, there are no more.    

A pastoral of Phillis and Coridon.  

ON a hill there grows a flower,  
Fair befall the dainty sweet:  
By that flower there is a bower,  
Where the heavenly Muses meet.   

In that Bower there is a Chair,  
Fringed all about with gold:  
Where doth sit the fairest fair,  
That did ever eye behold.   

It is Phyllis fair and bright,  
She that is the shepherds joy:  
She that Venus did despite,  
And did blind her little boy.   

This is she the wise, the rich,  
And the world desires to see,  
This is Ipsa quae the which,  
There is none but only she.   

Who would not this fact admire,  
Who would not this Saint adore,  
Who would not this sight desire,  
Though he thought to see no more▪   

Oh fair eyes yet let me see,  
One good look, and I am gon●…,  
Look on me for I am he,  
Thy poor silly Corydon.   

Thou that art the shepherds Queen,  
Look upon thy silly Swain:  
By t●…y comfort have been seen,  
Dead men brought to life again.    

The complaint of a forsaken Lover.  

LEt me go seek some solitary place,  
In craggy rocks where comfort is unknown:  
Where I may sit and wail my heavy case,  
And make the heavens acquainted with my mo●…e.   

Where only Echo with her hollow voice,  
May sound the sorrow of my hidden sense:  
And cruel chance the cross of sweetest choice,  
Doth breed the pain of this experience.   

In mourning thoughts let me my mind attire,  
And clad my care in weeds of deadly woe:  
And make Disgrace the grave of my desire,  
Which took his death whereby his life did grow.  
And ere I die engrave upon my ●…ombe,  
Take heed of Love, for this is lovers doom.    

A pretty Fancy.  

WHo takes a friend and trus●…s him not,  
Who hopes of good and hath it not,  
Who hath a Item and keeps it not,  
Who keeps a joy and loves it not.  
The first wants wit, the second will,  
Careless the third, the fourth doth ill.    

An Epitaph on the death of a noble Gentleman.  

SOrrow come sit thee down, and sigh and sob thy fill,  
And let these bleeding bitter tears, be witness of thine ill.  
See, see, how Virtue sits, what passions she doth prove,  
To think upon the loss of him, that was her dearest love.  
Come Pallas careful Queen, let all thy Muses wait,  
About the grave, where buried is the grace of your conceit.  
Poets lay down your pens, or if you needs will write,  
Confess the only day of love hath lost her dawning light.  
And you that know the Court and what beseems the place,  
With grief engrave upon his tomb, he gave all Courts a grace.  
And you that keep the fields, and know what valour is,  
Say all too soon was seen in this untimely death of his.  
Oh that he lived in earth, that could but half conceive,  
The honour that his rarest heart was worthy to receive.  
Whose wisdom far above the rule of Nature's reach,  
Whose works are extant to the world, that all the world may teach.  
Whose wit the wonder-stone, that did true wisdom touch,  
And such a sounder of conceit, as few or never such.  
Whose virtues did exceed in Nature's highest vain,  
Whose life a lantern of the love that surely lives again.  
Whose friendship faith so fast, as nothing could remove him,  
Whose honourable courtesy made all the world to love him.  
What language but he spoke: what rule but he had read?  
What thought so high? what sense so deep? but he had in his head.  
A Phoenix of the world, whom fame doth thus commend,  
Virtue his life, Valour his love, and Honour was his end.  
Upon whose tomb be writ, that may with tears be red,  
Here lies the flower of chivalry that ever England bred.  
Oh heavens, upon the earth was never such a day,  
That all conceits of all contents should all consume away.  
Me thinks I see a Queen om●…e couer●… with a vasse,  
The Court all stricken in a dump, t●…e 〈◊〉 ween & 〈◊〉.  
The knights in careful sighs bewail their secret loss,  
And he that best conceals his grief, b●…wrayes ●…e hath a cross.  
Come scholars bring your books, let reason have his right,  
Do reverence unto the corpse, in honour of the knight.  
Come soldiers see the knight, that left his life so near ye,  
Give him a volley of your hearts, that all the world may hear ye.  
And ye that live at home, and pass your time in peace,  
To help ye sing his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, let sorrow never cease.  
Oh could I mou●… 〈◊〉, that all the world may see,  
The grief of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●… loss; as greater cannot be.  
Our Court hath 〈◊〉 a 〈◊〉, our Country such a knight,  
As with the torment of the thought, hath turned day to nigh●….  
A man, so rare a man, did never England breed,  
So excellent in every thing, that all men did exceed.  
So full of all effects that wit and since may scan,  
As in his heart did want no part to make a perf●…ct man.  
Perfection fa●…e above the rule of humane sense,  
Whose heart was euely set on heaven, and had his honour thence  
Whose mark of highest aim▪ was honour of the mind,  
Who both at once did worldly fame, and heavenly fancur find.  
Whom Virtue so did love, and learning so adore,  
As commendation of a man, was never man had more.  
Whom wise men did admire, whom good men did affect,  
Whom honest men did love and serve, and all men did respect.  
Whose care his Country's love whose love his Country's care,  
Whose careful love considered well, his country could not spare,  
Oh Christ what ruthful cries, about the world do ring,  
And to behold the heavy sighs it is a hellish thing.  
The camp, the doleful camp, comes home with all a Mort▪  
To see the captain of their care, come home in such a sort▪  
The Court, the solemn Court, is in a sudden trance,  
And what is he but is amazed to hear of this mischance,  
The C●…tie shakes the head, as it had lost a pillar,  
And kind affect is in such care, a little more would kill her,  
Sweet Oxford sits and weeps, and Cambridge ●…ries outright.  
To lose the honour of their love, and love of their 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
The Clergy singing Psalms, with tears be blot their book●…  
And all the scholars follow on with sad and heavy looks.  
The Muses and the Nymphs attired all in black.  
With tearing hears & wring hands, as if their hearts would crack.  
The father, wife, and friends, and servants in degrees,  
With blubbered eyes bewail the life that faithful love did le●…se.  
Myself that leu'de him more, than he that knew him much,  
Will leave the honour of his worth, for better wits to touch.  
And said but what I think, and that a number know,  
He was a Phoenix of a man I fear there are no more.  
To let him down in praise with men of passed fame,  
Let this suffice who more deserved: I never read his name▪  
For this he was in right, in brief to show his pra●…se,  
For Virtue, Learning, Valour, W●…t, the honour of our days.  
And so with honour end, let all the world go seek,  
So young a man, so rare a man, the world hath not the like.  
Whose only cor●…s consumes, whose Virtue never dies,  
Whose sweetest soul enjoys the sweet of highest Paradise.    

The sum of the former in four lines.  

GRace, Virtue, Ualor, Wit, Experience Learning Love,  
Art, Reason, Time, Conceit, Devise, Discretion, Truth,  
All these in one, and but one only prove,  
Sorrow in age, to see the end of youth.    

In the praise of his Mistress,  

POets lay down your pen●…es, let ●…ancie leave to ●…aine,  
Bid all the Muses go to bed, or get a be●…ter vain.  
Their Musics are to base, to sound that sweet conceit,  
That on the wonder of the world, with wonder may await.  
But if as yet unknown there be some dainty Muse,  
That can do more than all the rest, and 〈◊〉 her ●…nning use.  
Let her come whet her wits, to see what she can do,  
To that the best that ever ●…rote, came never near unto.  
For Venus was a toy, an●…y s●…inned 〈◊〉,  
And Cressida but a Chawcers ●…east, and H●…len but a babble.  
My tale shall be of truth, that never Treason taught,  
My Mistress is the only sweet, that ever Nature wrought.  
Whose eyes are like those stars that keep the highest 〈◊〉:  
Whose beauty like the burning Sun, that blinds the clearest ●…ies.  
Whose hairs are like those beams, that hang about the Sun,  
When in the morning forth he steps, before his course be run.  
And let me touch those lips, by love, by leave, or luck,  
When sweet affect, by sweet aspect, may yet some favour suck.  
They are those little folds, of Nature's finest wit,  
That she sat smoothing while she wrought, & willbe smacking yet.  
And for that purest red, with that most perfect white,  
That makes those cheeks the sweetest chains, of lovers high delight.  
What may be said but this Behold the only feature,  
That all the world that sees the face, may wonder at the creature.  
I will not stand to muse as many writers do,  
To seek out Nature's finest stuff to like her limbs unto.  
For if thou wert on earth that could in part compare:  
With every part of every part, wherein her praises are.  
Either for Nature's gifts or Virtues sweetest grace▪  
I would confess a blinded heart, were in unhappy case.  
But where both Nature, Sense, and Reason doth approve,  
She is the only Saint on earth, whom God and man doth love.  
Let this in sum suffice for my poor Muse and me,  
She is the Goddess of the earth, and there is none but she.    

Of Truth and love.  

TRuth shows herself in secret of her trust,  
Wisdom her grace in honour of her Love:  
Virtue her life where love is not unjust,  
Love in his sweet that doth ●…o sorrow prove.   

Truth hath in hate to hear a feigned tale,  
Wisdom doth frown where Follie is in place:  
Honour is gone where Beauty is too small,  
And Virtue dies where Love is in disgrace.   

I leave your truth to your desired trust,  
Your wisdom to the wonder of the wise:  
Your highest joy to judgement of the just,  
Where Virtue lives, and Honour never dies.  
And he vouchsafe you that all truth preserveth,  
What Truth of Love, and Love of Truth deserveth.    

Rare news.  

News from the heavens, all wars are at an end,  
Twixt higher powers, a happy peace concluded,  
Fortune and Faith are sworn each others friend,  
And loves desire shall never be deluded.   

Time hath set down the compass of his course,  
Nature her work, and Excellence her art:  
Care his content, and Cruelty his curse,  
Labour his desire, and Honour his desert.   

Words shall be deeds, and men shall be divine,  
Women all Saints or Angels in degrees:  
Clouds shall away, the Sun shall ever shine,  
Heavens shall have power to hinder none of these.  
These are the Articles of the conclusion,  
Which when they fa●…, then look for a confusion.    

Of a weary life.  

WHo can delight in such a woeful sound,  
Or loves to hear a Lay of dire lament,  
What note is sweet when grief is all the ●…ound,  
Discords can yield but only discontent.  
The wrist is wrung that strains each string too far,  
And strifes the stops that give each stroke a iar●…   

Harsh is (alas) the harmony God knows,  
When out of tune is almost every string:  
That sound unsweet that all of sorrow grows,  
And sad the Muse that so is forced to sing.  
But some do sing but that for shame would cry,  
So doth my Muse and so I swear do I.   

Good Nature weeps to see herself abused,  
Ill Fortune shows her fury in her face,  
Poor Reason pines to see himself refused,  
And Duty dies to see his sore disgrace.  
Hope hangs his head to see Despair so near,  
And what but Death can end this heavy cheer▪   

But hold, each tear no token of a toy,  
But torment such as tear my heart asunder,  
Each sobbing ●…gh a sign of such annoy,  
As how I live, believe me 'tis a wonder.  
Each groan a gripe that makes me gasp for breath,  
And every strain a bitter pang of death.   

Lo thus I live, but looking still to die,  
And still I look, but still I see in vain,  
And still in vain, alas, I lie and cry,  
And still I cry, but have no ease of pain.  
So still in pain I live, look, lie and cry,  
When Hope will help, or Death will let me die,    

Of his unhappy sta●…e of life.  

IF ever man did live in Fortune's scorn,  
Whose joys do fail that feel distress in mind:  
Whose years with cares, whose eyes with tears beswolne  
That in each part, all parts of griefs doth find.  
To grace his ill, send such a man to me,  
That am more hapless than himself can be.   

For good desert that is unkindly used,  
For service, love and faith that ●…indeth hate:  
Who in his Mistress eyes is most refused,  
Whose comforts fall, whose 〈◊〉 come too late.  
If that man live that in his 〈◊〉 finds this,  
Know he my 〈◊〉, for my ha●… hard●… is.   

If da●…ming vows be but as dreams regarded,  
And constant thoughts as shows of custom taken:  
If any man for love be thus rewarded,  
And hath his hopes for these unrights forsaken.  
Let him see me whose like hath never been,  
Killed by these wrongs, and yet by death unseen.   

Then by this rival of my such despise,  
With much desire shall seek my name to know:  
Tell him my lines Strange things may well suffice,  
For him to bear, for me to seek them so.  
And 'twas enough that I did find such evils,  
And 'twere too much that Angels should be devils.    

His complaint against Love and Fortune.  

IF heaven and earth were both not fully bend,  
To plague a wretch with an infernal pain:  
To rob the heart of all his high content,  
And leave a wound that should not heal again.  
If cruel Fortune did not seek to kill,  
The careful spirit of my kind affect:  
And care did not so crucify me still,  
That Love had left no hope of his effect.  
If she whom most my heart hath ever loved,  
Were not unkind in care of my distress:  
And she by whom my grief might be removed,  
Did not hold back the mean of my redress.  
If all these thoughts and many thousands more,  
Too long to tell, too deadly to endure:  
Did not consume my heart in sorrow so,  
That care hath left no hope of any cure.  
Then might I yet amid m●… greatest grief,  
Persuade my patience with some heavenly power,  
That when I most despair of my relief,  
My hopeless heart might find some happy hour.  
But since that Fortune so doth frown upon me,  
That care hath thus of comfort all bearest me:  
Think it not strange to see me woebegone me,  
Where no good hope of no good hap is left me.  
And since I see all kindness so unkind,  
And friendship grown to such contrary thought ●…  
And such a thought the torment of the mind,  
That care and sorrow hath consumed to nought.  
I will resolve (though pa●…ience be perforce)  
To sit me down, and thus in secret ●…rie:  
Dead is my heart, o●… earth receive my corpse,  
Heaven be my life, for in the world I die.    

In the praise of his Penelope.  

WHen authors writ god knows what thing is true,  
Old Homer wrote of fine Ulysses' wit,  
And Ovid wrote of Venus' heavenly hue▪  
And Ariosto of Orlando's fit.  
One wrote his pleasure of Calliope,  
I am to write of sweet Penelope.   

And where each one did show a secret vain,  
And whether that Ulysses were or not,  
And though that Ovid did but only fai●…e,  
And Ariosto set down many a blot.  
And some wrote loudly of Calliope,  
I writ but truth of sweet Penelope.   

And if I had Ulysses' skilful sconce,  
With Homer's pen and Ovid's heavenly voice,  
I would set down a wonder for the nouce,  
To set them all a new to work again.  
And he that wrote of his Calliope.  
Should hush to hear of this Penelope.   

As true as she that was Ulysses' wife,  
As ●…aire as she whom some a Goddess feign,  
A Saint of shape, and of more virtuous life,  
Then she for whom Orlando's knight was slain.  
In every thing above Calliope,  
There is none such as sweet Penelope.   

And for this time go look the world that will  
For constant fair, for virtue and good grace,  
For every part in whom no part is ill,  
For perfect shape, and for a heavenly face,  
Angellica, Venus, Calliope,  
All are but blows unto Penelope.    

A Poem.  

Look not too long upon those looks, the blinds the overlooker sore,  
& if you speak, speak not to much, lest speaking once that speak no more▪  
think not but what it is to think, to reach beyond the reach of thought▪  
And if you do, do what you can, when you have done you can do nought.  
But if you see against your will, look but away and be not slain,  
And if a word go unawares, with care it may be called again.  
And for a thought it is not hurt, except it grow unto a thing,  
But to undo that hath been done, is only conquest of a king.  
But since in thee O silly wretch, both sight, & speech, & thought and deed  
By reason of a wrong conceit, do but thine own confusion breed.  
Shut up thy eyes, seal up thy tongue, lock up thy thought, lay down thy head  
And let thy mistress see by this, how love hath struck her servant dead.  
And that but in her heavenly eye, her word, her thought, and only will  
Doth rest the dead, to kill the quite, or else to cure thee of this ill,    

A Poem.  

power down poor eyes the tears of true distress▪  
Hear but (oh heavens) the horror of my cry,  
judge of the care that can have no redrresse,  
Let me not live to see my lover di●…▪  
In sorrows rules, like sorrow never read,  
Philip sweet-knight, sweet Philip Sidney dead.   

Pain more than art, or Nature can express,  
Hell to the world to lose a heavenly friend,  
joy is become but sorrow and distress;  
Life with my Love let death and dolour end.  
In bitter tears hath heart of honour blead,  
Past hope of help to see perfection dead.    

A Poem.  

PEace all the world, your weeping is but vain,  
Heaven hath the h●…pe of honour all away:  
joy but in heaven to meet that hope again,  
Link with the life that never can decay.  
In this alone all hope of comfort lies,  
Perfection only lives in Paradise.    

A Poem.  

PErfection ●…eereles, Virtue without pride,  
Honour and learning linked with highest Love,  
joy of the thought in true discretion tried,  
Love of the life that highest honours prove.  
In Angel's arms with heavenly hands embraced▪  
Paradise pleased, and all the world disgraced.   

Seek all the world, oh seek and never find,  
In earthly mould the mount of such a mind:  
Divinest gifts that God on man bestoweth,  
No glory such as of such glory groweth.  
End of the joys that hath all grief begun,  
Yet let me weep when all the world is done.    

Upon a scoffing laughter given by a Gentlewoman.  

LAugh not too much, perhaps you are deceived,  
All are not fools that have but simple faces:  
Mists are abroad, things may be misconceived,  
Frumps and disdains are favours in disgraces.  
Now if you do not know what mean these speeches,  
Fools have long coats, and Monkeys have no breeches.   

T●…hee again, why what a grace is this,  
Laugh a man out before he can get in:  
Fortune so cross, and favour so amiss,  
Doomsday at hand before the world begin.  
Marry sir then but if the weather hold,  
Beauty may laugh, and Love may be a cold.   

Yet leave betimes your laughing too too much,  
Or find the Fox, and then begin the chase:  
Shut not a Rat within a sugar hutch,  
And think you have a Squirrel in the place.  
But when you laugh let this go for a jest,  
Seek not a Woodcock in a Swallows nest.    

A sweet contention between Love, his Mistress, and Beauty.  

Love & my Mistress were at strife who had the greater power on me,  
Betwixt them both oh what a life, nay what a death is this to be.  
She said she did it with her eie●…he said he did it with his dart,  
Betwixt them both (a silly wretch) 'tis I that have the wounded heart.  
She said she only spoke the word, that did enchant my pearing sense,  
He said, he only gave the sound, that entered heart without defence,  
She said they were her only hears, on which the dainty Muses wait:  
He said he was the only mean, that entered Muses in conceit.  
She said her Beauty was the mark, that did amaze the highest mind:  
He said he only made the mist, whereby the senses grew so blind.  
She said, that only for her sake, the best would venture life and limb:  
He said she was too much deceived, they honoured her because of him.  
Long while (alas) she would not yield, but it was she that ruled the roast,  
Until by proof she did confess, if he were gone her joy was lost▪  
And then she cried, oh dainty Love, I now do find it is for thee,  
That I am loved and honoured both, & thou hast power to conquer me▪  
But when I heard her yield to Love, oh how my heart did leap for joy,  
That now I had some little hope, to have an end of mine annoy.  
For though that Fancy Beauty found, a power all to pitiless,  
Yet Love would never have the heart, to leave his servant comfortless:  
But as too soon before the field, the ●…pet sounds the overthrow,  
So all too soon I joyed too much, for I awaked and nothing so.    

A Sonnet to the tune of a hone a hone  

COme solemn Muse and help me ●…ing,  
A doleful note, a dying song,  
What wretched cares my heart do wring,  
To see how death hath done me wrong.   

For I have lost (oh deadly woe)  
My iem, my joy, my life, my love,  
And in the world their is no more,  
Can heal the pain that I do prove.   

My sweet affections all are fled,  
Desires, delights, and all are gone,  
My heart is sick, my hope is dead,  
And only death to look upon.   

These secret cares so kill my heart,  
With inward gripes of endless grief,  
That how can sorrow ever part.  
Where is no hope to have relief.   

But helpless hopeless still I lie.  
consuming so in secret care:  
That who doth live and would not die,  
To look upon my heavy far.   

But all in vain I make this moan,  
Where nothing can my grief release,  
For I am only left alone,  
To sorrow still and never cease.   

But sorrow now even do thy worst,  
For death in fine will be a friend:  
For I do know my heart will burst,  
And then thy force will have an end.    

In commendation of the maids of Honour.  

Fair, is to base for Nature's excellence,  
Rich, all too mean for such a mind of treasure:  
All, but too few to do her reverence,  
Virtue herself doth love her out of measure.  
No earthly coast containeth such a creature,  
Those by the heavens, to show the earth a wonder:  
joy of the earth, the miracle of Nature,  
Sent to the wise to set all wits asunder,  
How far she is above all human sense,  
Ask of the Gods for men cannot discern:  
When such I find her secret excellence,  
As wit and reason are too weak to learn.  
Rare is the work that Nature thus hath ended.  
Dainty the end that cannot be amended.    

Diana virgin, her complaint to the Goddess Diana.  

OH sweet Diana that dwellest among the nymphs,  
In whom the fire of Nature hath no force:  
Whose heavenly eye beholds those silly imps,  
Whose ruthful hearts do sue for thy remorse.  
Vouchsafe, oh saint, from that pure hand of thine,  
Some pity's help, to this poor heart of mine.   

Was it my fault that Cupid found the mean,  
First to creep in, into thy quiet Court,  
My hope was clear, my comfort had been clean,  
From any hap of such unhappy hurt:  
But well I see amid the greatest cares,  
A sudden heart may slip in unawares.   

Alas, alas, full little did I think,  
The little thing had had so great a power:  
I thought him blind when he did only wink,  
And sweet his thoughts, that fall out deadly sower.  
But since I was thus trapped in this train,  
Once set my heart at liberty again.   

But Lady say, is Love of such a force,  
That only death must heal the desperate wound●…  
In heavenly thoughts hath Reason no remorse.  
In cure of love was never comfort found.  
Hath Cupid force to come and conjure thee,  
Oh no, alas, it is to conquer me.   

'Twas I, 'twas I that only had the hap,  
To take the hurt the wretched Traitor wrought:  
'Twas only I, that caught the secret clap,  
While careful faith with cruel fancy fought.  
'Twas I Diana, and 'tis only I,  
Whom thou must help, or else I yield to die.     

Britons vision of Cupid's complaint against his fowl father Vulcan for begetting him.  

WIthin the thick of most unquiet thoughts,  
Where Wit and Will had long each other lost:  
With careful sense of sweet desire I sought,  
Which was the way that Fancy followed most:  
And passing on the path that they did prove,  
Plodding along I met with piteous love.   

Wholly disarmde and hanging down the head,  
Blinded? oh no, but all with blubbered eyes:  
Fallen in the face with colour pale and dead,  
Wring his hands in such a woeful wise.  
That when I saw how he had wept and cried,  
Truly I thought the wretch would there have died.   

But when I saw the little thing alone,  
far from himself thus wander too and fro:  
And when I heard how he did still bemove,  
Some hidden cause that I desired to know.  
Close in conceit, I hide myself, to hear,  
What was the cause of this his heavy cheer.   

Thus as I sat close hidden from his sight,  
Of luckless Love lamenting of his loss:  
This silly wretch in this most sorrowed plight,  
With sighs and sobs, and grievous groans God wot,  
Cursing and banning Beauties generation,  
Thus did begin his woeful lamentation.   

Oh hapless hour when first my mother made,  
The cursed match with that uncomely Smith:  
Whose smoky forge hath made her beauty fade,  
As far unfit for her to meddle with.  
Whose filthy face doth set forth such a feature,  
As hell itself hath scarce so fowl a creature.   

But what conceit her frantic fancy feed,  
To match with him that was so fowl a match:  
Alas, alas, was Mercury so dead,  
So great a prince to look on such a patch.  
Needs must she think as she did after prove,  
Vulcan was not a man for Venus' love.   

Oh smoky fowl ill favoured filthy thief,  
How could thy mind so high a matter move:  
How could thy heart have hope to find relief,  
Look on thyself, and never look for love.  
So fair, so fowl, such contraries agree,  
Reason would swear that it should never be.   

Better I were to be a bastard borne,  
Then have a father of so fowl a hue:  
Rather I wish that thou shouldst wear the horn,  
Then that the world should think it to be true.  
That Cupid sweet should have so fowl a Sire,  
And hath his face still foiled in the fire.   

See w●…etched do●…ge the su●…e of thy disgrace;  
First thou hast wrought my mother great defame:  
Next thou hast set a mark upon thy face,  
That all the world doth laugh to hear thy name:  
And last for me they say how can it be,  
That he was son to such a stave as he.   

But fie upon that filthy face of thine,  
Those mouldy chaps to touch my mother's face:  
I do protest my conscience doth repine,  
That thou shouldst kiss her in another place:  
But ugly beast into some hole go hide thee,  
For Beauty swears that Love can not abide thee.   

Oh Mars, oh Mars, where are those stately strokes,  
That left the field so overflowen with blood:  
That clove down hills, and threw down sturdy Okes,  
And made the air come thundering through the wood:  
Art thou so weak with bending of one blade,  
Thou canst not break the chain that Vulcan made.   

Up man, arise and show thy manly strength,  
Lest that the Smith do seek my mother's shame:  
Lie not too long least slugguish sloth at length,  
Seek by desert the honour of thy name:  
Vulcan is gone, but Cupid hath a file,  
To lose the lock that may the Smith beguile▪   

But come away, for look where Vulcan comes,  
But thou art lose now let him do his worst:  
Look how the thief comes biting of his thumbs,  
Cursing the hap that hath his cunning burst.  
But let him some and bristle like a boar,  
Let him be sure to catch thee so no more.   

But mother fie, what fond 〈◊〉 was that,  
To look on Vulcan in the va●…e of love:  
Confess a truth, you did you knew not what,  
When patience would so vile a matter prove.  
Was want of sight that wrought your overthrow,  
Why then (alas should I be blinded so.   

But mother, no: there is an other thing,  
Who is so blind as they that will not see:  
A base conceit sometime may stoop a king,  
I see in some that see not into me.  
Better it is with Beauty to be blinded,  
Then Beauties grace to be blindly minded.   

But will you know it was no work of mine,  
Follies effect committed all the fact:  
Although your words have made poor Cupid whine,  
To say that I was author of the act:  
But will or nill I must myself content,  
For parents' faults poor children must be shent.   

I am the child I cannot but confess,  
The world doth say that I am Venus son:  
By whom begot I hear of nothing less,  
But might I hear by whom the deed was done:  
In such desire as might the world defy,  
There could not live a gladder man then I.   

Once Vulcan's son I know I cannot be,  
Mars was the man came nearer to the mark:  
As for the Smith it never could be he,  
A B●…ting never could beget a Lark.  
Oh a●…, the world is much deceived in me.  
I hope to find an other pedigree.   

I am the son of secret sweet conceit,  
God by Desire and bred up by desert:  
Nu●…thy the mind that never meant deceit,  
Fed with the favour of a faithful heart.  
High from the heavens I took my happy name,  
Where Venus lives, and Vulcan never came.   

Begot I was in Anno out of mind,  
Borne in a country that no creature knows:  
Bred in a world that worldlings cannot find,  
Fed with a fruit that in no garden grows.  
Lodge in an eye that never can destroy me,  
Kept in a heart that never can come nigh me.   

Lo thus I live where I can never die,  
Fearing no hap, nor looking after hope:  
Pleasing myself which pleasures far and ●…e,  
Wanting no wish where will hath such a scope:  
Governing all, where none can govern me,  
Oh what a king may dainty Cupid be.   

Then leave to mourn, and let the world perceive,  
That Poet's fancies are but feigned fables,  
And Ovid did but study to deceive,  
Such kind conceits as love such foolish babbles▪  
For he that looks into M●…neruas joy,  
Shall say that Cupid is a dainty boy.   

With that me thought the little wag arose,  
And gathered colour prettily in his face:  
And stands me op a-tiptoe on his toes,  
Uaunting himself with such a Venus grace:  
As drove my heart into so great a laughter,  
That I awoke, and never saw him after.    

Britons second dream of Venus' complaint when she lost her son Cupid.  

BUt sorrow thus to lose the sight of love▪  
Scarce well awaked I fell asleep again:  
In hope the heavens would some odd humour move,  
To show the fruits of such a sleepy vain:  
And scarce a sleep strange visions did ensue,  
Yet not so strange but that they may be true.   

Hard by the place where I had Cupid seen,  
Me thought I saw a heavenly kind of creature,  
Of stature tall, of countenance like a Queen,  
Exceeding fair, and of so sweet a feature:  
That when I stood to view her stately grace,  
My thought indeed I saw an Angel's face.   

Attired she was in garments white as snow,  
Save on her arm she wore a Tawny lace.  
In her right hand she bore a bended bow,  
And at her back an empty Arrow case:  
Little she said that I could hear at first,  
But sight and sobt as if her heart would burst.   

But yet at last with sad and heavy look,  
She took the bow and fling it on the ground:  
And from her back the empty case she took,  
Which with the lace unto the bow she bond,  
Then down she sat within a shadow vail,  
And to herself she told this heavy tale.   

Was ever wretch or creature thus beguiled,  
To lose the jewel of his chiefest joy:  
Can Venus choose but sorrow for her child,  
No, no, my darling was a dainty boy:  
But Mars, oh Mars, what meant he to come hither,  
For Mars and he are gone away together.   

These little things were wont to be his arms,  
But now the wag hath thrown these toys away:  
And thinks himself amid the thickest harms,  
In only hope to find a happy day:  
Oh haughty reach of honours high renown,  
That throws the sense of sweetest humours down.   

But my sweet boy, when first th●…se hands did bind thee,  
I knew each way that thou wert wont to go,  
And when this heart (unhappy did unbind thee,  
I little thought thou shouldst have rannged so.  
But come again good wretch let me entreat thee,  
And I protest thy mother will not beat thee.   

But turn again and tell me ere thou goest.  
Dost thou inte●…d to do some royal thing:  
Let this suffice that I am sure thou knowest,  
My heart could wish that thou wert made a king.  
God send thy heart the height of thy desire,  
Hope, hap, & heaven, and who can wish thee hire.   

And therewithal she did those tears let fall,  
That showed the wa●… where Love & Reason fought  
Whose colour pale showed some what did appall,  
Her patient heart with some unhappy thought.  
And so sweet Saint with sorrow overcome,  
She stood amazed as she were stricken dumb.   

Then I beheld a sight of dainty Nymphs,  
Did strait before her stately eyes appear:  
And down on knees fell all these heavenly imps,  
To comfort her amid her heavy cheer.  
And when she heard that every one had spoken,  
Prace, peace quoth she, for Beauties heart is broken.   

Alas, Alas, ye little silly things,  
God knows, I know still little do you know,  
What do belong unto the state of Kings,  
What sets them up, or seeks their overthrow.  
What kind of care do breed their sorrow most,  
What death is life where dearest friends are lost.   

But wish I yet I had but such a friend.  
As by desert delight did hold full dear:  
And fear by force did see his fatal end,  
Yet no conceit could serve to keep him hear.  
Would it not grieve each vain within her heart,  
To see so sweet and dear a friend departed.   

Then let this be a spark of all my pain,  
Alas, alas, 'tis but a spark in deed:  
My sorrow sinks into so deep a vain,  
As makes the heart of highest favour bleed,  
The chiefest staff of my assured stay,  
With no small grief is gone, is gone away.   

My Cupid was to me a child of love.  
But no such babe as ioied in children's babbles:  
For mark his life, his mind would soon approve,  
Such feigned fancies were but Ovid's fables.  
Who was as far from knowing my Cupid,  
As faithful love is far from foul Libido.   

He never lived by deeds of vain desire,  
Nor wrapped himself in Carpets of conceit:  
But haughty Fame had set his heart on fire,  
To show the mind that never meant deceit.  
But seeks by arms to pull ambition down,  
That wrought by force to wring me from my crown.   

O care most rare, and worthy kind regard,  
O rare regard, and worthy high renown:  
O high renown that rightly mayst reward,  
The careful heart to keep me in my crown.  
And honour seeks where due desert may bear it,  
Which won by force, with favour he shall wear it.   

Wherewith (me thought) I heard a sudden alarm,  
To horse, to horse the Caualir●…es cried,  
And after that a cry of arm, arm, arm,  
And down they ran unto a river side.  
Where I might hear the trumpet, drum, and ●…ife,  
Sound up the honour of a soldiers life.   

Anon I saw the ships draw nigh the shore,  
And all aboard went horse and man apace:  
Where launching out the guns shot off so sore,  
As where I stood did seemt to shake the place.  
And Trumpets shrill so sounded in the stream,  
As I awoke, and all was but a dream.    

Pastorals and Sonnets.  

A device of Diogenes Tub.  

DIo●…enes was termed but a Dog,  
Tide to a Tub where lay but little treasure:  
Who for his life was counted but a Hog,  
That knew no part of any worldly pleasure.  
What said the king yet in his greatest throne,  
Either himself Dogenes, or none.   

For when the king did bid him ask and have,  
His mind was not of any mass of wealth:  
He asked no more than other creatures have,  
The chiefest comfort of his happy health.  
Take not away (quoth he) thou canst not give,  
Out of the Sun, for by the same I live.   

The good poor soul doth think no creature harm,  
Only he lives obscurely in his Tun,  
Most is his care to keep his carcase warm,  
All his delight to look upon the Sun:  
And could the heavens but make the Sun to know him  
He should not live should keep his shining fro him.    

A Metaphor.  

A Little fire doth make the faggot burn,  
When blowing much will put the fire out:  
Silence but s●…ld doth serve the lo●…re turn,  
And too much su●…e, for favour hath a flouce.  
Then let thus much suffice for my desire,  
The smallest blowing make the greatest fire.   

Concei●…e is quick, would so were sweet content,  
Eyes hath a glance of too too great a grace:  
Spirits do speak in silence of intent,  
And thoughts are spirits of a setret place.  
In silence then let heart in sunder break,  
Eyes shall behold, but spirits shall not speak.    

Of the birth and bringing up of desire.  

WHen wert thou born Desire? in pomp and prime of May:  
By whom sweet boy wert thou begot? by good conceit men say  
Tell me who was thy nurse? fresh youth in sugared joy:  
What was thy meat and daily food? sore sighs with great annoy.  
What had you then to drink? unfeigned lovers tears:  
What cradle were you rocked in? in hope devoid of fears.  
What brought you then a sleep▪ sweet speech that liked men best:  
And where is now your dwelling place? in gentle hearts I rest.  
Doth company displease? it doth in many one:  
Where would Desire then choose to be? he likes to muse alone.  
What feedeth most your sight? to gaze on favour still:  
Who find you most to be your foe? Disdain of my good will.  
Will ever age or death bring you unto decay?  
No, no, Desire both lives and dies ten thousand times a day.   
E. of Ox.  
Finis.   

A pleasant Sonnet.  

I Will forget that ere I saw thy face,  
I will forget thou art so brave a wight:  
I will forget thy stately comely grace,  
I will forget thy hue that is so bright:  
I will forget thou art the fairest of all,  
I will forget thou winnest the golden ball.   

I will forget thy forehead fea●…ly framed,  
I will forget thy Crystal eyes so clear:  
I will forget that no part may be blamed,  
I will forget that thou hadst near thy year▪  
I will forget Uermelion is thy hue.  
I will forget there is no Saint but thou.   

I will forget thy dimpled chin so fine.  
I will forget to approach thy seemly sight:  
I will forget throughout the world so wide,  
I will forget nonce beauty half so bright:  
I will forget thou stainst the brightest star.  
I will forget thou passest Cynthia far.   

I will forget that feature is thy fere,  
I will forget thy beauty dims the Sun:  
I will forget that hue not comes thee near,  
I will forget thy fame will near be done.  
I will forget thou art the fairest of all,  
That ever was, or is, or ever shall.   
And then  

I will forget when grew my withered stalk,  
I will forget to eat, to drink, or sleep:  
I will forget to see, to speak, to walk,  
I will forget to mourn, to laugh, to weep.  
I will forget to hear, to feel, or taste,  
I will forget my life and all at last.   
And now  

I will forget the place where thou dost dwell,  
I will forget thyself, and so far well.    

Another sweet Sonnet.  

I Seek the thing that I do daily see,  
And feign would gain that is already won,  
I follow that which doth not from me flee:  
Nor never seeks my company to shuune.  
I granted am what I do seem to crave,  
Yet so I want, that feignest I would have.   

Hard is my hap since I am f●…rst to i●…y▪  
Where as there doth no joy at all remain:  
And seek for bliss where rests nought but annoy,  
And for good will reap nought but deep disdain:  
Luckless my lot. I labour but in vain,  
I seek to win what I see others gain.   

Seeing hope, and hap, and all at once doth fail,  
And that despair is now my chiefest guide:  
Whereby I see no ransom will me bail,  
Out of the bonds wherein I now am tied.  
I am content in bondage for to serve,  
Until my faith my freedom do deserve.    

A Poem.  

H| Honour of love, when love in honour is,  
O| Old men admire, and young men are amazed:  
P| Perfection rare where nothing is amiss,  
T| The glass of grace where eyes are over-gazed:  
O| Only the face of such a heavenly feature,  
N| Not on the earth can be a fairer creature.    

A Sonnet.  

EYe lie awake in hope of blessed seeing,  
Hope thought that hap was overlong in lingering:  
In came the Lass, oh my thrice happy being,  
Senses thought long until they were a fingering.   

Tongue spared to speak, lest it should speak too sparing▪  
Hart drowned in fear ravished, denied her honour:  
Hands saw the price, and long to be a sharing,  
Pity said, hold, but Courage cried, upon her.   

Silent she stood, yet in her silent speaking,  
Words of more force than is great love his thunder:  
joys wear her eyes, sorrows asunder breaking,  
Sweet was her face, each member was a wonder.   

Heaven is hers, to her by heavens assigned,  
Skies are her thoughts where pleasant Planets reigned,  
Frank is her mind, to no ill craft inclined,  
Love is the cross wherein her heart is chained.   

Bliss was to see her steps to bedward bending,  
Music to hear herself, herself unlacing,  
Strange the aspect of two sons then descending,  
Sweet was the kiss, but sweeter the embracing.    

Another fine Sonnet.  

WHo deals with fire may burn his fingers ends,  
And water drowns the foot that goes too deep:  
A lavish tongue will quickly lose his friends,  
And he a fool that can no counsel keep.  
Yet where desire doth egg the tongue to speak,  
Somewhat must out, or else the heart will break.   

To speak but truth deserve no deadly blame,  
Though truth mista'en sometime be petty treason:  
Yet causeless death deserveth no defame,  
Though ruthless rage will never yield to reason:  
Then since desire doth egg me on so ●…ore,  
Truth will I speak although I speak no more.   

The truth is this, there is no fire to love,  
Nor water like to Beauties heavenly bro●…kes,  
No friend to faith, to talk for hearts behove,  
Nor wit so wise to live by only looks:  
Nor sweet desire by silence entertained,  
Nor kind Aspect, that ever love disdained.    

A Pastoral.  

SWeet birds that sit and sing amid the shady valleys,  
And see how sweetly Phillis walks amid her garden allies▪  
Go round about her bower and sing, as ye are bidden,  
To her is only known his faith, that from the world is hidden.  
And she among you all that hath the sweetest voice,  
Go chirp of him that never told, yet never changed his choice.  
And not forget his faith, that lived for ever loved,  
Yet never made his fancy known, nor ever favour mou'●….  
And ever let your ground of all your grace be this,  
To you, to you, to you the due of love and honour is.  
On you, on you, on you▪ our music all attendeth,  
For as on you our Muse begun, in you all music endeth.    

Coridon's supplication to Phillis.  

SWeet Phillis if a silly Swain,  
may sue to thee for grace:  
See not thy loving shepherd slain,  
With looking on thy face.  
But think what power thou hast got,  
Upon my flock and me:  
Thou feast they now regard me not,  
but all do follow thee.   

And if I have so far presumed,  
With prying in thine eyes:  
Yet let not comfort be consumed,  
That in thy pity lies.  
But as thou art that Phillis fair,  
That fortune favour gives,  
So let not love die in despair,  
That in thy favour lives.   

The Deer do bruise upon the brier,  
The birds do prick the cherries,  
And will not Beauty grunnt Desire,  
One handful of her berries.  
If so it be that thou hast sworn,  
That none shall look on thee:  
Yet let me know thou dost not scorns,  
To cast a look on me.   

But if thy Brwtie make thee proud,  
Think then what is ordained:  
The heavens have never yet allowed,  
That Love should be disdained.  
Then lest the Fates that favour Love,  
Should curse thee for unkind.  
Let m●… report for thy behove,  
The honour of thy mind.   

Let Coridon with full consent,  
Set down what he hath seen:  
That Phillida with loves content,  
Is sworn the shepherds Queen.    

A Sonnet.  

HEr face, her tongue, her wit,  
So fair, so sweet, so sharp:  
First bend, than drew, then hit,  
Mine cye, mine ear, mine heart.   

Mine eye, mine ear, mine heart,  
To like, to learn, to love:  
Your face, your tongue, your wit,  
Doth lead, doth teach, doth move,   

Her face, her tongue her wit,  
With beam, with sound, with art:  
Doth bind, doth charm, doth rule,  
Mine eye, mine ear, mine heart.   

Mine eye, mine ear, mine heart,  
With life, with hope, with skill,  
Your face, your tongue, your wit.  
Doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.   

Oh face, oh tongue, oh wit,  
With frowns, with checks, with smart:  
Wring not, vex not, move not,  
Mine eye, mine ear, mine heart.   

This eye, this ear, this heart▪  
Shall joy, shall bind, shall swear:  
Your face, your tongue, your wit,  
To serve, to love, to fear.    

A lovers complaint.  

WHo knows his cause of grief,  
And can the same descry:  
And yet finds no relief,  
Poor wretch but only I   

What foul will seek the snare,  
That he be caught thereby:  
If thereof he be ware,  
Poor wretch but only I   

What fish will bite the bait,  
If he the hook espy:  
Or if he see deceit,  
Poor wretch but only I,   

Who's he will seek to mount,  
The top of Turrets hie,  
To fall that makes account,  
Poor wretch but only I   

Who she will scale the height,  
Of A Aetna hill to fry:  
So dear to buy delight,  
Poor wretch but only I   

The heart will shun the toil,  
If he perceive it lie:  
No one would take such foil,  
Poor wretch but only I   

Who seeks to get and gain,  
The things that fates deny:  
Must live and die in pain,  
Poor wretch as now do I   

And heart my plaints to finish.  
In Limbo lake I lie:  
My grief you must diminish,  
Poor wretch, or else I die.    

A shepherds dream.  

A Silly Shepherd lately sat,  
among a flock of sheep:  
Where musing long on this and that,  
At last he fell a sleep.   

And in the slumber as he lay,  
He gave a piteous groan:  
He thought his sheep were run away,  
And he was left alone.   

He whopt, he whistled, and he called,  
But not a sheep came near him:  
Which made the shepherd sore appalled,  
to see that none would hear him.   

But as the Swain amazed stood,  
In this most solemn vain:  
Came Phillida out of the wood,  
And stood before the Swain.   

Whom when the Shepherd did behold,  
He strait began to weep,  
And at the heart he grew a cold,  
To think upon his sheep.   

For well he knew where came the Queen  
The Shepherd durst not stay.  
And where that he durst not be seen,  
The sheep must needs away.   

To ask her if she saw his flock,  
Might happen patience move:  
And have an answer with a mock,  
That such demaunders prove.   

Yet for because he saw her come,  
Alone out of the wood:  
He thought he would not stand as dumb,  
when speech might do him go.   

And therefore falling on his knees,  
To ask but for his sheep.  
He did awake and so did lose,  
The honour of his sleep.    

A pleasant sweet song.  

LAid in my restless bed,  
In dream of my desire:  
I saw within my troubled head,  
A heap of thoughts appear.   

And each of them so strange,  
In sight before mine eyes:  
That now I sigh and then I smile,  
As cause thereby doth rise.   

I see how that the little boy,  
In thought how oft that he:  
Doth wish of God to scape the rod,  
a tall young man to be,   

I saw the young man traveling,  
From sport to pains oppressed:  
How he would be a rich old man,  
To live and lie at rest.   

The old man too, who seethe,  
His age to draw on sore:  
Would be a little boy again,  
To live so long the more.   

Where at I sigh and smile,  
How Nature craves her fee:  
From boy to man, from man to boy,  
Would chop and change degree.    

A Sonnet of Time and Pleasure.  

TIme is but short, and short the course of time.  
Pleasures do pass but as a puff of wind:  
Care hath account to make for every crime,  
And peace abides but with the settled mind.   

Of little pain doth patience great proceed,  
And after sickness, health is dainty sweet:  
A friend is best approved at a need,  
And sweet the thought where care & kindness meet.   

Then think what comfort doth of kindness breed,  
To know thy sickness, sorrow to thy friend:  
And let thy faith upon this favour feed,  
That love shall live when death shall have an end▪   

And he that lives assured of thy love,  
Prays for thy life, thy health, and highest hap,  
And hopes to see the height of thy behove,  
Lulde in the sweet of loves desired lap.   

Till when, take pains to make thy pillow soft,  
And take a nap for Nature's better rest:  
He lives below that yet doth look●… aloft,  
And of a friend do not 〈◊〉 the least.    

Of a Lover in despair.  

THough froward fate hath forced my grief,  
And black despair this deadly pain:  
Yet time I trust will bring relief,  
When loyal faith shall have her gain.   

Till then the storms of banished state,  
And penance in this Hermit's Cell:  
Shall try her cause of wrong full hate,  
Whose malice lo keeps me in hell,    

A Sonnet of fair women's fickleness in love.  

IF women would be fair, and yet not fond,  
Or that their love were firm not fickle still:  
I would not wonder that they make men bond,  
By service long to purchase their good will:  
But when I see how firm these creatures are,  
I laugh that men forget themselves so far.   

To mark their choice they make and how they change,  
How oft from Venus they do cleave to Pan:  
Unsettled still like haggards vile they range,  
These gentle birds that fly from man to man:  
Who would not scorn & shake them from his fist,  
And let them go (fair fools) which way they list.   

If for disport we feign and flatter both,  
To pass the time when nothing can displease:  
And train them still unto our subtle oath,  
Till weary of their wits ourselves we ease.  
〈◊〉 then we say, when we their fancies try,  
To play with fools, oh what a dolt was I.    

Of the four Elements.  

T●…e air with sweet my senses do delight,  
The Earth with flowers doth glad my heavy ●…ie,  
The Fire with warmth revives my dying spirit,  
The Water cools that is too hot and dry:  
The Air, the Earth, the Water, and the fire,  
All do me good, what can I more desire.   

Oh no, the Air infected sore I find,  
The Earth, her flowers do whither and decay:  
The Fire so hot it doth inflame the mind,  
And Water washeth white and all away.  
The Air, the Earth, Fire, Water, all annoy me,  
How can it be but they must needs destroy me.   

Sweet Air do yet a while thy sweetness hold,  
Earth, let thy flowers not fall away in prime:  
Fire do not burn, my heart is not a cold,  
Water, dry up until another time,  
Or Air, or Earth, Fire, Water, hear my prayer,  
Or sla●…e me once, Fire, Water, Earth, or Air,   

Hark in the Air what deadly thunder threateth,  
See on the Earth how every flower falleth,  
Oh with the Fire how every sinew sweateth.  
Oh how the Water my p●…nting heart appalleth.  
The Air, the Earth, Fire, Water, all do grieve me.  
heavens show your power yet some way to relieve me.   

This is not Air that every creature feedeth,  
Nor this the Earth where every flower groweth:  
Nor this the Fire, that coal and baven breedeth,  
Nor this the Water, that both ebth and floweth.  
These Elements are in a word enclosed,  
Where happy heart hath heavenly rest reposed.    

Britons farewell to Hope.  

MY Hope farewell, leave off thy lingering stay,  
Now yield thyself as prisoner unto thrall:  
Prick on thy wings, make now no more delay,  
Be set thou art with envies furies all.  
Oh Follie fly, fond Fancy leave thy room,  
Thou art condemned, Despair hath given thy doom.   

Thy thread whereon thy hope did hang so long,  
Dame Envies rust hath fretted quite in twain:  
And spiteful spite hath gnawn thee to the bone,  
That sue thou mayst, but all is spent in vain.  
She is revert, and gives me still the nay,  
And keeps me like the Spaniel all the day.   

When caught I was, I was content to yield,  
My love was limned and linked to her will:  
And prisoner I was brought out of the field,  
Of liberty to serve in thraldom still.  
There lost I joys, my toils did then begin,  
When as I sought a froward heart to win.   

I sought, I sued, I was at beck and bay,  
I crept, I kneelde, a heaven it was to please:  
I thought myself the happiest man that day,  
If one fair word I caught my heart to ease:  
But when that deeds of words should then ensue,  
All then was turned like unto Cresseds' crew.   

Thus do I sue and serve, but all in vain,  
With lingering on my loathsome life in woe:  
Thus do I seek to win, but loss I gain,  
And for a friend obtain a spiteful foe:  
Then farewell hope the gain of my desert,  
Despair doth grow within my pensive heart.     
N. B. Gent.  
FINIS.