A POETICAL RHAPSODY Containing, diverse Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, Madrigals, and other Poesies, both in Rhyme, and Measured Verse.  
Never yet published.  
The Bee and Spider by a diverse power,  
Suck honey & Poison from the self same flower.  
●rinted at London by V.S. for john Baily, and to be sold at his Shop in Chancery lane, near to the Office of the six Clerks. 1602.   

To the most Noble, Honourable, and Worthy Lord, William Earl of Pembroke, Lord Herbert of Caerdiffe, Marmion, and Saint Quintine.  
GReat Earl, whose high and noble mind, is higher  
And nobler, than thy noble high Degree:  
Whose outward shape, though it most lovely be,  
Doth in fair Robes a fairer Soul attier:  
Who Rich in fading Wealth, in endless Treasure  
Of Virtue, Valour, Learning, richer art:  
Whose present greatness, men esteem but part  
Of what by line of future Hope they measure.  
Thou Worthy Son, unto a peerless MOTHER,  
Thou Nephew to great SIDNEY of renown,  
Thou that deservest thy CORONET to crown  
With Laurel Crown, a Crown excelling other;  
I consecrate these Rhymes to thy great NAME,  
Which if thou like, they seek no other fame.  
The devoted Admirer of your Lordship's noble virtues, FRA: DAVISON humbly dedicates, his own, his Brothers, and Anomos' Poems, both i● his own, and their names.   

To the Reader.  
BEING induced, by some private reasons, and by the instant entreaty of special friends, to suffer some of my worthless Poems to be published, I desired to make some written by my dear friend Anomos, and my dearer Brother, to bear them company: Both without their consent, the latter being in the low Country Wars, and the former utterly ignorant thereof. My friends name I concealed, mine own, and my brothers, I willed the Printer to suppress, as well as I had concealed the other: which he having put in, without my privity, we must both now undergo a sharper censure perhaps then our nameless works should have done, & I especially. For if their Poems be liked, the praise is due to their invention, if disliked, the blame both by them, and all men will be derived upon me, for publishing that which they meant to suppress.  
If thou think we affect fame by these kinds of writings, though I think them no disparagement e●en to the best judgements, yet I answer in all our behalfs, with the Princely Shepherd Dorus; Our hearts do seek another estimation.  
If thou condemn Poetry in general, and affirm, that it doth intoxicate the brain, and make men utterly unfit, either for more serious studies, or for any active course of life, I only say, jubeo te stultum esse libenter: Since experience proves by examples of many, both dead and living, that divers delighted and excelling herein, being Princes or Statesmen, have governed and counciled as wisely, being Soldiers, have commanded armies as fortunately, being Lawyers, have pleaded as judicially and eloquently, being Divines, have written and taught as profoundly, and being of any other Profession, have discharged it as sufficiently as any other men whatsoever: If liking other kinds, thou mislike the Lyrical, because the chiefest subject thereof is Love; I reply, that Love being virtuously intended, & worthily placed, is the Whetstone of wit, and Spur to all generous actions: and that many excellent spirits with great fame of wit, and no stain of judgement, have written excellently in this kind, and specially the ever-praise worthy Sidney: So as if thou will needs make it a fault, for mine own part, 
Haud timeo, si iam nequeo defendere crimen  
Cum tanto commune viro.   
If any except against the mixing (both at the beginning and end of this book) of diverse things written by great and learned Personages, with our mean and worthless scribblings, I utterly disclaim it, as being done by the Printer, either to grace the forefront with Sir Ph. Sidneys, and others names, or to make the book grow to a competent volume.  
For these Poems in particular, I could allege these excuses; that those under the Name of Anomos, were written (as appeareth by divers things to Sir Philip Sidney living, and of him dead) almost twenty years since, when Poetry was far from that perfection, to which it hath now attained; that my Brother is by profession a Soldier, and was not 18. years old when he writ these Toys: that mine own were made most of them six or seven years since, at idle times as I journeyed up and down during my Travails. But to leave their works to justify themselves, or the Authors to justify their works, and to speak of mine own; thy mislikes I contemn, thy praises (which I neither deserve, nor expect), I esteem not, as hoping (God willing) ere long, to regain thy good Opinion, if lost, or more deservedly to continue it, if already obtained, by some graver work.. Farewell.  
FRA: DAVISON.   

Two Pastorals, made by Sir Philip Si●ney, never yet published.  

Upon his meeting with his two worthy Frien●● and fellow-Poets, Sir Edward Die●● and Master Fulke Grevill.  

JOIN Mates in mirth to me,  
Grant pleasure to our meeting:  
Let Pan our good God see,  
How grateful is our greeting.  
join hearts and hands, so let it be,  
Make but one Mind in Bodies three.   

Ye Hymns, and singing skill  
Of God Apollo's giving,  
Be priest our reeds to fill,  
With sound of music living.  
join hearts and hands, etc.   

Sweet Orpheus' Harp, whose sound  
The steadfast mountains moved,  
Let here thy skill abound,  
To join sweet friends beloved.  
join hearts and hands, etc.   

〈◊〉 two and I be met,  
〈◊〉 ●appy blessed Trinity;  
〈◊〉 three most jointly set,  
〈◊〉 firmest band of Unity.  
join hands, etc.   

〈◊〉 welcome my two to me, E.D. F.G. P.S.  
〈◊〉 number best beloved,  
〈◊〉 within my heart you be  
〈◊〉 friendship unremoved.  
join hands, etc.   

●iue leave your flocks ●o range,  
●g●t us the while be playing,  
within the Elmy grange,  
●our flocks will not be straying.  
join hands, etc.   

●ause all the mirth you can,  
●●nce I am now come hither,  
Who never joy, but when  
● am with you together.  
join hands, etc.   

●ike Lovers do their Love,  
●o joy I, in you seeing;  
●et nothing me remove  
from always with you being.  
join hands, etc.   

And as the Turtle-dove  
To mate with whom he liveth,  
Such comfort, fervent love  
Of you, to my heart giveth.  
join hands, etc.   

Now joined be our hands,  
Let them be ne'er a sunder,  
But linked in binding bands  
By metamorphozed wonder.  
So should our severed bodies three  
As one for ever joined be.   
Sir Ph. Sidney.   

Dispraise of a Courtly life.  

WALKING in bright Phoebus' blaze  
Where with heat oppressed I was,  
I got to a shady wood,  
Where green leaves did newly bud.  
And of grass was plenty dwelling,  
Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling.   

In this wood a man I met,  
On lamenting wholly set:  
Ruing change of wont state,  
Whence he was transformed late,  
Once to shepherds God retaining,  
Now in servile Court remaining.   

●here he wandering malcontent,  
●p and down perplexed went,  
●aring not to tell to me,  
●●ake unto a senseless tree,  
●ne among the rest electing  
●hese same words, or this effecting:   

●y old mates I grieve to see,  
●oyde of me in field to be,  
Where we once our lovely sheep,  
●ouingly like friends did keep,  
Oft each others friendship proving,  
Never striving, but in loving.   

●ut may Love abiding be  
●n poor shepherds base degree?  
●t belongs to such alone  
To whom art of Love is known:  
Seely shepherds are not witting  
What in art of Love is fitting.   

Nay, what need the Art to those,  
To whom we our love disclose?  
It is to be used then,  
When we do but flatter men:  
Friendship true in heart assured,  
Is by nature's gifts procured.   

Therefore shepherds wanting skill,  
Can loves duties best fulfil:  
Since they know not how to feign,  
Nor with Love to cloak Disdain,  
Like the wiser sort, whose learning  
Hides their inward will of harming.   

Well was I, while under shade  
Oaten Reeds me music made,  
Striving with my Mates in Song,  
Mixing mirth our Songs among,  
Greater was that shepherds treasure,  
Then this false, fine, Courtly pleasure.   

Where, how many Creatures be,  
So many puffed in mind I see,  
Like to juno's birds of pride,  
Scarce each other can abide,  
Friends like to black Swans appearing▪  
Sooner these than those in hearing.   

Therefore Pan, if thou mayst be  
Made to listen unto me,  
Grant, I say (if silly man  
May make treaty to god Pan)  
That I, without thy denying,  
●lay be still to thee relying.   

Only for my two loves sake, Sir Ed. D. and M. F.●  
〈◊〉 whose love I pleasure take,  
●nly two do me delight  
With their ever-pleasing sight,  
●f all men to thee retaining,  
●●ant me with those two remaining.   

〈◊〉 shall I to thee always,  
●ith my reeds, sound mighty praise;  
●●d first Lamb that shall befall,  
●arely deck thine Altar shall:  
●t please thee be reflected,  
●●d I from thee not rejected.   

I left him in that place,  
●●king pity on his case,  
●arning this among the rest,  
●hat the mean estate is best,  
●●tter filled with contenting,  
●●yde of wishing and repenting.   
Sir Ph. Sidney.   

Fiction how Cupid made a Nymph wound herself with his Arrows.  

●T chanced of late a shepherds swain,  
That went to seek a strayed sheep,  
Within a thicket on the plain,  
spied a dainty Nymph asleep.   

●er golden Hair o'erspread her face,  
●er careless Arms abroad were cast,  
●er Quiver had her Pillows place,  
●er breast lay bare to every blast.   

The Shepherd stood and gazed his fill,  
Nought durst he do, nought durst he say:  
When Chance or else perhaps his Will,  
Did guide the God of Love that way.   

The crafty boy that sees her sleep,  
Whom if she waked, he durst not see,  
Behind her closely seeks to creep,  
Before her nap should ended be.   

There come, he steals her shafts away,  
And puts his own into their place,  
Ne dares he any longer stay,  
But ere she wakes, hies thence apace.   

Scarce was he gone, when she awakes,  
And spies the Shepherd standing by;  
Her bended Bow in haste she takes,  
And at the simple Swain let fly.   

Forth flew the shaft, and pierced his heart,  
That to the ground he fell with pain:  
Yet up again forthwith he start,  
And to the Nymph he ran amain:   

Amazed to see so strange a sight,  
She shot, and shot, but all in vain,  
The more his wounds, the more his might,  
Love yieldeth strength in midst of pain.   

Her angry Eyes are great with tears,  
She blames her hands, she blames her skill;  
The bluntness of her Shafts she fears,  
And try them on herself she will.   

Take heed, sweet Nymph, try not the shaft,  
Each little touch will prick the heart,  
Alas, thou knowest not Cupid's craft,  
Revenge is joy, the End is smart.   

Yet try she will, and prick some bare,  
Her Hands were gloved, and next to hand  
Was that fair Breast, that breast so rare,  
That made the shepherd senseless stand.   

That breast she pricked, and through that breast,  
Love finds an entry to her heart:  
At feeling of this newcome Guest,  
Lord how the gentle Nymph doth start!   

She runs not now, she shoots no more,  
Away the throws both shafts and bow,  
She seeks for that she shunned before,  
She think the shepherds haste too slow.   

Though mountains meet not, Lovers may:  
So others do, and so do they.  
The God of Love sits on a tree,  
And laughs that pleasant sight to see.    

DIALOGUE between two shepherds, Thenot and Piers, in praise of ASTREA, made by the excellent Lady, the Lady Mary Countess of Pembroke at the Queen's majesties being at her house at Anno 15.  ●hen. 
I Sing divine ASTREA'S praise,  
O Muses! help my wits to raise,  
And heave my Verses higher.  Piers. 
Thou needst the truth but plainly tell,  
Which much I doubt thou canst not well,  
Thou art so oft a liar.  ●hen. 
If in my Song no more I show,  
Than Heaven, and Earth, and Sea do know,  
Then truly I have spoken.  ●iers. 
Sufficeth not no more to name,  
But being no less, the like, the same,  
Else laws of truth be broken.  ●●en. 
Then say, she is so good, so fair,  
With all the earth she may compare,  
Not Momus self denying.  ●●ers. 
Compare may think where likeness holds,  
Nought like to her the earth enfoldes,  
I looked to find you lying.  Then. 
ASTREA sees with Wisdoms sight,  
Astrea works by virtues might,  
And jointly both do stay in her.  ●iers. 
Nay take from them, her hand, her mind,  
The one is lame, the other blind,  
Shall still your lying stain her?  ●hen. 
Soon as ASTREA shows her face,  
Straight every ill auoides the place,  
And every good aboundeth.  Piers. 
Nay long before her face doth show,  
The last doth come, the first doth go,  
How loud this lie resoundeth!  ●hen. 
ASTREA is our chiefest joy,  
Our chiefest guard against annoy,  
Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.  Piers. 
Where chiefest are, three others be,  
To us none else but only she;  
When wilt thou speak in measure?  Then. 
ASTREA may be justly said,  
A field in flowery Robe arrayed,  
In Season freshly springing.  Piers. 
That Spring endures but shortest time,  
This never leaves Astrea's clime,  
Thou liest, instead of singing.  Then. 
As heavenly light that guides the day,  
Right so doth thine each lovely Ray,  
That from Astrea flieth.  Piers. 
Nay, darkness oft that light enclowdes,  
Astrea's beams no darkness shrouds;  
How loudly Thenot lieth!  Then. 
ASTREA rightly term I may,  
A manly Palm, a Maiden Bay,  
Her verdure never dying.  Piers. 
Palm oft is crooked, Bay is low,  
She still upright, still high doth grow,  
Good Thenot leave thy lying.  Then. 
Then Piers, of friendship tell me why,  
My meaning true, my words should lie,  
And strive in vain to raise her.  Piers. 
Words from conceit do only rise,  
Above conceit her honour flies;  
But silence, nought can praise her.  
Mary Countess of Pembroke.   

A Roun-de-lay in inverted Rhymes, between the two friendly Rivals, Strephon and Klaius, in the presence of URANIA, Mistress to them both.  Strephon. 
O Whither shall I turn me,  
From thine eyes sight,  
Whose sparkling light  
With quenchless flames, present, & absent burn n  
For I burn when as I view them,  
And I burn when I eschew them.  Klaius. 
P●nce I cannot eschew them,  
But that their light  
Is in my sight,  
●oth when I view them not, and when I view the  
E'er their flames will cease to burn me,  
From myself my self must turn me.  Strephon. 
When none are present by you,  
I feel their might,  
And your eyes bright  
appear more glorious, others being nigh you.  
So alone, or else compared,  
Wretch I am by them ensnared.  Klaius. 
●ince that I am ensnared  
By your eyes bright,  
And feel their might,  
Whether alone they be, or else compared,  
Wheresoever I am nigh you,  
Love I must, if I be by you.  Strephon. 
When you look kindly on me,  
They love incite:  
And spite of Spite  
I love them likewise, when you frown upon me.  
So, how e'er your looks are framed,  
By your looks I am inflamed.  Klaius. 
●ince that I am inflamed,  
E'en by their spite;  
And they incite  
soul-warming flames when they are mildly framed,  
Howsoe'er you look upon me,  
Love I must, if you look on me.  Strephon. 
〈◊〉 when shall I them banish,  
Since against right,  
Nor day nor night,  
●hough absent from me, from me they do vanish?  
So no respite Time doth grant me,  
But incessantly they haunt me.  Klaius. 
●ince they (alas) do haunt me  
Both day and night.  
And wont right  
Obtained by absence, absence doth not grant me:  
Night and day may sooner vanish,  
Then from me I can them banish.  Strephon. 
They, when the Day doth leave me,  
Lodge in my spirit;  
And of their sight,  
No sight by day discerned can bereave me.  
So, nor Day ought else revealeth,  
Nor the Night the fame concealeth.  Klaius. 
Since Day, like Night concealeth  
Each other sight,  
And to my spirit  
Concealing Darkness; them like Day revealeth.  
Time of time must quite bereave me,  
Ere your looks, sweet looks, will leave me▪  
Walter Davison.   

STREPHON'S PALINODE. Strephon, upon some unkindness conceived, having ma●● show to leave URANIA, and make love to another Nymph, was at the next solemn assembly of shepherd not only frowned upon by URANIA, but command with great bitterness out of her presence: Whereupon sorry for his offence, and desirous to regain her gra●● whom he never had forsaken, but in show, upon his kne● he in this Song humbly craves pardon: and VRANI● finding his true penitence, and unwilling to lose so worthy a servant, receives him again into greater gra●● and favour than before.  

SWEET, I do not pardon crave,  
Till I have,  
By deserts, this fault amended:  
This, I only this desire,  
That your ire  
May with penance be suspended.   

Not my Will, but Fate did fetch  
Me poor wretch,  
Into this unhappy error.  
Which to plague, no Tyrant's mind  
Pain can find,  
Like my hearts selfe-guiltie terror.   

●hen, O then! let that suffice;  
your dear Eyes  
Need not, need not more afflict me.  
●or your sweet Tongue dipped in gall,  
Need at all  
●rom your presence interdict me.   

●nto him that Hell sustains,  
No new pains  
Need be sought for his tormenting.  
O my pains hells pains surpas:  
Yet alas!  
You are still new pains inventing.   

W●y my Love, long firm and true,  
Borne to you.  
●●y these tears my grief expressing.  
T●y this Pipe which nights and days  
Sounds your praise,  
●itty me my fault confessing.   

Or if I may not desire,  
That their ire  
●ay with penance be suspended;  
●et let me full pardon crave,  
When I have,  
With soon death my fault amended.    

VRANIAES' Answer in inverted Rhymes, Staff for Staff.  

SInce true penance hath suspended  
Feigned ire,  
More I'll grant than you desire.  
Faults confessed are half amended,  
And I have,  
In this half, all that I crave.   

Therefore banish now the terror,  
Which you find  
In your guiltless grieved mind.  
For though you have made an Error,  
From me wretch  
First biginning it did fetch.   

ne'er my sight I'll interdict thee  
More at all.  
ne'er speak words more dipped in gall.  
ne'er ne'er will I more afflict thee  
With these Eyes,  
What is past, shall now suffice.   

Now new joys I'll be inventing.  
Which (alas)  
May thy passed woes surpas.  
Too long thou hast felt tormenting,  
Too great pains  
So great Love and Faith sustains:   

Let these Eyes (by thy confessing  
worthy praise)  
Never see more nights nor days.  
Let my woes be past expressing,  
when to you  
●t cease to be kind and true.   

Thus are both our States amended,  
For you have  
Fuller pardon than you crave,  
And my fear is quite suspended,  
Since mine ire  
Wrought th'effect I most desire.   
Fra: Davison.   


I. EGLOGVE.  

A Shepherd poor, Eubulus called he was,  
(Poor now alas, but erst had jolly been)  
●ne pleasant morn when as the Sun did pass  
●he fiery horns of raging Bull between,  
His little Flock into a Mead did bring,  
As soon as daylight did begin to spring.   

●resh was the Mead, in April's livery dight,  
●eckt with green Trees, bedewed with silver Brooks,  
●ut ah! all other was the shepherds plight,  
●ll other were both sheep and shepherds looks.  
For both did show by their dull heavy cheer,  
They took no pleasure of the pleasant year.   

●e weeping went, ay me that he should weep!  
●hey hung their heads as they to weep would learn.  
●is heavy Heart did send forth sigh deep.  
●hey in their bleating voice did seem to yearn.  
He lean and pale, their fleece was rough & rend:  
They pined with pain, and he with dolours spent.   

●is pleasant Pipe was broke, (alas the while)  
●nd former merriment was banished quite.  
●is shepherds Crook that him upheld erewhile,  
●e erst had thrown away with great despite.  
though leaning 'gainst a shrub that him sustained,  
To th'earth, sun, birds, trees, Echo thus he plained   

Thou all-forth-bringing earth, though winter ch●  
With boisterous blasts blow off thy Mantle gree●  
And with his Snow and hoary Frosts do spill,  
Thy Flora-pleasing flowers, and kill them clean:  
Yet soon as Spring returns again  
To drive away thy Winter's pain,  
Thy Frost and snow  
Away do go.  
Sweet Zephyrs breathe cold Boreas doth displace,  
And fruitful showers  
Revive thy flowers,  
And nought but joy is seen in every place.   

But ah! how long, alas, how long doth last  
My endless Winter without hope of Spring?  
How have my sighs, my blustering sighs, defaced  
The flowers and buds which erst my youth did br●  
Alas the tops that did aspire,  
Lie trodden now in filthy mire.  
Alas! my head  
Is all bespread  
With too untimely snow: and eke my heart  
All sense hath lost,  
Through hardened frost,  
Of cold Despair, that long hath bred my smart.   

What though Soone-rising Torrents overflow  
With nought-regarding streams thy pleasant gree●  
And with their furious force do ●ay full low,  
Thy drowned flowers, how ever sweet they be●  
Soon fall those ●●ouds, as soon they rose,  
(For fury soon his force doth lose;)  
And then full each  
Apollo's breath,  
●he cold, yet drying North-wind, so doth warm,  
That by and by  
Thy Meads be dry,  
●nd grow more fruitful by their former harm.   

〈◊〉 would the tears that Torrent-like do flow  
〈◊〉 down my hollow cheeks with restless force,  
●ould once (O that they could once) calmer grow!  
●ould like to thine, once cease their ceaseless course;  
Thine last not long, mine still endure:  
Thine cold, and so thy wealth procure:  
Hot mine are still,  
And so do kill  
●oth flower and root, with most unkindly due.  
What Sun or Wind  
A way can find,  
●he root once dead, the flowers to renew?   

Thou though the scorching heat of Summer Sun,  
While ill-breathed Dog the raging Lion chaseth)  
●ay peckled flower do make of colour dun,  
●nd pride of all thy greeny hair defaceth;  
And in thy moysture-wanting side  
Deep wounds do make, and gashes wide:  
Yet as thy weate,  
By Phoebus' heat,  
●o turn to wholesome dryness is procured.  
So Phoebus' heat  
By southwinds wet,  
Is soon assuaged, and all thy wounds recured.   

Such heat as Phoebus hath me almost slain.  
As Phoebus' heat? al● no; far worse than his.  
It is Astrea's burning-hot Disdain  
That parched hath the root of all my bliss:  
That hath (alas) my youth defaced,  
That in my face deep wounds hath placed.  
Ah that no Heat  
Can dry the weate  
The flowing weate of my still-weeping Eyes!  
Ah that no weate  
Can quench the heat,  
The burning heat within my heart that lies!   

Thou dost, poor Earth, bear many a bitter stound  
While greedy Swains forgetting former need,  
With crooked ploughs thy tender back do wound  
With harrows biting teeth do make thee bleed.  
But earth (so may those greedy Swains  
With piteous Eye behold thy pains)  
O Earth, tell me,  
When thou dost see,  
Thy fruitful Back with golden Ears beset,  
Doth not that joy  
Kill all annoy,  
And make thee all thy former wounds forget?   

And I, if once my tired heart might gain  
The Harvest fair that to my faith is due:  
I once I might ASTREA'S grace regain:  
● once her heart would on my sorrows rue,  
Alas, I could these plaints forego,  
And quite forget my former wo.  
But (O! to speak  
My heart doth break)  
●●r all my service, faith, and patiented mind,  
A crop of grief,  
Without relief,  
● crop of scorn, and of contempt, I find.   

●one as the shepherds Star abroad doth wend  
Night's harbinger) to shut in bright-some Day;  
●nd gloomy Night, on whom black clouds attend,  
●oth Tyrantlike through sky usurp the sway,  
Thou art (poor Earth) of Sun deprived  
Whose beams to thee all joy derived:  
But when Aurore  
Doth open her Door,  
●er purple door to let in Phoebus' wain,  
The night gives place  
Unto his race,  
●nd then, with joy, thy Sun returns again.   

〈◊〉 would my Sun would once return again!  
〈◊〉 turn and drive away th'infernal night,  
〈◊〉 which I die, since she did first refrain  
●er heavenly beams, which were mine only light  
In her alone all my light shined,  
And since she shined not, I am blind.  
Alas, on all,  
Her beams do fall,  
Save wretched me, whom she doth them deny.  
And blessed day  
She gives alway,  
To all, but me, who still in darkness lie.   

In mournful darkness I alone do lie,  
And wish, but scarcely hope, bright day to see,  
For hoped so long, and wished so long have I,  
As hopes and wishes both are gone from me.  
My night hath lasted fifteen years,  
And yet no glimpse of day appears.  
O do not let,  
Him that hath set,  
His joy, his light, his life in your sweet Grace!  
Be vnrelieued,  
And quite deprived  
Of your dear sight, which may this night displace   

Phoebus, although with firy-hoofed steeds,  
Thou daily do the steepy Welkin beat,  
And from this painful task art never freed,  
But daily bound to lend the world thy heat:  
Though thou in fiery Chariot ride,  
And burning heat thereof abide,  
Yet soon as night  
Doth dim the light,  
And hale her sable Cloak through vaulted sky,  
Thy journey's ceased,  
And thou dost rest,  
In cooling waves of Tethis sovereignty.   

Thrice happy Sun, whose pains are eas'de by night,  
O hapless I, whose woes last night and day.  
●y pains by day do make me wish for night,  
●y woes by night do make me cry for day.  
By day I turmoil up and down,  
By night in Seas of tears I drown.  
O painful plight!  
O wretched night,  
Which never finds a morn of joyful light!  
O sad decay,  
O wretched day,  
That never feels the ease of silent night!   

●e chirping Birds, whose notes might joy my mind,  
If to my mind one drop of joy could sink,)  
Who erst, through Winter's rage were almost pined,  
●nd kept through barren frost from meat or drink,  
A blessed change ye now have seen,  
That changed hath your woeful teen.  
By day you sing,  
And make to ring  
●he neighbour groves with Echo of your Song:  
In silent night,  
Full closely dight,  
●ou sound sleep the bushes green among.   

●ut I, who erst (ah woeful word to say)  
●nioy'd the pleasant spring of her sweet grace,  
●nd then could sing and dance, and sport & play;  
●nce her fierce anger did my Spring displace,  
My nightly rest have turned to detriment,  
To plaints have turned my wont merriment  
The Songs I sing  
While day doth spring,  
Are bootless plaints till I can plain no more.  
The rest I taste,  
While night doth last,  
Is broken sighs, till they my heart make sore.   

Thou flowret of the field that erst didst fade,  
And nipped with Northern cold didst hang the head▪  
Ye Trees whose bared bows had lost their shade  
Whose withered leaves by western blasts were she●  
Ye gi'en to bud and spring again,  
Winter is gone that did you strain.  
But I, that late  
With upright gate  
Bore up my head, while happy favour lasted;  
Now old am grown,  
Now overthrown,  
With woe, with grief, with wailing now am wasted   

Your springing stalk with kindly juice doth sprou●  
My fainting legs do waste and fall away:  
Your stretched arms are clad with leaves about,  
My griefe-consumed arms do fast decay.  
Ye gi'en again your tops lift up;  
I down to earth-ward gi'en to stoop.  
Each bow and twig  
Doth wax so big,  
That scarce the rind is able it to hide;  
I so do faint,  
And pine with plaint,  
That slops and Hose, and Galage wax too wide.   

Echo, how well may she that makes me moan,  
By thy example learn to rue my pain?  
Thou hearest my plaints when as I wail alone,  
And wailing accents answerest again.  
When as my breast through grief I beat,  
That woeful sound thou dost repeat.  
When as I sob,  
And heartily throb,  
A doleful sobbing sound again thou sendest:  
And when I weep,  
And sigh full deep,  
A weepy sighing Voice again thou lendest.   

But ah! how oft have my sad plaints assayed  
To pierce her Ears, deaf only unto me?  
How oft my Woes in mournful ink arraide  
Have tried to make her Eyes my grief to see?  
And you, my Sighs and Tears, how often  
Have ye sought her hard heart to soften?  
And yet her Eye,  
Doth still deny  
For all my Woes, one bitter tear to shed.  
And yet her heart  
Will not impart,  
One hearty sigh, for grief herself hath bred.   

Nor I, alas, do wish that her fair Eyes,  
Her blessed-making Eyes should shed a tear,  
Nor that one sigh from her dear Breast should rise,  
For all the pains, the woes, the wrongs I bear.  
First let this weight oppress me still,  
Ere she, through me taste any ill.  
Ah if I might  
But gain her sight,  
And show her,  I die, my wretched case!  
O then should I  
Contented die;  
But ah I die, and hope not so much grace.   

With that his fainting legs to shrink, begun,  
And let him sink with ghastly look to ground  
And there he lay as though his life were done,  
Till that his Dog, seeing that woeful stound,  
With piteous howling, kissing & with scraping.  
Brought him again from that sweet-sour escaping.   

Then 'gan his Tears so swiftly for to flow,  
As forced his Eyelids for to give them way.  
Then blust'ring sighs too boyst'rously 'gan blow,  
As his weak lips could not their fury stay.  
And inward grief withal so hugely swelled,  
As tears, sighs, grief had soon all words expelled.   

At last, when as his tears began to cease,  
And weary sighs more calmly for to blow:  
As he began with words his grief to ease,  
And remnant of his broken plaint to show:  
He spied the sky o'erspread with nightly clouds,  
So home he went, his flock and him to shroud.   
Eubulus his Emblem. uni MIHI PERGAMON RESTANT. Francis Davison.   

III. EGLOGVE. Made long since upon the death of Sir Philip Sidney.  Thenot. Perin. 
PERIN, arreed what new mischance betide,  
Hath raft thee of thy wont merriment?  
Fair feeds thy flock this pleasant spring beside,  
Nor Love, I ween, hath made thee discontent,  
●ild Age and Love, to meet in one, consent.  Perin. 
Ah Thenot, where the joy of heart doth fail,  
What marvel there, if mirth & music quail?  
See how the flowrets of the field do spring,  
The Purple Rose, the Lily white as Snow;  
With smell and colour for an Harvest King,  
May serve to make us young again, I trow:  
Yet all this pride is quickly laid full low,  
Soon as the root is nipped with northern cold,  
What smell, or beauty, can we then behold?  Thenot. 
As good not hear, as heard, not understand,  
My borrell brains through eld been all too dull,  
Sike mister meaning nill by me be scanned,  
All as my Face, so wrinkled is my skull:  
Then say me Perin, by thy hope of will,  
And by thine Ewes blown bags and bagpipes sound,  
So not one Aneling in thy flock be found,  Perin. 
Ah Thenot, by thine alderliefest Lass,  
Or whatsoever is more dear to thee;  
No Bagpipe name, let song and solace pass,  
Death hath undone my flock, my pipe, and me.  
Dead is the Sheep's delight, and shepherds glee,  
Broke is my Pipe, and I myself forlorn,  
My Sheep unfed, their fleeces rend and torn.  Thenot. 

I much muz'de such uncouth change to see,  
My flocks refuz'de to feed, yet hale they wear:  
The tender Birds sat drooping on the tree,  
The careless Lambs went wandering here & there:  
Myself unknown a part of grief did bear,  
Ne witted I why, yet heavy was my heart,  
Untimely Death was cause of all this smart.   

Up Perin, up, advance thy mournful lays,  
Sound loud thy pipe, but sound in doleful wise.   Perin. 
Who else, but Thenot, can the Muses raise,  
And teach them sing and dance in mournful guis●  
My fingers stiff, my voice doth hoarsely rise.  Thenot. 
Ah, where is Collen, and his passing skill?  
For him it sits our sorrow to fulfil.  Perin. 
Twain sore extremes our Collen press so near,  
(Alas that such extremes should press him so)  
The want of wealth, and loss of love so dear,  
Scarce can he breath from under heaps of woe,  
He that bears heaven, bears no such weight I trow.  Thenot. 
Hath he such skill in making all above,  
And hath no skill to get, or Wealth, or Love?  Perin. 
Praise is the greatest prize that Poet's gain,  
A simple gain that feeds them ne'er a whit.  
The wanton lass for whom he bore such pain,  
●ike running water loves to change and flit.  
But if thee list to hear a sorry fit,  
Which Cuddy could in doleful verse indite,  
Blow thou thy Pipe while I the same recite.  Thenot. 
●inne when thou list, all-be my skill but small,  
●y forward mind shall make amends for all.  Perin. 

Ye Nymphs that bathe your bodies in this spring:  
Your tender bodies white as driven Snow:  
Ye Virgins chaste which in this Grove do sing,  
Which neither grief of Love, nor Death do know:  
So may your streams run clear for ay,  
So may your trees give shade alway.  
Depart a space,  
And give me place,  
To wail with grief my restless woe alone,  
For fear my cries,  
Constrain your eyes,  
To shed forth tears, and help lament my moan.   

And thou, my Muse, that whilom wont to ease,  
Thy masters mind with lays of sweet delight,  
Now change those tunes, no joy my heart can please,  
Gone is the day, come is the darksome night,  
Our Sun close hid in clouds doth lie,  
We live indeed, but living, die:  
No light we see,  
Yet wander we,  
We wander far and near without a guide:  
And all astray,  
We lose our way,  
For in this world n'is such a Sun beside.   

Ye Shepherds Boys that lead your flocks a field,  
The whilst your sheep feed safely round about,  
wreak me your Pipes that pleasant sound did yield,  
●●ing now no more the Songs of Collen Clout:  
Lament the end of all our joy,  
Lament the source of all annoy.  
WILLY is dead,  
That wont to lead  
Our flocks and us in mirth and shepherds glee:  
Well could he sing,  
Well dance, and spring;  
Of all the Shepherds was none such as he.   

How often hath his skill in pleasant Song  
Drawn all the water-nimphs from out their bowers?  
How have they lain the tender grass along,  
And made him Garlands gay of smelling flowers?  
Phoebus himself that conquered Pan,  
Striving with Willy, nothing won.  
Ne thinks I see,  
The time when he  
plucked from his golden locks the Laurel crown;  
And so to raise  
Our Willies praise,  
bedecked his head, and softly set him down.   

The learned Muses flocked to hear his skill,  
●nd quite forgot their water, wood, and mount;  
They thought his Songs were done too quickly still,  
Of none but Willies Pipe they made account.  
He sung; they seemed enjoy to flow:  
He ceased; they seemed to weep for woe;  
The Rural rout,  
All round about,  
●ike Bees came swarming thick, to hear him sing:  
Ne could they think,  
On meat or drink,  
While Willies music in their ears did ring.   

But now (alas) such pleasant mirth is past,  
Apollo weeps, the Muses rend their hair.  
No joy on earth that any time can last,  
See where his breathless corpse lies on the bear.  
That self same hand that reft his life,  
Hath turned shepherds peace to strife.  
Our joy is fled,  
Our life is dead,  
Our hope, our help, our glory all is gone:  
Our Poet's praise,  
Our happy days,  
And nothing left but grief, to think ther●●n.   

What Thames, what Severne, or what western Se●  
Shall give me floods of trickling tears to shed?  
What comfort can my restless grief appease?  
O that mine eyes were Fountains in my head!  
Ah Collen! I lament thy case,  
For thee remains no hope of grace.  
The best relief,  
Of Poet's grief,  
Is dead, and wraptfull cold in filthy clay,  
And nought remains,  
To ease our pains,  
But hope of death, to rid us hence away.   

Phillis, thine is the greatest grief above the rest:  
Where been thy sweetest Posies featly dight,  
Thy Garlands with a true-love's Knot addressed,  
And all that erst, thou Willy, didst behight?  
Thy labour all is lost in vain,  
The grief whereof shall aye remain.  
The Sun so bright,  
That falls to night,  
●o morrow from the East again shall rise:  
But we decay,  
And waste away,  
Without return, alas, thy Willy dies.   

●●e how the drooping Flocks refuse to feed,  
●●e rivers stream with tears above the banks,  
●●e Trees do shed their leaves, to wail agreed,  
●●e beasts unfed, go mourning all in ranks.  
The Sun denies the Earth his light,  
The Spring is killed with winter's might:  
The flowers spill,  
The birds are still:  
〈◊〉 voice of joy is heard in any place.  
The Meadows green,  
A change have seen,  
●●d Flora hides her pale disfigured face.   

●●tch now, ye shepherds boys, with waking 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 lose your time of sleep, to learn to sing.  
〈◊〉 happy skill, what good is got thereby,  
〈◊〉 painted praise that can no profit bring?  
If Skill could move the Sisters three,  
Our Willy still alive should be.  
The wolf so wood,  
Amazed stood,  
●●und of Willies pipe, and left his prey:  
Both Pipe and Skill,  
The Sisters spill,  
●o, worse than any wicked Wolf are they.   

O flattering hope of mortal men's delight,  
●o fair in outward show, so foul within!  
●he deepest streams do flow full calm to sight,  
●he ravening Wolves do jet in Wether's skin;  
We deemed our Willy ay should live,  
So sweet a sound his Pipe could give:  
But cruel death  
Hath stopped his breath:  
tumbe lies his Pipe that wont so sweet to sound:  
Our flocks lament  
His life is spent,  
●nd careless wander all the woods around.   

●ome now, ye shepherds daughters, come no more  
●o hear the Songs that Cuddy want to sing:  
●oarse is my Muse, my throat with crying, sore;  
●hese woods with Echo of my grief do ring.  
Your Willies life was Cuddies joy,  
Your Willies death hath killed the Boy:  
Broke lies my Pipe,  
Till Reeds be ripe  
●o make a new one, but a worse, I fear:  
Save year by year,  
To wail my Deer.  
〈◊〉 Pipe and Song I utterly forswear.   Thenot. 
●●cke and welladay may shepherds cry,  
Our Willy dead, our Collen killed with care:  
Who shall not loath to live, and long to die?  
And will not grief our little Cuddy spare,  
But must he too of sorrow have a share?  
Ay, how his rueful Verse hath pricked my heart!  
How feelingly hath he expressed my smart!  Perin. 
Ah Thenot, hadst thou seen his sorry look,  
His wringed hands, his eyes to heaven upkest;  
His tears, that streamed like water in the Brook;  
His sighs, that made his Rhymes seem rudely dressed,  
To tears thou wouldst have melted with the rest.  
But hie we homeward, night approacheth near,  
And rainy clouds in southern skies appear.  
A. W.   

II. EGLOGVE.  Shepherd. Herdsman. 
COme gentle Herdsman, sit by me,  
And tune thy Pipe by mine  
Hear underneath this Willow tree,  
To shield the hot Sunshine.  
Where I have made my Summer bower,  
For proof of Summer beams,  
And decked it up with many a flower,  
Sweet seated by the streams.  
Where gentle Daphnee once a day,  
These flowery banks doth walk,  
And in her bosom bears away  
The pride of many a stalk.  
But leaves the humble Heart behind,  
That should her Garland dight:  
And she, sweet soul, the more unkind,  
To set true love so light.  
But, whereas others bear the Bell,  
As in her favour blest;  
Her shepherd loveth her as well,  
As those whom she loves best.  Herdsman. 
ALas, poor Pastor, I find,  
Thy love is lodged so high,  
That on thy flock thou hast no mind,  
But feedest a wanton Eye.  
If dainty Daphne's looks besot  
Thy doting hearts desire,  
Be sure, that far above thy lot,  
Thy liking doth aspire.  
To love so sweet a Nymph as she,  
And look for love again:  
Is fortune fitting high degree,  
Not for a shepherds swain.  
For she of lordly lads becoyd,  
And sought of great estates,  
Her favour scorns to be enjoyed  
By us poor lowly Mates.  
Wherefore I warn thee to be wise,  
Go with me to my walk,  
Where lowly Lasses be not nice,  
There like and choose thy Make.  
Where are no pearls nor Gold to view,  
No pride of silken sight,  
●ut Petticoats of scarlet hue,  
Which vail the skin snow-white.  
●here truest Lasses been to get  
For love and little cost:  
●here sweet desire is paid his det,  
And labour seldom lost.  Shepherd. 
NO herdman, no, thou ravest too loud,  
Our trade so vile to hold.  
My weed as great a heart doth shroud,  
As his that's clad in gold:  
And take the truth that I thee tell,  
This Song fair Daphnee sings,  
That Cupid will be served as well,  
Of Shepherds as of Kings.  
For proof whereof, old books record,  
That Venus Queen of Love,  
Would set aside her warlike Lord,  
And youthful Pastors prove.  
How Paris was as well beloved,  
A simple shepherds Boy,  
As after when that he was proved  
King Priam's Son of Troy.  
And therefore have I better hope,  
As had those Lads of yore,  
My courage takes as large a scope,  
Although their haps were more.  
And for thou shalt not deem I jest,  
And bear a mind more base;  
No meaner hope shall haunt my breast,  
Then dearest Daphnees grace.  
My mind no other thought retains,  
Mine Eye nought else admiers:  
My heart no other passion strains,  
Nor other hap desires.  
My Muse of nothing else entreats,  
My Pipe nought else doth sound,  
My Veins no other seaver heats,  
Such faith's in Shepherds found.  Herdsman. 
AH Shepherd, than I see, with grief  
Thy care is passed all cure,  
No remedy for thy relief,  
But patiently endure.  
Thy wont liberty is fled,  
Fond fancy breeds thy bane,  
Thy sense of folly brought a bed,  
Thy wit is in the wane.  
I can but sorrow for thy sake,  
Since love lulles thee asleep.  
And whilst out of thy dream thou wake,  
God shield thy straying sheep.  
Thy wretched Flock may rue and curse  
This proud desire of thine,  
Whose woeful state from bad to worse  
Thy careless eye will pine.  
And even as they, thyself likewise  
With them shalt wear and waste,  
To see the spring before thine eyes,  
Thou thirsty canst not taste.  
Content thee therefore with Conceit,  
Where others gain the grace,  
And think thy fortune at the height,  
To see but Daphnees face.  
Although thy truth deserved well  
Reward above the rest,  
Thy haps shall be but means to tell  
How other men are blest.  
So gentle Shepherd, farewell now,  
Be warned by my reed,  
For I see written in thy brow,  
Thy heart for love doth bleed.  
Yet longer with thee would I stay,  
If aught would do thee good,  
But nothing can the heat allay,  
Where Love inflames the blood.  Shepherd. 
THen herdman, since it is my lot,  
and my good liking such,  
Strive not to break the faithful kno●  
That thinks no pain too much.  
For what contents my Daphnee best  
I never will despise;  
So she but wish my soul good rest  
When death shall close mine eyes.  
Then Herdsman, farewell once again,  
For now the day is fled:  
So might thy cares, poor shepherds Swain,  
Fly from thy careful head.  
Ignoto.   

FOUR EGLOGVE. Concerning old Age. The beginning and end of this Eglogue are wanting.  Perin. 
FOr when thou art not as thou want of yore,  
No cause why life should please thee any more.  
Whilom I was (in course of former years,  
Ere freezing Eld had cooled my youthly rage)  
Of much worth among my shepherds Peers.  
Now for I am somedele ystept in age,  
For pleasance, strength, and beauty gins assuage.  
Each little Heard-groom laughs my wrinkled face,  
Each bonny lass for Cuddy shuns the place;  
For all this woe none can we justly twight,  
But hateful Eld, the foe to pleasant rest,  
Which like a Thief doth rob us of delight.  Wrenock. 
Perin, enough; few words been always best,  
Needs must be borne that cannot be redressed.  
Self am I as thou seest in thilk estate,  
The grief is each to bear that has a mate.  
●ut sicker for to speak the truth indeed,  
●hou seem'st to blame that blameless seems to me,  
And hurtless Eld to sneb: (ill mought he speed,  
That slays the Dog, for Wolves so wicked be)  
The faults of men thou layest on Age I see,  
For which if Eld were in itself too blame,  
Then I and all my Peers should taste the same.  Perin. 
Wreenock, I ween thou dotest through rusty Eld,  
And thinkest with feigned words to blear mine eye.  
Thou for thy store art ever blissful held,  
Thy heaps of gold nill let thee sorrow spy,  
Thy Flocks full safe here under shade do lie,  
Thy weanlings fat, thine ewes with bladders blown:  
A iollier Shepheard have we seldom known.  Wrenock. 
For thilk my store, great Pan yherried be;  
But if for thy, mine age with joy I bear,  
How falls it that thyself unlike to me,  
Art vexed so with grief and bootless fear?  
Thy store will let thee sleep on either ear:  
But neither want makes Age to wisemen hard,  
Nor fools by wealth from grievous pains are bard.  Perin. 
Seest not how free yond Lambkin skips and plays;  
And wrigs his tail, and butts with tender head;  
All for he feels the heat of youngthly days,  
Which secret law of kind hath inly bred?  
Thilk Ewe from whom all joy with youth is fled,  
See how it hangs the head, as it would weep,  
Whilom it skipped, uneathes now may it creep.  Wrenock. 

No fellowship hath state of Beasts with man,  
In them is nought but strength of limb and bone,  
Which ends with age as it with age began.  
But man they sane (as other Creature none)  
Hath uncouth fire conveyed from Heaven by one,  
(His name I witted) that yields him inward light  
Sike fire as Welkin shows in winter night.   

Which neither Age nor Time can wear away,  
Which waxeth bet for use as shepherds Crook  
That ever shineth brighter day by day:  
Also though wrinkled seem the aged look,  
Bright shines the fire that from the stars we took.  
And sooth to say, thilk Ewe laments the pain,  
That thilk same wanton Lamb is like sustain.   Perin. 
Ah Thenot, be not all thy teeth on edge,  
To see youngths folk to sport in pastimes gay?  
To pitch the Bar, to throw the weighty sledge,  
To dance with Phillis all the holiday,  
To hunt by day, the Fox, by night, the Grey;  
Sike peerless pleasures wont us for to queme,  
Now lig we laid, as drowned in heavy dream.  
Anomos. Dost.     

Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, and Madrigals.  
By 

Francis Davison and  
Walter Davison   Brethren.  

SONNET. I.  
Dedication of these Rhymes, to his first love.  
IF my harsh humble style, and Rhymes ill dressed,  
Arrive not to your worth and beauty glorious  
My Muse's shoulders are with weight oppressed,  
And heavenly beams are o'er my sight victorious  
If these dim colours have your worth expressed  
Laid by loves hand, and not by Art laborious  
Your Sunlike rays have my wit's harvest blesse●  
Ennabling me to make your praise notorious.  
But if alas! (alas the heavens defend it,)  
My lines your eyes, my love your heart displeasing  
Breed hate in you, and kill my hope of easing;  
Say with yourself, how can the wretch amend i●  
I wondrous fair, he wondrous dearly loving,  
How can his thoughts but make his pen be moving   

SONNET. II. That he cannot hide or dissemble his affection.  
BEND my wits, and beat my weary brain,  
To keep my inward grief from outward show.  
Alas I cannot: now 'tis vain I know,  
To hide a fire, whose flame appeareth plain.  
force my will, my senses I constrain,  
T'imprison in my heart my secret woe;  
But musing thoughts, deep sighs, or tears that flow,  
Discover what my heart hides, all in vain.  
●et blame not (Deer) this undissembled passion;  
For well may Love, within small limits bounded,  
Be wisely masked in a disguise fashion.  
But he, whose heart, like mine, is throughly wounded,  
●an never feign, no though he were assured,  
●hat Feigning might have greater grace procured.   

SONNET III. Upon his absence from her.  
THE fairest Eyes, (O Eyes in blackness fair!)  
That ever shined, and the most heavenly face,  
The daintiest smiling, the most conquering grace  
And sweetest breath that e'er perfumed the air  
The cherriest lips, whose kiss might well repair  
A dead man's state; that speech which did displace  
All mean desires, and all affections base,  
Clogging swift H●●●●, & winging dead Despair  
That snow-white breast, & all those faultless feature  
Which made her seem a parsonage divine,  
And far excelling fairest human creatures,  
Hath Absence banished from my cursed Eine.  
But in my Heart, as in a Mirror clear,  
All these perfections to my thoughts appear.   

SONNET. FOUR Upon presenting her with the speech of Grays-inn Mask at the Court 1594. consisting of three parts, The Story of Proteus Transformations, the wonders of the Adamantine Rock, and a speech to her Majesty.  
WHo in these lines may better claim a part,  
That sing the praises of the Britton Queen;  
Then you, fair sweet, that only Sovereign been,  
Of the poor Kingdom of my faithful Heart?  
Or to whose view should I this speech impart,  
Where th'adamantines rocks great power is shown:  
But to your conquering eyes, whose force once known  
Makes even Iron hearts loathe thence to part?  
Or who of Proteus sundry transformations,  
May better send you the new-fayned Story,  
Then I, whose love vnfain'de felt no mutations,  
Since to be yours I first received the glory?  
Accept then of these lines, though meanly penned,  
So fit for you to take, and me to send.   

ELEGY. I. He renounceth his food, and former delight in Musick●, Poesy, and Painting.  

SItting at board sometimes, prepared to eat,  
if'ft hap my mind on these my woes to think,  
Sighs fill my mouth in stead of pleasant meat,  
And tears do moist my lips in am of drink:  
But yet, nor sighs, nor tears, that run amain  
Can either starve my thoughts, or quench my pain   

Another time with careful thoughts o're-tane,  
I thought these thoughts with musics might to chac●●  
But as I 'gan to set my notes in frame,  
A sudden Passion did my song displace.  
Instead of Rests, sighs from my heart did rise,  
Instead of Notes, deep sobs and mournful cry   

Then, when I saw, that these my thoughts increased  
And that my thoughts unto my woes gave fire,  
I hoped both thoughts and woes might be release  
If to the Muses I did me retire.  
Whose sweet delights were wont to ease my w●  
But now (alas) they could do nothing so.   

For trying oft (alas) yet still in vain,  
To make some pleasant numbers to arise,  
And beating oft my dulled weary Brain,  
In hope some sweet Conceit for to devise:  
Out of my mouth no words but groans would come,  
Out of my Pen no ink but tears would run.   

Of all my old Delights yet one was left,  
Painting alone to ease my mind remained;  
By which, whenas I looked to be bereft  
Of these heart-vexing woes that still me strained,  
From forth mine eyes the blood for colours came,  
And tears withal to temper so the same.   

Adieu my food that wontst my taste to please,  
Adieu my Songs that bred mine ears delight,  
Adieu sweet Muse that oft my mind didst ease,  
Painting, Adieu, that oft refreshed my sight,  
Since neither taste, nor ears, nor sight, nor mind,  
In your Delights can aught save sorrow find.    

SONNET. V To Pity.  
WAKE Pity, wake, for thou hast slept too long  
Within the Tygrish heart of that fierce fair,  
Who ruins most, where most she should repair  
And where she owes most right, doth greatest wron  
Wake Pity, wake, O do no more prolong  
Thy needful help! but quickly hear my pray  
Quickly (alas) for otherwise Despair,  
By guilty death, will end my guiltless wrong.  
Sweet Pity wake, and tell my cruel Sweet,  
That if my death her honour might increase,  
I would lay down my life at her proud feet,  
And willing die, and dying, hold my peace.  
Tell her I live, and living, cry for grace,  
Because my death her glory would deface.   

ODE. I. That only her beauty and voice please him.  

I.  
●Assion may my judgement blear,  
Therefore sure I will not swear,  
That others are not pleasing:  
●ut I speak it to my pain,  
●nd my life shall it maintain,  
None else yields my heart easing.   

II.  
●adies I do think there be,  
●ther some as fair as she,  
(Though none have fairer features)  
●ut my Turtle-like Affection,  
●ince of her I made Election,  
Scorns other fairest creatures.   

III.  
●urely I will not deny,  
●ut some others reach as high  
With their sweet warbling voices;  
●t since her Notes charmed mine Ear,  
●en the sweetest Tunes I hear,  
To me seem rude harsh noises.    

MADRIGAL I. To Cupid.  

LOVE, if a God thou art,  
Then evermore thou must,  
Be merciful and just.  
I● thou be just; O wherefore doth thy Dart,  
Wound mine alone, and not my Lady's heart?   

If merciful, then why  
Am I to pain reserved,  
Who have thee truly served:  
While she that by thy power sets not a sly.  
Laughs thee to scorn, and lives in libettie?   

Then, if a God thou wouldst accounted be,  
heal me like her, or else wound her like me.    

MADRIGAL II. Upon his Mistress sickness, and his own health.  
IN health and ease am I,  
Yet, as I senseless were, it nought contents me.  
You sick in pain do lie,  
And (ah) your pain exceedingly torments me  
Whereof, his only is the reason true,  
That dead unto myself, I live in you.   

MADRIGAL III. He begs a Kiss.  
sorrow seldom killeth any,  
Sudden joy hath murdered many.  
Then (Sweet) if you would end me,  
'tis a fond course with lingering grief to spend met.  
For, quickly to dispatch me,  
●our only way is, in your arms to catch me,  
And give me a sweet Kiss:  
●or such excessive and unlooked for bliss,  
Would so much over-ioy me,  
As it would straight destroy me.   

MADRIGAL FOUR Upon a Kiss received.  

●INCE your sweet cherry lips I kissed,  
No want of food I once have missed.  
〈◊〉 stomach now no meat requires:  
〈◊〉 throat no drink at all desires.  
〈◊〉 by your breath which then I gained,  
●melion-like my life's maintained.   

●en grant me (Deer) those cherries still,  
●et me feed on them my fill.  
●y a surfeit death I get,  
●n my Tomb let this be set;  
●eere lieth he whom Cherries two,  
●lade both to live, and life forego.    

ODE II. Upon her protesting, that now having tried his sincere affection, she loved him.  

I  
LADY, you are with beauties so enriched,  
Of body and of mind,  
As I can hardly find,  
Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.   

2  
Whether your skin so white, so smooth, so tender,  
Or Face so lovely fair,  
Or long hart-binding hair,  
Or dainty Hand, or Leg, and Foot so slender.   

3  
Or whether your sharp wit and lively spirit,  
Where Pride can find no place;  
Or your most pleasing grace,  
Or speech, which doth true eloquence inherit.   

4  
●ost lovely all, and each of them do move me,  
More than words can express;  
But yet I must confess,  
love you most, because you please to love me.    

ODE II. His restless estate.  

Your Presence breeds my anguish,  
Your absence makes me languish:  
Your sight with woe doth fill me,  
And want of your sweet sight alas doth kill me.   

If those dear Eyes that burn me,  
With mild aspect you turn me,  
For life my weak heart panteth:  
If frowningly, my Spirit and lifeblood fainteth.   

If you speak kindly to me,  
Alas, kind words undo me:  
Yer silence doth dislike me,  
And one unkind ill word stark dead would strike m●   

Thus Sun, nor shade doth ease me,  
Nor speech, nor silence please me:  
Favours and frowns annoy me,  
Both want and plenty equally destroy me.    

ELEGY II. Or Letter in Verse.  

MY dearest Sweet, if these sad lines do hap  
The raging fury of the Sea to scape,  
O be not you more cruel than the Seas;  
Let Pity now your angry Mind appease,  
So that your Hand may be their blessed Port,  
From whence they may unto your Eyes resort,  
And at that Throne pleading my wretched case,  
May move your cruel heart to yield me grace.  
So may no Clouds of elder years, obscure  
Your Sunlike Eyes, but still as bright endure,  
As than they shone when with one piercing Ray,  
They made myself their slave, my heart their prey:  
So may no Sickness nip those flowers sweet,  
Which ever slowring on your Cheeks do meet:  
Nor all-defacing Time have power to raze,  
The goodly building of that heavenly Face.   

Fountain of Bliss, yet wellspring of my woe,  
(O would I might not justly term you so!)  
Alas, your cruel dealing, and my Fate  
Have now reduc'de me to that wretched state,  
That I know not how I my style may frame  
To thanks, or grudging, or to praise, or blame;  
And where to write, I all my powers do bend,  
There wots I not how to begin or end.  
And now my drizzling tears trill down apace,  
As if the latter would the former chase,  
Whereof some few on my pale Cheeks remain,  
Like withered flowers, bedewed with drops of rain●  
The otherr falling, in my Paper sink,  
Or dropping in my Pen, increase my ink.  
Which sudden Passions Cause if you would find,  
A trembling fear doth now possess my mind,  
That you will not vouchsafe these lines to reed,  
Lest they some pity in your heart might breed:  
But or with angry frowns refuse to take them,  
Or taking them, the fires fuel make them,  
Or with those hands (made to a milder end)  
These guiltless leaves all into pieces rend.  
O Cruel Tyrant! (yet beloved still,)  
Wherein have I deserved of you so ill,  
That all my love you should with hate requite,  
And all my pains reward with such despite?  
Or if my fault be great (which I protest  
Is only Love, too great to be expressed,)  
What, have these Lines so harmless innocent  
Deserved to feel their Master's punishment?  
These Leaves are not unto my fault consenting:  
And therefore ought not have the same tormenting  
When you have read them, use them as you list,  
For by your sight they shall be fully blessed;  
But till you read them, let the woes I have  
This harmless Paper from your fury save.   

Clear up mine eyes, & dry yourselves, my Tears  
And thou my Heart banish these deadly fears;  
Persuade thyself, that though her heart disdain,  
Either to love thy love, or rue thy pain,  
Yet her fair Eyes will not a book deny,  
To this sad Story of thy Misery.  
O then, my Deer, behold the Portraiture  
Of him that doth all kind of woes endure,  
Of him whose Head is made a Hive of woes,  
Whose swarming number daily greater grows:  
Of him whose Senses like a Rack are bend,  
With diverse motions my poor soul to rent;  
Whose Mind a Mirror is, which only shows,  
The ugly Image of my present woes:  
Whose memory's a poisoned Knife to tear  
The ever-bleeding wound my Breast doth bear,  
(The ever-bleeding wound not to be cured,  
But by those Eyes that first the same procured.)  
And that poor Harte, so faithful, constant, true,  
That only loves, and serves, and honours you,  
Is like a feeble Ship, which torn and rend,  
The Mast of Hope being broke, and tackling spent,  
Reason the Pilot dead, the Stars obscured,  
By which alone to sail it was enured,  
No port, no Land, no Comfort once expected,  
All hope of Safety utterly neglected,  
With dreadful terror tumbling up and down,  
Passions uncertain, waves with hideous sound,  
Doth daily, hourly, minutely expect,  
When either it should run, and so be wrecked  
Upon Despairs sharp Rock, or be o'erthrown,  
With Storm of your Disdain so fiercely blown.   

But yet, of all the woes that do torment my heart,  
Of all the Torments that do daily rend my heart,  
There's none so great (although I am assured,  
That even the least can not be long endured:)  
As that so many weeks (nay months, nay years,  
Nay tedious Ages, (for it so appears)  
My trembling heart (besides so many anguishs,)  
Twixt hope & fear uncertain hourly languishes,  
Whether your hands, your Eyes, your heart of stone  
Did take my lines, and read them, and bemoan  
With one kind word, one sigh, one pitying tear,  
Th'unfeigned grief which for your love I bear;  
Whether y'accepted that last Monument  
Of my dear Love, the Book (I mean) I sent  
To your dear self, when the respectless wind  
Bore me away, leaving my heart behind.  
And deign sometimes when you the same do view,  
To think on him, who always thinks on you.  
Or whether you (as Oh I fear you do)  
Hate both myself, and Gifts and Letters too.   

I must confess, that when I do consither,  
How ill, alas, how ill agree together,  
So peerless beauty, to so fierce a mind,  
So hard an inside to so fair a rind,  
A heart so bloody to so white a breast,  
So proud disdain, with so mild looks suppressed;  
And how my dear (Oh would it had been never,  
Accursed word, nay would it might be ever)  
How once I say, till your heart was estranged,  
(Alas how soon my day to night was changed)  
You did vouchsafe my poor Eyes so much grace,  
Freely to view the Riches of your face,  
And did so high exalt my lowly heart,  
To call it yours, and take it in good part▪,  
And (which was greatest bliss) did not disdain,  
For boundless love to yield some love again.  
When this, I say, I call unto my mind,  
And in my Heart and Soul no cause can find,  
No fact, no word, whereby my heart hath merited,  
Of your sweet love to be thus disinherited,  
Despair itself cannot make me despair,  
But that you'll prove as kind, as you are fair,  
And that my lines, & book, (O would 'ttwere true)  
Are, though I know't not yet, received by you,  
And often have your cruelty repent,  
Whereby my guiltless Heart is so tormented,  
And now at length in lieu of passed woe,  
Will pity, grace, and love, and favour shoe.   

But when again my cursed Memory,  
To my sad thoughts confounded diversly,  
Presents the time, the tear procuring time,  
That withered my young joys before their prime;  
The time when I with tedious absence tired,  
With restless love, and racked desire inspired,  
Coming to find my Earthly paradise,  
To glass my sight in your two heavenly Eyes,  
(On which alone my Earthly joys depended:  
And wanting which, my joy and life were ended)  
From your sweet Rosy lips, the springs of bliss  
To draw the Nectar of a sweetest Kiss;  
My greedy Ears on your sweet words to feed,  
Which candied in your sweetest breath proceed,  
In daintiest accents through that Coral door,  
Guarded with precious Pearl, and Rubies store:  
To touch your Hand so white, so moist, so soft,  
And with a ravished kiss redoubled oft,  
Revenge with kindest spite the bloody theft,  
Whereby it closely me my heart bereft:  
And of all bliss to taste the Consummation,  
In your sweet, graceful, heavenly Conversation,  
By whose sweet charms the souls you do enchant,  
Of all that do your lovely presence haunt;  
In stead in all these joys I did expect,  
Found nought but frowns, unkindness, and neglect.  
Neglect, unkindness, frowns? nay plain contempt,  
And open Hate, from no disdain exempt,  
No bitter words, side looks, nor aught that might  
Engreeve, increase so undeserved despite.  
When this (I say) I think, and think withal,  
How, nor those showers of Tears mine Eyes let fall  
Nor wind of blustering Sighs with all their force,  
Can move your rocky Heart once to remorse;  
Can I expect that letters should find grace,  
Or pity ever in your heart have place?  
No no; I think, and sad Despair says for me,  
You hate, disdain, and utterly abhor me.   

Alas, my dear, if this you do devise,  
To try the virtue of your murdering Eyes,  
And in the Glass of bleeding hearts, to view  
The glorious splendour of your Beauty's hue,  
Ah try it, try it on rebellious sprights,  
That do withstand the power of sacred lights,  
And make them feel (if any such be found)  
How deep and curelesly your Eyes can wound.  
But spare, O spare my yielding heart, and save  
Him, whose chief glory is to be your slave:  
Make me, the matter of your Clemency,  
And not, the subject of your Tyranny.    

ODE FOUR Being deprived of her sweet looks, words, and gestures, by his absence in Italy, he desires her to write unto him.  

I.  
MY only star,  
Why, why are your dear Eyes,  
Where all my life's peace lies,  
With me at war?  
Why to my Ruin tending,  
Do they still lighten woe,  
On him that loves you so,  
That all his thoughts, in you have birth and ending?   

II.  
Hope of my heart,  
O wherefore do the words,  
Which your sweet tongue affords,  
No hope impart?  
But cruel without measure,  
To my eternal pain,  
Still thunder forth Disdain,  
On him whose life depends upon your pleasure.   

III.  
Sunshine of joy,  
Why do your Gestures, which  
All Eyes and Hearts bewitch,  
My bliss destroy?  
And Pities sky o're-clowding  
Of Hate an endless shower,  
On that poor heart still power,  
Which in your bosom seeks his only shrouding.   

FOUR  
Balm of my wound,  
Why are your lines, whose sight  
Should cure me with delight,  
My poison found?  
Which through my veins dispersing,  
Doth make my heart and mind,  
And all my senses find,  
A living death in torments past rehearsing.   

V  
Alas, my Fate  
Hath of your Eyes deprived me,  
Which both killed and reviv'd me,  
And sweetened Hate;  
●our sweet Voice, and sweet Graces,  
Which clothed in lovely weeds,  
Your cruel words and deeds,  
●re intercepted by far distant places.   

VI  
But O the Anguish,  
Which Presence still pretended,  
absence's hath not absented,  
Nor made to languish.  
●o, no, t'increase my paining,  
The cause being (ah) removed,  
For which th'effect I loved,  
●h'effect is still in greatest force remaining.   

VII.  
O cruel Tiger,  
〈◊〉 to your hard heart's Centre,  
●eares, Vows, and Prayers may enter,  
Desist your rigour:  
●nd let kind lines assure me,  
(Since to my deadly wound,  
No salve else can be found)  
●hat you that kill me, yet at length will cure me.    

MADRIGAL V Allusion to the Confusion of Babel.  

THe wretched life I live  
In my weak Senses such confusion maketh,  
That like th'accursed Rabble  
That built the Tower of Babble,  
My wit mistaketh,  
And unto nothing a right name doth give.   

I term her my dear love, that deadly hate's m●,  
My chiefest Good, her that's my chiefest evil;  
Her Saint and Goddess, who's a Witch, a Devil;  
Her my sole Hope, that with despair amates me,  
My Balm I call her, that with poison fills m●●  
And her I term my life, that daily kills me.    

SONNET. VI Upon her acknowledging his Desert, yet rejecting his Affection.  
IF Love conjoined with worth and great desert,  
Merit like love in every noble mind:  
Why then do I you still so cruel find,  
To whom you do such praise of worth impart?  
And if (my Deer) you speak not from your heart,  
Two heinous wrongs you do together bind:  
To seek with glozing words mine eyes to blind,  
And yet my Love with hateful deeds to thwart.  
To want what one deserves, engreeves his pain,  
Because it takes away all self-accusing,  
And under kindest words to mask disdain,  
Is to a vexed Soul too much abusing.  
●hen if'ft be false, such glozing words refrain,  
〈◊〉 true, O then let worth his due obtain!   

SONNET. VII. Her Answer, in the same Rhymes.  
IF your fond Love want worth and great desert,  
Then blame yourself, if you me cruel find:  
If worth alone move every noble mind,  
Why to no worth should I my love impart?  
And if the less to grieve your wounded heart,  
I seek your dazzled eyes with words to blind,  
To just disfavour I great favour bind,  
With deeds, and not with words your love to thwart  
The freeing of your mind from self-accusing,  
By granting your deserts should ease your pain  
And since your fault's but love, 'twere some abu● sin  
With bitter words t'enuenom just disdain.  
Then if'ft be true, all glozing I refrain;  
If false, why should no worth, worths due obtain   

ODE V His Farewell to his Unkind and Unconstant Mistress.  

SWEET, if you like and love me still,  
And yield me love for my good will.  
And do not from your promise start,  
When your fair hand gave me your heart.  
If dear to you I be,  
As you are dear to me.  
Then yours I am, and will be ever,  
Nor time, nor place my love shall sever,  
But faithful still I will persever,  
Like constant marble stone,  
Loving but you alone.   

But if you favour more than me,  
(Who love thee still, and none but thee.)  
If others do the Harvest gain  
That's due to me for all my pain.  
If that you love to range,  
And oft to chop and change:  
Then get you some newfangled Mate,  
My doting Love shall turn to Hate,  
Esteeming you (though too too late)  
Not worth a pebble stone,  
Loving not me alone.    

A Prosopopoeia: Wherein his heart speaks to his second Lady's Breast.  

Dare not in my master's bosom rest,  
That flaming Aetna would to Ashes burn me:  
●or dare I harbour in his Mistress breast,  
●he frosty Climate into ice would turn me:  
So, both from her and him I do retire me,  
Lest th'one should freeze me, & the other fire me.   

Wing'd with true Love, I fly to this sweet Breast,  
Whose Snow, I hope, will cool but t'yce not turn me:  
Where fire and snow, I trust, so tempered rest,  
●s gentle heat will warm, and yet not burn me:  
But (O dear Breast) from thee I'll ne'er retire me,  
Whether thou cool, or warm, or freeze, or fire me.    

ODE VI Upon her giving him back the Paper wherein the former Song was written, as though it had been an answer thereunto.  

LAdy of matchless beauty;  
●hen into your sweet Bosom I delivered  
〈◊〉 paper, with wan looks, and hand that quivered  
Twixt hope, fear, love, and duty;  
Thought you it nothing else contained,  
But written words in Rhyme restrained?  
O than your thought abused was,  
My heart close wrapped therein, into your Breast infuse wa●   

When you that Scroll restor'de me,  
With grateful words, kind grace, & smiling merrily  
My breast did swell with joy, supposing verily,  
You, answer did afford me.  
But finding only that I writ,  
I hoped to find my heart in it:  
But you my hope abused had,  
And poison of Despair in stead thereof infused had   

Why, why did you torment me,  
With giving back my humble Rhymes so hatefully  
You should have kept both heart & paper gratefully;  
Or both you should have sent me.  
Hope you my heart thence to remove  
By scorning me, my Lines, my Love?  
No, no; your hope abused is,  
Too deep to be removed it in your Breast infused is   

O shall I hide or tell it?  
Dear with so spotless, zealous, firm Affection,  
I love your Beauty, Virtue, and perfection,  
As nothing can expel it.  
Scorn you my Rhymes, my Love despite?  
Pull out my heart, yea kill me quite  
Yet will your hate abused be,  
For in my very soul, your love & looks infused be.    

ODE VII. Commendation of her Beauty, Stature, Behaviour and Witt.  

●Ome there are as fair to see too;  
But by Art and not by Nature.  
●me as tall and goodly be too;  
●t want Beauty to their stature.   

●me have gracious kind behaviour,  
●t are fowl, or simple Creatures:  
●me have wit, but want sweet favour,  
●r are proud of their good features.  
Only you in Court or City,  
Are both fair, Tall, Kind, and Witty.    

MADRIGAL VI To her hand, upon her giving him her Glove.  
O Hand of all hands living,  
The softest, moistest, whitest,  
●ore skilled than Phoebus on a Lute in running;  
●ore than Minerva, with a Needle cunning;  
Then Mercury more wily,  
In stealing Hearts most slily.  
Since thou, dear Hand, in theft so much delightest,  
Why fallest thou now a giving?  
Ay me! thy gifts are thefts, and with strange Art,  
In giving me thy Glove, thou stealest my Hart.   

MADRIGAL. VII. Cupid proved a Fenser.  
AH Cupid I mistook thee;  
I for an Archer, and no Fenser took thee.  
But as a Fenser oft feigns blows and thrusts,  
Where he doth mean no harm;  
Then turns his baleful Arm,  
And wounds his foe whereas he lest mistrusts:  
So thou with fencing Art,  
Feigning to wound mine Eyes, hast hit my heart.   

SONNET VIII. Upon her commending (though most undeservedly) his Verses to his first love.  
PRaise you those barren Rhymes long since composed?  
Which my great Love, her greater Cruelty,  
My constant faith, her false Inconstancy,  
My praiseles style, her o're-praisd worth disclosed.  
O if I loved a scornful Dame so dearly;  
If my wild years did yield so firm affection;  
If her Moon-beams, short of your Sun's perfection,  
Taught my hoars Muse to sing (as you say) clearly  
How much, how much should I love & adore you,  
(Divinest Creature) if you deigned to love me:  
What beauty, fortune, time should ever move me  
In these stayed years to like aught else before you?  
And O! how should my Muse, by you inspired,  
Make Heaven & Earth resound your praise admired.   

MADRIGAL VIII. He compares himself to a Candle-flie.  
LIke to the silly fly,  
To the dear light I fly  
Of your disdainful Eyes,  
But in a diverse wise.  
She with the flame doth play  
By night alone; and I both night and day.  
She to a Candle runs;  
I to a light, far brighter than the sun's.  
She near at hand is fired;  
I both near hand, and far-away retired.  
She fond thinks, nor dead, nor burnt to be,  
But I my burning, and my death foresee.   

MADRIGAL IX. Answer to her question, what love was.  
IF I behold your Eyes,  
Love is a Paradise.  
But if I view my heart,  
ti's an infernal smart.   

ODE VIII. That all other Creatures have their abiding in heaven, hell, earth, air, water, or fire; but he in all of them.  

IN Heaven the blessed Angels have their being;  
In hell the Fiends appointed to damnation.  
To men and beasts Earth yields firm habitation:  
The winged musicans in the Air are fleeing.  
With fins the people gliding,  
Of Water have th'enjoying.  
In Fire (all else destroying.)  
The Salamander finds a strange abiding:  
But I, poor wretch, since I did first aspire,  
To love your beauty, Beauties all excelling,  
Have my strange diverse dwelling,  
In heaven, hell, earth, water, air, and Fire.   

Mine Ear, while you do sing, in Heaven remaineth  
My mind in hell, through hope & fears contention  
Earth holds my drossy wit and dull invention.  
Th'ill food of airy sighs my life sustaineth.  
To streams of tears still flowing  
My weeping Eyes are turned.  
My constant Heart is burned  
In quenchless fire within my bosom glowing.  
O fool, no more, no more so high aspire;  
In Heaven is no beauty more excelling,  
In Hell no such pride dwelling,  
Nor heart so hard in earth, air, water, fire.    

MADRIGAL X. Upon his time rous silence in her presence.  
ARE Lovers full of fire?  
How comes it then my Verses are so cold?  
And how, when I am nigh her,  
And fit occasion wills me to be bold,  
The more I burn, the more I do desire,  
The less I dare require?  
Ah Love! this is thy wondrous Art,  
To freeze the tongue, and fire the heart.   

MADRIGAL XI. Upon her long Absence.  
IF this most wretched and infernal Anguish,  
Wherein so long your absence makes me languish  
My vital spirits spending,  
Do not work out my ending.  
Nor yet your long-expected safe returning,  
To heavenly joy my hellish torments turning,  
With joy so overfill me,  
As presently it kill me;  
I will conclude, hows'euer Schools deceive a man  
No joy, nor Sorrow, can of life bereave a man.   

Upon seeing his Face in her Eye.  

FAirest and kindest of all womankind:  
Since you did me the undeserved grace,  
●n your fair Eye to show me my bad face,  
With loan I'll pay you in the self same kind;  
Look in mine Eye, and I will show to you,  
The fairest face that heavens Eye doth view.   

But the small worthless Glass of my dim Eye,  
Scarce shows the Picture of your heavenly face,  
Which yet each slightest turn doth straight deface.  
But could, O could you once my Heart espy,  
Your form at large you there engraved should see,  
Which, nor by Time, nor Death can razed be.    

MADRIGAL XII. Upon her hiding her face from him.  
GO wailing Accents, go,  
With my warm tears & scalding tears attended,  
To th'Author of my woe,  
●nd humbly ask her, why she is offended.  
Say, Dear, why hide you so,  
From him your blessed Eyes,  
Where he beholds his earthly Paradise,  
Since he hides not from you  
His heart, wherein loves heaven you may view?   

MADRIGAL XIII. Upon her Beauty and Inconstancy.  

Whosoever longs to try,  
Both Love and jealousy,  
My fair unconstant Lady let him see,  
And he will soon a jealous Lover be.   

Then he by proof shall know,  
As I do to my woe,  
How they make my poor heart at once to dwell,  
●n fire and frost, in heaven and in hell.    

A Dialogue between a lovers flaming Heart, and his Lady's frozen Breast.  Hart 
Shut not (sweet Breast) to see me all of fire.  Breast 
Fly not (dear heart) to find me all of snow.  Hart 
Thy snow inflames these flames of my desire.  Breast 
And I desire, Desires sweet flames to know.  Hart 
Thy Snow n'ill hurt me.  Breast 
Nor thy Fire will harm me.  Hart. 
This cold will cool me.  Breast 
And this heat will warm me.  Hart 
Take this chaste fire to that pure virgin snow▪  B. 
Being now thus warmed, I'll ne'er seek other fire▪  H 
Thou giv'st more bliss than mortal hearts may know  Breast 
More bliss I take than Angels can desire.  Both together 
Let one grief harm us;  
And let one joy fill us:  
Let one love warm us;  
And let one death kill us.   

ELEGY. III. For what cause he obtains not his Lady's favour.  

Dear, why hath my long love, and faith unfeigned,  
At your fair hands no grace at all obtained?   

be't, that my ●ocke-hol'd face doth beauty lack?  
No: Your sweet Sex, sweet beauty praiseth;  
Ours, wit and valour chief raiseth.  
be't, that my musk less clothes are plain & black?  
No: What wise Lady loves fine noddies,  
With poore-clad minds, and rich-clad bodies?  
be't, that no costly gifts mine Agents are?  
No: My true Heart which I present you,  
Should more than gold or pearl content you.  
be't, That my Verses want invention rare?  
No: I was never skilful Poet,  
I truly love, and plainly show it.  
●st, That I vaunt, or am effeminate?  
O scornful vices! I abhor you,  
Dwell still in Court, the place fit for you.  
●st, That you fear my love soon turns to hate?  
No: Though disdained, I can hate never,  
But loved, where once I love, love ever.  
be't, That your favours jealous Eyes suppress?  
No: only Virtue never-sleeping,  
Hath your fair Minds and Bodies keeping.  
be't, That to many more I love profess?  
Goddess, you have my Heart's oblation,  
And no Saint else lips invocation.   

No, none of these: The cause I now discover;  
No woman loves a faithful worthy Lover.    

A Quatrain.  
IF you reward my love with love again,  
My bliss, my life, my heaven I will deem you,  
But if you proudly quite it with disdain,  
My curse, my death, my hell I must esteem you.   

SONNET IX. To a worthy Lord (now dead) upon presenting him for a New-yeers-gift, with Caesar's Commentaries and Cornelius Tacitus.  
WOrthily, famous Lord, whose Virtues rare,  
Set in the gold of neuer-stained Nobility,  
And noble mind shining in true humility,  
Make you admir'de of all that virtuous are:  
●f as your Sword with envy imitates  
Great Caesar's Sword in all his deeds victorious,  
So your learned Pen would strive to be glorious,  
And write your Acts performed in foreign States;  
Or if some one with the deep wit inspired,  
Of matchless Tacitus would them historify,  
Then Caesar's works so much we should not glorify,  
And Tacitus would be much less desired.  
●ut till yourself, or some such put them forth,  
accept of these as Pictures of your worth.   

To SAMVEL DANIEL Prince of Englist Poets. Upon his three several sorts of Poesy, 

lyrical, in his Sonnets.  
Tragical, in Rosamond and Cleopatra.  
Heroical, in his Civil Wars.    

OLympiaes matchless Son, whenas he knew  
How many crowns his father's sword had gained,  
With smoking sighs, and deep-fetched sobs did rue,  
And his brave cheeks with scalding tears bedew,  
〈◊〉 that kingdoms now so few remained,  
●y his victorious Arm to be obtained.   

So (Learned Daniel) when as thou didst see,  
That Spenser erst so far had spread his fame,  
That he was Monarch deemed of Poesy,  
Thou didst (I guess) even burn with jealousy,  
Lest Laurel were not left enough to frame,  
A nest sufficient for thine endless Name.   

But as that Pearl of Greece, soon after past  
In wondrous conquests his renowned sire,  
And others all, whose names by Fame are placed  
In highest seat: So hath thy Muse surpassed  
Spenser, and all that do with hot desire,  
To the Thunder-scorning Lawrel-crown aspire   

And as his Empires linked force was known,  
When each of those that did his Kingdom's share,  
The mighti'st Kings in might did match alone:  
●o of thy skill the greatness thus is shown,  
That each of those, great Poets deemed are,  
Who may in no one kind with thee compare.   

One shared out Greece, another Asia held,  
And fertile Egypt to a third did fall,  
●ut only Alexander all did wield.  
●o in soft pleasing lyrics some are skilled,  
In Tragic some, some in Heroical,  
But thou alone art matchless in them all.   
Non equidem invideo, miror magit   

Three Epitaphs upon the death of a rare Child of six years old.  

1  
wit's perfection, Beauty's wonder,  
Nature's pride, the Grace's treasure,  
virtues hope, his friends sole pleasure,  
This small Marble Stone lies under.  
Which is often moist with tears,  
For such loss in such young years.   

2  
Lovely Boy, thou art not dead,  
●ut from Earth to Heaven fled,  
For base Earth was far unfit,  
For thy Beauty, Grace, and Wit.   

3  
Thou alive on Earth sweet Boy,  
Hadst an Angel's wit, and face:  
And now dead, thou dost enjoy  
In high Heaven an Angel's place.    

An Inscription for the Statue of DIDO.  
O most unhappy DIDO,  
●nhappy Wife, and more unhappy Widow!  
●nhappy in thy Mate,  
●nd in thy Lover most unfortunate.  
〈◊〉 treason th'one was rest thee,  
〈◊〉 treason th'other left thee.  
●hat left thee means to fly with,  
●his left thee means to die with.  
●he former being dead,  
●om Brother's sword thou fliest;  
●e latter being fled,  
●n lovers sword thou diest.  
Piu meritare, i conseguire. FRA. DAVISON   

SONNET. I. He demands pardon, for looking, loving, and writing.  
LEt not (sweet Saint) let not these lines offend you,  
Nor yet the Message that these lines impart;  
The Message my unfeigned Love doth send you,  
Love, which yourself hath planted in my heart.  
For being charmed by the bewitching art  
Of those inveigling graces which attend you,  
loves holy fire makes me breath out in part,  
The never-dying flames my breast doth lend you.  
Then if my Lines offend, let Love be blamed.  
And if my Love displease, accuse mine Eyes,  
If mine Eyes sin, their sins cause only lies  
On your brite eyes, which have my heart inflamed  
Since eyes, love, lines, err then by your direction;  
Excuse mine Eyes, my Lines, and my Affection.   

SONNET. II. Love in justice punnishable only with like love.  
But if my Lines may not be held excused,  
Nor yet my Love find favour in your Eyes,  
But that your Eyes as judges shall be used,  
Even of the fault which from themselves doth rise,  
Yet this my humble suit do not despise,  
Let me be judged as I stand accused,  
If but my fault my doom do equalise,  
What ere it be, it shall not be refused.  
And since my Love already is expressed,  
And that I cannot stand upon denial,  
I freely put myself upon my trial,  
Let justice doom me as I have confessed.  
For in my Doom if justice be regarded,  
My Love with Love again shall be rewarded.   

SONNET. III. He calls his Ears, Eyes, and heart as witnesses of her sweet voice, beauty, and inward virtuous perfections.  
Fair is thy face, and great thy wit's perfection,  
So fair alas, so hard to be expressed,  
That if my tired pen should neue● rest,  
It should not blaze thy worth, but my affection.  
Yet let me say, the Muses make election  
Of your pure mind, there to erect their nest,  
And that your face is such a flint-hard breast,  
By force thereof, without force feels subjection.  
Witness mine Ear, ravished when you it hears,  
Witness mine Eyes ravished when you they see,  
Beauty and Virtue, witness Eyes and Ears,  
In you (sweet Saint) have equal soveraingntie.  
But if, nor Eyes, nor Ears, can prove it true,  
Witness my heart, their's none that equals you.   

SONNET. V Praise of her Eyes, excelling all Comparisons.  
I Bend my wit, but wit cannot devise,  
Words fit to blaze the worth, your Eyes contains,  
Whose nameless worth their worthless name disdains  
For they in worth exceed the name of eyes.  
Eyes they be not, but worlds in which these lies,  
More bliss than this wide world beside contains;  
Worlds they be not, but stars, whose influence reigns,  
Over my Life and Life's felicities.  
Stars they be not, but Suns, whose presence drives  
Darkness from night, and doth bright day impart;  
Suns they be not, which outward heat derives,  
But these do inwardly inflame my heart.  
Since then in Earth, nor Heaven, they equalled are,  
I must confess they be beyond compare.   

ODE I. His Lady to be condemned of Ignorance or Cruelty.  

AS she is fair, so faithful I,  
My service she, her grace I merit,  
Her beauty doth my Love inherit,  
But Grace she doth deny.  
O knows she not how much I love?  
Or doth knowledge in her move  
No small Remorse?  
For the guilt thereof must lie  
Upon one of these of force,  
Her Ignorance, or Cruelty   

As she is fair, so cruel she.  
I sow true love, but reap disdaining;  
Her pleasure springeth from my paining,  
Which Pities source should be.  
Too well she knows how much I love,  
Yet doth knowledge in her move,  
No small remorse.  
Then the guilt thereof must lie  
Upon this a lone of force,  
Her undeserved Cruelty.   

As she is fair, so were she kind:  
Or being cruel, could I waver,  
Soon should I, either win her favour,  
Or a new Mistress find.  
But neither out alas may be,  
Scorn in her, and love in me,  
So fixed are.  
Yet in whom most blame doth lie  
judge she may, if she compare  
My love unto her Cruelty.    

SONNET VI Contention of Love and Reason for his Hart.  
REason and Love lately at strife, contended,  
Whose Right it was to have my mind's protection,  
Reason on his side, Nature's will pretended,  
loves Title was, my Mistress rare perfection.  
Of power to end this strife, each makes election,  
Reason's pretence discursive thoughts defended;  
But love soon brought those thoughts into subjection  
By Beauty's troops, which on my saint depended.  
Yet, since to rule the mind was Reason's duty,  
On this Condition it by love was rendered,  
That endless Praise by Reason should be tendered,  
As a due Tribute to her conquering Beauty.  
Reason was pleased withal, and to loves Royalty,  
He pledg'de my heart, as Hostage for his Loyalty.   

SONNET FOUR That she hath greater power over his happiness and life, than either Fortune, Fate, or Stars.  
LEt Fate, my Fortune, and my Stars conspire,  
jointly to pour on me their worst disgrace;  
So I be graeious in your heavenly Face,  
I weigh not Fates, nor Stars, nor Fortune's ire.  
'tis not the influence of heavens Fire,  
Hath power to make me blessed in my Race,  
Nor in my happiness hath Fortune place,  
Nor yet can Fate my poor life's date expyre.  
'tis your fair Eyes (my Stars) all bliss do give,  
'tis your disdain (my Fate) hath power to kill,  
'tis you (my Fortune) make me happy live,  
Though Fortune, Fate, & Stars conspire mine ill.  
Then (blessed Saint) into your favour take me,  
●ortune, nor Fate, nor Stars can wretched make me.   

SONNET. VII. Of his Ladies weeping.  
WHat need I say, how it doth wound my breast,  
By fate to be thus banished from thine Eyes,  
Since your own Tears with me do Sympathise,  
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?  
For when with floods of tears they were oppressed,  
Over those ivory banks they did not rise,  
Till others envying their felicities,  
Did press them forth, that they might there be blest.  
Some of which, Tears priest forth by violence,  
Your lips with greedy kissing straight did drink:  
And other some unwilling to part thence,  
Enamoured on your cheeks in them did sink.  
And some which from your Face were forced away,  
In sign of Love did on your Garments stay.   

SONNET. VIII. He paints out his Torments.  
SWeet, to my cursed life some favour show,  
Or let me not (accursed) in life remain,  
Let not my Senses sense of life retain,  
Since sense doth only yield me sense of woe.  
For now mine Eyes only your frowns do know;  
Mine Eeares hear nothing else but your disdain,  
My lips taste nought but tears: and smell is pain,  
Banished your lips, where Indian Odours grow.  
And my devoted heart your Beauty's slave,  
Feels nought but scorn, oppression, & distress,  
Made even of wretchedness the wretched Cave,  
Nay, too too wretched for wild wretchedness.  
For even sad sighs, as loathing there to rest,  
Struggle for passage from my Greefe-swolne breast.   

ODE II. A dialogue between him and his Hart.  

AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated,  
With prayers oft repeated,  
Yet still my love is thwarted:  
heart let her go, for she'll not be convarted.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no, no.  
She is most fair, though she be marble hearted.   

How often have my sighs declar'de mine anguish?  
Wherein I daily languish,  
Yet doth she still procure it:  
heart let her go, for I can not endure it.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no, no.  
She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.   

The trickling tears that down my cheeks have flowed,  
My love have often showed;  
Yet still unkind I prove her:  
heart, let her go, for nought I do can move her.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no no, no.  
Though me she hate, I can not choose but love her.  
But shall I still a true affection own her,  
Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her;  
And shall she still disdain me?  
heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no, no.  
She made me hers, and hers she will retain me   

But if the Love that hath, and still doth burn me,  
No love at length return me,  
Out of my thoughts I'll set her:  
heart, let her go, oh heart, I pray thee let her.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no, no:  
Fixed in the heart, how can the heart forget her.   

But if I weep and sigh, and often wail me,  
Till tears, sighs, prayers fail me,  
Shall yet my Love persever?  
heart, let her go, if she will right thee never.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no▪, no  
Tears, sighs, prayers fail, but true love lasteth eue●    

SONNET. IX. His Sighs and Tears are bootless.  
I Have entreated, and I have complained,  
I have dispraised, and praise I like wise gave,  
All means to win her Grace I tried have,  
And still I love, and still I am disdained.  
So long I have my Tongue and Pen constrained,  
To praise, dispraise, complain, and pity crave,  
That now, nor Tongue, nor Pen, to me her slave  
Remains, whereby her Grace may be obtained.  
Yet you (my Sighs) may purchase me relief,  
And ye (my Tears) her rocky heart may move;  
Therefore my sighs sigh in her ears my grief,  
And in her heart my Tears imprint my love.  
But cease vain sighs, cease cease ye fruitless tears,  
Tears cannot pierce her heart, nor sighs her Ears.   

SONNET. X. Her Beauty makes him love, even in despair.  
WOunded with Grief, I weep, & sigh, & plain,  
Yet neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears do good;  
But all in vain I strive against the flood,  
Gaining but grief for grief, & pain for pain.  
Yet though in vain my tears my cheeks distain;  
Leaving engraven Sorrow where they stood;  
And though my sighs consuming up my blood,  
For Love deserved, reap undeserved Disdain:  
And though in vain I know I beg remorse  
At your remorseless heart, more hard than steel;  
Yet, such (alas) such is your Beauty's force,  
Charming my Sense, that though this h●ll I feel,  
Though neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears can move you,  
Yet must I still persist ever to love you.   

SONNET XI. Why her Lips yield him no words of Comfort.  
OFt do I plain, and she my plants doth reed  
Which in black colours do paint forth my, woe  
So that of force she must my sorrow know;  
And know, for her disdain my heart doth bleed.  
And knowledge must of Force some pity breed,  
Which makes me hope, she will some favour show  
And from her sugared lips cause comfort flow  
Into mine Ears, my heart with joy to feed.  
Yet though she reads, and reading knows my grief,  
And knowledge moves her pity my distress,  
Yet do her lips, sweet lips, yield no relief.  
Much do I muse, but find no cause but this,  
That in her lips, her heavenly lips that bliss them,  
Her words loath thence to part, stay there to kiss them.   

SONNET. XII. Comparison of his heart to a Tempest-beaten Ship.  
LIke a Sea-tossed Bark with tackling spent,  
And Stars obscured his watery journeys guide  
By loud tempestuous winds and raging tide,  
From wave to wave with dreadful fury sent,  
Fares my poor heart; my Heartstrings being rend,  
And quite disabled your fierce wrath to bide,  
Since your fair eyes my Stars themselves do hide  
Clouding their light in frowns and discontent.  
For from your frowns do spring my sighs & tears  
Tears flow like seas, & sighs like winds do blow  
Whose joined rage most violently bears  
My Tempest-beaten heart from woe to woe.  
And if your Eyes shine not that I may shun it,  
On Rock, despair, my sighs, and tears will run it   

ELEGY. To his Lady, who had vowel Virginity.  

EVEN as my hand my Pen on Paper lays,  
My trembling hand my Pen from Paper stays,  
●est that thine eyes which shining made me love you  
Should frowning on my suit, bid cease to move you,  
So that I far like one at his wit's end,  
Hoping to gain, and fearing to offend.  
What pleaseth Hope, the same Despair mislikes,  
What hope sets down, those lines despair outstrikes,  
So that my nursing-murthering Pen affords,  
A Grave and Cradle to my new-born words.  
But whilst like clouds tossed up and down the air,  
〈◊〉 racked hang twixt Hope and sad Despair,  
Despair is beaten vanquished from the field,  
And unto conquering Hope my heart doth yield.   

For when mine eyes unpartially are fixed,  
On thy Rose cheeks with Lilies intermixed,  
And on thy forehead like a cloud of snow,  
From under which thine eyes like Suns do show,  
And all those parts which curiously do meet,  
Twixt thy large-spreading hair and pretty feet,  
Yet looking on them all, discern no one,  
That owes not homage unto Cupid's Throne;  
Then Chastity (me thinks) no claim should lay  
To this fair Realm, under loves Sceptres sway.  
For only to the Queen of amorous pleasure  
Belongs thy Beauty's tributary treasure;  
Treasure, which doth more than those riches please   

For which men blow long furrows in the Seas.)  
If you were wrinkled old, or Nature's scorn,  
Or time your beauty's colours had outworn;  
Or were you mewed up from gazing eyes,  
Like to a cloistered Nun, which living, dies:  
Then might you wait on Chastities pale Queen,  
Not being fair, or being fair, not seen.  
But you are fair, so passing passing fair,  
That love I must, though loving I despair,  
For when I saw your eyes (O cursed bliss!)  
Whose light I would not lave, nor yet would miss,  
(For 'tis their light alone by which I live,  
And yet their sight alone my deaths wound give.)  
Looking upon your heart-entangling look,  
I like a heedless Bird was snar'de and took.  
It lies not in our will to hate or love,  
For Nature's influence our will doth move.  
And love of Beauty Nature hath innated,  
In Hearts of men when first they were created.  
For even as Rivers to the Ocean run,  
Returning back, from whence they first begun:  
Or as the Sky about the Earth doth wheel,  
Or giddy air like to a Drunkard reel,  
So with the course of Nature doth agree,  
That Eyes which Beauties Adamant do see,  
Should on Affections line trembling remain,  
True-subiect-like eyeing their Sovereign.   

If of mine Eyes you also could bereave me,  
As you already of my heart deceive me,  
Or could shut up my ravished ears, through which  
You likewise did m'inchaunted Heart bewitch,  
Or had in Absence both these ills combined;  
(For by your Absence I am deaf and blind,  
And, neither Ears, nor Eyes in aught delight,  
But in your charming speech, and gracious sight)  
To root out Love all means you can invent,  
Were all but labour lost, and time ill spent,  
For as the sparks being spent, which fire procure,  
The fire doth brightly-burning still endure:  
Though Absence so your sparkling Eyes remove,  
My heart still burns in endless flames of love.   

Then strive not 'gainst the stream, to none effect,  
But let due Love yield Love a due respect.  
Nor seek to ruin what yourself begun,  
Or lose a Knot that cannot be undone.  
But unto Cupid's bent conform your will,  
For will you, nill you, I must love you sti●l.  
But if your Will did swim with Reason's tide,  
Or followed Nature's never-erring guide,  
It cannot choose but bring you unto this,  
To tender that which by you gotten is.  
Why were you fair to be besought of many,  
If you live chaste, not to be won of any?  
For if that Nature love to Beauty offers,  
And Beauty shun the love that Nature proffer's  
Then, either unjust Beauty is too blame,  
With scorn to quench a lawful kindled flame,  
Or else unlawfully if love we must,  
And be vnlou'de, than Nature is unjust.  
Unjustly then Nature hath hearts created,  
There to love most, where most their love is hated,  
And flattering them with a faire-seeming ill,  
To poison them with Beauty's sugared Pill.   

Think you that Beauties admirable worth  
Was to no end, or idle end brought forth?  
No, no; from Nature never deed did pass,  
But it by wisdoms hand subscribed was.  
But you in vain are fair, if fair, not viewed,  
Or being seen, men's hearts be not subdued,  
Or making each man's heart your Beauty's thrall  
You be enjoyed of no one at all.  
For as the Lion's strength to seize his prey,  
And fearful Hares light foot to run away,  
Are as an idle Talon but abused,  
And fruitless had, if had, they be not used,  
So you in vain have Beauty's bonds to show,  
By which, men's Eyes engaged Hearts do owe,  
If Time shall cancel them before you gain  
Th'indebted Tribute to your Beauty's reign.   

But if (these Reasons being vainly spent)  
You fight it out to the last Argument;  
Tell me but how one Body can enclose,  
As loving friends two deadly hating foes.  
But when as Contraries are mixed together,  
The colour made, doth differ much from either.  
Whilst mutually at strife they do impeach  
The gloss and lustre proper unto each.  
So, where one body jointly doth invest  
An angels face, and cruel Tiger's breast,  
There dieth both Allegiance and Command,  
For self-devided kingdoms cannot stand.  
But as a Child that knows not what is what,  
Now craveth this, and now affecteth that,  
And having, ways not that which he requires,  
But is unpleasde, even in his pleased desires:  
Chaste Beauty so, both will, and will not have,  
The self-same thing it childishly doth crave:  
And wanton-like, now Love, now Hate affecteth,  
And Love, or Hate obtained as fast neglecteth.  
So (like the web Penelope did weave,  
Which made by day, she did at night unreave)  
Fruitless Affections endless thread is spun,  
At one self instant twisted, and undone.  
Nor yet is this chaste Beauty's greatest ill,  
For where it speaketh fair, it there doth kill.  
A Marble heart under an amorous look,  
Is of a flattering bait the murdering hook:  
For from a Ladies shining-frowning Eyes,  
Death's sable Dart, and Cupid's Arrow flies.   

Since then, from Chastity and Beauty spring,  
Such muddy streams, where each doth reign as king;  
Let Tyrant Chastities usurped Throne,  
Be made the seat of Beauty's grace alone;  
And let your Beauty be with this sufficed,  
That my heart's City is by it surprised:  
Raze not my heart, nor to your Beauty raise,  
Blood-guilded Trophies of your Beauty's praise;  
For wisest Conquerors do Towns desire,  
On honourable terms and not with fire.    

SONNET. XIII. That he cannot leave to love, though commanded.  
HOw can my Love in equity be blamed,  
Still to importune though it ne'er obtain;  
Since though her face and voice will me refrain,  
Yet by her Voice and Face I am inflamed?  
For when (alas) her face with frowns is framed,  
To kill my Love, but to revive my pain;  
And when her voice commands, but all in vain,  
That love both leave to be, and to be named.  
Her Siren voice doth such enchantment move,  
And though she frown, even frowns so lovely make her.  
That I of force am forced still to love;  
Since than I must, and yet can not forsake her,  
My fruitless prayers shall cease in vain to move her,  
But my devoted heart ne'er cease to move her.   

SONNET. XIIII. He desires leave to write of his love.  
MVst my devoted Heart desist to love her?  
No, love I may, but I may not confess it.  
What harder thing than love, and yet depress it?  
Love most concealed, doth most itself discover.  
Had I no pen to show that I approve her,  
Were I tongue-tied that I might not address it,  
In Plaints and Prayr'es unfeigned to express it,  
Yet could I not my deep affection cover.  
Had I no pen, my very tears would show it,  
Which writ my true affection in my face.  
Were I tongue-tied, my sighs would make her know it,  
Which witness that I grieve at my disgrace.  
Since then, though silent, I my love discover,  
O let my pen have leave to say, I love her!   

Quid pluma levius? pulvis. Quid pulvere? Ventus.  
Quid vento? Mulier. Quid muliere? Nihil.  
Translated thus; 
DVst is lighter than a Feather,  
And the Wind more light than either.  
But a Woman's fickle mind,  
More than Feather, Dust, or Wind.   
W. D.    

SONNETS, ODES, ELEGIES and other POESIES.  
Splendidis longum valedico nugis.  
ANOMOS.  

III. Sonnets for a poem to the Poems following. That Love only made him a Poet, and that all sorts of Verses, both in Rhyme and Measure, agree with his Lady.  

SONNET I.  
SOme men, they say, are Poets borne by kind,  
And suck that science from their mother's breast:  
An easy Art that comes with so great rest,  
And happy men to so good hap assigned.  
In some, desire of praise inflames the mind,  
To climb with pain Parnassus double crest:  
Some, hope of rich Rewards hath so possessed,  
That Gold, in castal Sands they seek to find.  
Me, neither Nature hath a Poet made,  
Nor love of Glory moved to learn the trade,  
Nor thirst of Gold persuaded for to write;  
For Nature's graces are too fine for me,  
Praise like the peacocks pride herself to see,  
Desire of gain the basest minds delight.   

SONNET. II.  
WHat moved me then? say Love, for thou canst tell;  
Of thee I learned this skill, if skill I have:  
Thou know'st the Muse, whose help I always crave  
Is none of those that on Parnassus dwell.  
My Muse is such as doth them all excel,  
They all to her alone their cunning gave,  
To sing, to dance, to play, to make so brave;  
Thrice threefold Graces her alone befell.  
From her do flow the streams that water me,  
Hers is the praise, if I a Poet be;  
Her only look both will and skill doth give.  
What marvel then if I those laws refuse,  
Which other Poets in their making use,  
Since by her looks I write, by which I live?   

SONNET. III.  
THus am I free from laws that other bind,  
Who diverse verse to diverse matter frame;  
All kind of Styles do serve my Lady's name,  
What they in all the world, in her I find.  
The lofty Verse doth show her noble mind,  
By which she quencheth loves enraged flame,  
Sweet lyrics sing her heavenly beauty's fame,  
The tender Elege speaks her pity kind.  
In mournful Tragic Verse for her I die,  
In Comic she revives me with her eye,  
All serve my Goddess both for mirth and moan,  
Each look she casts doth breed both peace & strife,  
Each word she speaks doth cause both death & life,  
Out of myself I live in her alone.   

ODE I. Where his Lady keeps his heart.  

Sweet Love, mine only treasure  
For service long unfeigned,  
Wherein I nought have gained,  
Vouchsafe this little pleasure,  
To tell me in what part,  
My Lady keeps my Heart.   

If in her hair so slender,  
Like golden nets untwined,  
Which fire and art have fined,  
Her thrall my heart I render,  
For ever to abide  
With locks so dainty tide.   

If in her Eyes she bind it,  
Wherein that fire was framed,  
By which it is inflamed,  
I dare not look to find it;  
I only wish it sight,  
To see that pleasant light.   

But if her Breast have dained  
With kindness to receive it,  
I am content to leave it,  
Though death thereby were gained;  
Then Lady take your own,  
That lives for you alone.    

To her Eyes.  

Feign would I learn of thee thou murdering Eye,  
Whether thy glance be fire, or else a dart:  
For with thy look in flames thou makest me fry,  
And with the same thou strik'st me to the heart.  
Pierced with thy looks I burn in fire,  
And yet those looks I still desire.   

The fly that buzzeth round about the flame  
Knows not (poor Soul) she gets her death thereby,  
I see my death, and seeing, seek the same,  
And seeking, find, and finding, choose to die.  
That when thy looks my life have slain,  
Thy looks may give me life again.   

Turn then to me those sparkling Eyes of thine,  
And with their fiery glances pierce my heart.  
Quench not my light, lest I in darkness pine,  
Strike deep and spare not, pleasant is the smart.  
So by thy looks my life be spilled,  
Kill me as often as thou wilt.    

ODE. II. The more favour he obtains, the more he desires.  

AS soon may water wipe me dry,  
And fire my heat allay,  
As you with favour of your eye,  
Make hot desire decay:  
The more I have,  
The more I crave;  
The more I crave, the more desire,  
As piles of wood increase the fire.   

The senseless stone that from on high  
Descends to Earth below,  
With greater haste itself doth ply,  
The less it hath to go:  
So feels desire  
Increase of fire,  
That still with greater force doth burn,  
Till all into itself it turn.   

The greater favour you bestow,  
The sweeter my delight;  
And by delight Desire doth grow,  
And growing gathers might.  
The less remains,  
The more my pains,  
To see myself so near the brink,  
And yet my fill I cannot drink.    

Love the only price of love.  

THe fairest Pearls that Northern Seas do breed,  
For precious stones from Eastern coasts are sold.  
Nought yields the earth that from exchange is freed,  
Gold values all, and all things value Gold.  
Where goodness wants an equal change to make,  
There greatness serves, or number place doth take.   

No mortal thing can bear so high a price,  
But that with mortal thing it may be bought.  
The corn of Sicill buys the western spice,  
French wine of us, of them our cloth is sought.  
No pearls, no gold, no stones, no corn, no spice,  
No cloth, no wine, for love can pay the price.   

What thing is love, which nought can countervail?  
Nought save itself, even such a thing is love.  
All worldly wealth in worth as far doth fail,  
As lowest earth doth yield to heaven above.  
Divine is Love, and scorneth worldly pelf,  
And can be bought with nothing, but with self.   

Such is the price my loving heart would pay,  
Such is the pay thy Love doth claim as due.  
Thy due is Love, which I (poor I) assay,  
In vain assay to quite with friendship true:  
True is my love, and true shall ever be,  
And truest love is far too base for thee.   

Love but thyself, and love thyself alone,  
For save thyself, none can thy love requite:  
All mine thou hast, but all as good as none,  
My small desert must take a lower flight.  
Yet if thou wilt vouchsafe my heart such bliss,  
Accept it for thy Prisoner at it is.    

His heart arraigned of Theft, and acquitted.  

MY heart was found within my Lady's Breast,  
Close couched for fear that no man might him see,  
On whom suspect did serve a strait Arrest,  
And Felon-like he must arraigned be.  
What could he mean so closely there to stay,  
But by deceit to steal her heart away?   

The Bench was set, the Prisoner forth was brought,  
My Mistress self chief judge to hear the cause;  
Th'inditement read, by which his blood was sought,  
That he (poor heart) by stealth had broke the laws:  
His Plea was such as each man might descry,  
For grace and ruth were read in either Eye.   

Yet forced to speak, his farther Plea was this,  
That sore pursued by me that sought his blood,  
Because so oft his presence I did miss,  
Whilst, as he said, he laboured for my good:  
He, void of help to have his harms redressed,  
took Sanctuary within her sacred breast.   

The gentle judge that saw his true intent.  
And that his cause did touch her honour near,  
Since he from me to her for succour went;  
That ruth may reign, where rigour did appear,  
Gave sentence thus; that if he there would bide,  
That place was made the guiltless heart to hide.    

MADRIGAL. I.  
THine Eyes so bright  
Bereft my sight,  
When first I viewed thy face.  
So now my light  
Is turned to night,  
I stray from place to place.  
Then guide me of thy kindness,  
So shall I bless my blindness.   

PHALEUCIAKS. I.  
TIme nor place did I want, what held me tongtide?  
What Charms, what magical abused Altars?  
Wherefore wished I so oft that hour unhappy,  
When with freedom I might recount my torments,  
And plead for remedy by true lamenting?  
Dumb, nay dead in a trance I stood amazed,  
When those looks I beheld that late I longed for;  
No speech, no memory, no life remained,  
Now speech prateth apace, my grief bewraying,  
Now ●ootlesse memory my plaints remembreth,  
Now life moveth again, but all avails not.  
Speech, life, and memory die altogether,  
With speech, life, memory, Love only dies not.   

Deadly Sweetness.  
SWeet thoughts, the food on which I feeding starve  
Sweet tears, the drink that more augments my thirst  
Sweet eyes, the stars by which my course doth swerver  
Sweet hope, my death, which wast my life at first.  
Sweet thoughts, sweet tears, sweet hope, sweet eyes,  
How chance that death in sweetness lies?   

MADRIGAL II. Verbal love.  
IF Love be made of words, as woods of Trees,  
Who more beloved than I?  
If love be hot where true desire doth freeze,  
Who more than she doth fry?  
Are drones that make no honey counted Bees?  
Is running water dry?  
Is that a gainful trade that has no fees,  
He live that dead doth lie?  
What else but blind is he that nothing sees,  
But deaf that hears no cry?  
Such is her vowed love to me,  
Yet must I think it true to be.   

Lady's eyes, serve Cupid both for Darts and Fire.  

OFt have I mused the cause to find,  
Why Love in Lady's eyes doth dwell.  
〈◊〉 thought, because himself was blind,  
He looked that they should guide him well.  
And sure his hope but seldom fails,  
For Love by Lady's eyes prevails.   

But Time, at last, hath taught me wit,  
Although I bought my wit full dear,  
For by her Eyes my heart is hit,  
Deep is the wound though none appear,  
Their glancing beams as darts he throws,  
And sure he hath no shafts but those.   

I mused to see their eyes so bright,  
And little thought they had been fire;  
I gazed upon them with delight,  
But that delight hath bred desire;  
What better place can Love require,  
Than that where grow both shafts and fire?    

loves Contrarieties.  

I Smile sometimes amids my greatest grief,  
Not for Delight, for that long since is fled,  
Despair did shut the Gate against Relief,  
When Love, at first, of death the sentence read.  
But yet I smile sometimes in midst of pain,  
To think what toys do toss my troubled head.  
How most I wish, that most I should tefraine,  
And seek the thing that least I long to find,  
And find the wound by which my heart is slain,  
Yet want both skill and will to ease my mind.  
Against my will I burn with free consent,  
I live in pain, and in my pain delight,  
I cry for death, yet am to live content,  
I hate the day, yet never wish for night;  
I frieze for cold, and yet refrain the fire;  
I long to see, and yet I shun her sight,  
I scaled in Sun, and yet no shade desire,  
I live by death, and yet I wish to die,  
I feel no hurt, and yet for help inquire,  
I die by life, and yet my life defy.   

Heu, cogor voti nescius esse mei.    

ODE III.  

DEsire and Hope have moved my mind,  
To seek for that I cannot find,  
Assured faith in womankind,  
And love with love rewarded;  
Self-love, all but himself disdains,  
Suspect as chiefest virtue reigns,  
Desire of change unchanged remains,  
So light is Love regarded.   

True friendship is a naked name,  
That idle brains in pastime frame,  
Extremes are always worthy blame,  
Enough is common kindness.  
What floods of tears do Lovers spend?  
What sighs from out their hearts they send?  
How many, may, and will not mend?  
Love is a wilful blindness.  
What is the Love they so desire?  
Like love for love, and equal fire;  
Good loving worms, which love require,  
And know not when they have it.  
Is Love in words? fair words may feign.  
Is Love in looks? sweet looks are vain;  
Both these in common kindness reign,  
Yet few or none so crave it.   

Thou wouldst be loved, and that of one,  
For vice? thou mayst seek love of none:  
For virtue? why of her alone?  
I say so more, speak you that know the truth,  
If so great love be aught but heat of youth?    

MADRIGAL III.  
SHe only is the pride of Nature's skill:  
In none, but her, all Grace's friendly meet.  
●n all, save her, may Cupid have his will,  
By none, but her, is Fancy under feet.  
Most strange of all, her praise is in her want,  
Her Heart that should be flesh, is Adamant.  
Laudo quod lugeo.   


Smooth are thy looks, so is the deepest stream:  
Soft are thy lips, so is the swallowing Sand.  
Fair is thy sight, but like unto a dream;  
Sweet is thy promise, but it will not stand.  
Smooth, soft, fair, sweet, to them that lightly touch,  
Rough, hard, foul, sour to them that take too much.  
Thy looks so smooth have drawn away my sight.  
Who would have thought that hooks could so be hid?  
Thy lips so soft have fretted my delight,  
Before I once suspected what they did.  
Thy face so fair hath burnt me with desire,  
Thy words so sweet were bellows for the fire.   

And yet I love the looks that made me blind,  
And like to kiss the lips that fret my life,  
In heat of fire an ease of heat I find,  
And greatest peace in midst of greatest strife.  
That if my choice were now to make again,  
I would not have this joy without this pain.    

PHALEUCIACKS II.  
HOw, or where have I lost myself? unhappy!  
Dead, nor live am I neither, and yet am both.  
Through despair am I dead, by hope revived,  
Weeping wake I the night from eve to morning,  
Sighing waste I the day from morn to evening.  
Tears are drink to my thirst, by tears I thirst more  
Sighs are meat that I eat, I hunger eating,  
Might I, O that I might refrain my feeding,  
Soon would ease to my heart by death be purchased  
Life and light do I lack, when I behold not  
Those bright beams of her Eyes, Apollo darkening;  
Life and light do I lose when I behold them,  
All as Snow by the Sun resolved to water.  
Death and life I receive her Eyes beholding;  
Death and life I refuse not in beholding,  
So that, dead or alive I may behold them.   

L'ENVOY in rhyming Phaleuciacks.  
Muse not, Lady, to read so strange a Meeter;  
Strange grief, strange remedy for ease requireth  
When sweet joy did abound, I writ the sweeter,  
Now that weareth away, my Muse retireth:  
In you lies it alone to cure my sadness,  
And therewith to revive my heart with gladness   

SONNET. FOUR  
Wronged by Desire I yielded to disdain,  
Who called revenge to work my spite thereby.  
Rash was Revenge and swore desire should die.  
No price nor prayer his pardon might obtain.  
Down to my heart in rage he hastes amain,  
And stops each passage lest Desire should fly:  
Within my Ears disdainful words did lie,  
Proud looks did keep mine Eyes with scornful train.  
Desire that erst but flickred in my breast,  
And wanton-like now pricked, now gave me rest,  
For fear of death sunk deeper in my heart.  
There reigns he now, and there will reign alone,  
Desire is jealous, and gives part to none,  
Nor he from me, nor I from him can start.   

That he is unchangeable.  

The love of change hath changed the world throwout  
And nought is counted good, but what is strange;  
New things wax old, old new, all turn about,  
And all things change except the love of change.  
Yet feel I not this love of change in me,  
But as I am, so will I always be.   

For who can change that likes his former choice,  
Who better wish, that knows he hath the best?  
How can the heart in things unknown rejoice,  
If joy well tried can bring no certain rest?  
My choice is made, change he that list for me,  
Such as I am, such will I always be.   

Who ever changed, and not confessed his want?  
And who confessed his want, and not his woe?  
Then change who list, thy woe shall not be scant,  
Within thyself thou feedest thy mortal foe.  
Change calls for change, no end, no ease for thee,  
Then, as I am, so will I always be.   

Mine eyes confess they have their wished sight,  
〈◊〉 heart affirms it feels the love it sought.  
●●ne inward thoughts are fed with true delight,  
Which full consent of constant joy hath wrought.  
And full Content desires no Change to see,  
Then, as I am, so will I always be.   

R●st then (my heart) and keep thine old delight,  
Which like the Phoenix waxeth young each day:  
Each hour presents new pleasure to my sight,  
More cause of joy increaseth every way.  
True love with age doth daily clearer see,  
Then, as I am, so will I always be.   

What gained fair Cressid by her faithless change,  
But loss of fame, of beauty, health, and life?  
Mark jasons hap, that ever loved to range,  
That lost his children, and his princely wife.  
Then Change farewell, thou art no Mate for me,  
But, as I am, so will I always be.   
jamais aulire.   

To his Eyes.  
Unhappy Eyes, the causers of my pain,  
That to my foe betrayed my strongest hold,  
Wherein, he like a Tyrant now doth reign,  
And boasts of winning that which treason sold.  
Too late you call for help of me in vain,  
Whom Love hath bound in chains of massy gold;  
The tears you shed increase my hot desire,  
As water on the Smithie kindles fire.  
The sighs that from my Heart ascend,  
Like wind disperse the flame throughout my breast,  
No part is left to harbour quiet rest,  
I burn in fire and do not spend;  
Like him, whose growing maw,  
The vulture still doth gnaw.   

ODE FOUR Upon visiting his Lady by Moonlight.  

THe night say all, was made for rest,  
And so say I, but not for all:  
To them the darkest nights are best,  
Which give them leave asleep to fall:  
But I that seek my rest by light,  
Hate sleep, and praise the clearest night.   

Bright was the Moon, as bright as day,  
And Venus glistered in the West,  
Whose light did lead the ready way,  
That brought me to my wished rest:  
Then each of them increased their light,  
While I enjoyed her heavenly sight.   

Say, gentle Dames, what moved your mind  
To shine so bright above your wont?  
Would Phoebe fair Endymion find?  
Would Venus see Adonis hunt?  
No no, you feared by her sight,  
To lose the praise of Beauty bright.   

At last, for shame you shrunk away,  
And thought to reave the world of light:  
Then shone my Dame with brighter ray,  
Then that which comes from Phoebus' sight:  
None other light but hers I praise,  
Whose nights are clearer than the days.    

Upon her Absence.  

The summer Sun that scalds the ground with heat,  
And burns the Grass, & dries the rivers source,  
With milder beams, the farthest earth doth beat,  
When through the frozen Goat he runs his course.  
The fire that burns what ever comes to hand,  
Doth hardly heat that farthest off doth stand.   

Not so, the heat that sets my heart on fire,  
By distance, slakes, and lets me cool again:  
But still, the farther off, the more desire,  
The absent fire doth burn with hotter pain.  
My Lady's presence burned me with desire,  
Her absence turns me into flaming fire.   

Whoso hath seen the flame that burneth bright,  
By outward cold in narrow room suppressed,  
Increase in heat and rage with greater might,  
May guess what force of fire torments my breast:  
So run the swelling streams with double force,  
Where locks or piles are set to stay their course.   

For when my heart perceived her parting near,  
By whose sweet sight he lives that else should die,  
It cloasde itself, to keep those beams so clear,  
Which from her look had pierced it through the Eye.  
The fiery beams which would break out so feign,  
By seeking vent, increase my burning pain.   

But if my Dear return alive, and found,  
That these mine eyes may see her beauty bright,  
My heart shall spread with joy that shall abound,  
And open wide, receiving clearer light.  
She shall recover that which I possess,  
And I thereby enjoy no whit the less.    

ODE V Petition to have her leave to die.  

WHen will the fountain of my Tears be dry?  
When will my sighs be spent?  
When will Desire agree to let me die?  
When will thy heart relent?  
It is not for my life I plead,  
Since death the way to rest doth lead,  
But stay for thy consent,  
Lest thou be discontent.   

For if myself without thy leave I kill,  
My Ghost will never rest:  
So hath it sworn to work thine only will,  
And holds that ever best.  
For since it only lives by thee,  
Good reason thou the ruler be:  
Then give me leave to die,  
And show thy power thereby.    


THe frozen Snake oppressed with heaped snow,  
By struggling hard gets out her tender head:  
●nd spies far off from where she lies below,  
The winter Sun that from the North is fled:  
But all in vain she looks upon the light,  
Where heat is wanting to restore her might.   

What doth it help a wretch in prison penned,  
●ong time with biting hunger overpress;  
●o see without or smell within the sent,  
●f dainty fare for others tables dressed?  
Yet Snake and prisoner both behold the thing,  
The which (but not with sight) might comfort bring.   

●ch is my state, or worse, if worse may be,  
●y heart oppressed with heavy frost of care,  
●ebar'd of that which is most dear to me,  
●ld up with cold, and pined with evil fare:  
And yet I see the thing might yield relief,  
And yet the sight doth breed my greater girefe.   

Thisbe saw her lover through the wall,  
●●d saw thereby, she wanted that she saw:  
●●d so I see, and seeing want withal,  
●●d wanting so, unto my drath I draw:  
●nd so my death were twenty times my friend,  
●f with this Verse my hated life might end.    

ODE VI.  

IE my decay be your increase,  
If my distress be your delight,  
If war in me procure your peace,  
If wrong to me, to you be right,  
I would decay, distress, war, wrong,  
Might end the life that ends so long.   

Yet, if by my decay you grow,  
When I am spent your growth is past:  
If from my grief your joy do flow,  
When my grief ends, your joy flies fast:  
Then for your sake, though to my pain,  
I strive to live, to die full feign.   

For if I die, my war must cease;  
Then can I suffer wrong no more:  
My war once done, farewell your peace,  
My wrong, your right doth still restore:  
Thus, for your right I suffer wrong,  
And for your peace, my war prolong.   

But since no thing can long endure,  
That sometime hath not needful rest,  
What can my life your joy assure,  
If still I wail with grief oppressed?  
The strongest stomach faints at last,  
For want of ease and due repast.   

My restless sighs break out so fast,  
That time to breath they quite deny:  
Mine Eyes so many tears have cast,  
That now the springs themselves are dry:  
Then grant some little ease from pain,  
Until the springs be full again.   

The Giant whom the Vulture gnaws,  
Until his heart be grown, hath peace:  
And Sisyphus by hellish laws,  
Whilst that the stone rowles down, doth cease:  
But all in vain I strive for rest,  
Which breeds more sorrow in my breast.   

Let my Decay be your increase,  
Let my distress be your delight:  
Let war in me procure your peace,  
Let wrong in me to you be right;  
That by my Grief your joy may live,  
Vouchsafe some little rest to give.    

ODE VII.  

CLose your lids, unhappy Eyes,  
From the sight of such a change:  
●oue hath learned to despise,  
self-conceit hath made him strange:  
Inward now his sight he turneth,  
With himself in love he burneth.   

If abroad he beauty spy,  
As by chance he looks abroad,  
Or it is wrought by his eye,  
Or forced out by Painter's fraud.  
Save himself none fair he deemeth,  
That himself too much esteemeth.   

●oy disdain hath kindness place,  
Kindness forced to hide his head:  
True Desire is counted base,  
Hope with hope is hardly fed:  
Love is thought a fury needless,  
He that hath it, shall die speedless.   

Then mine eyes, why gaze you so?  
Beauty scorns the Tears you shed;  
Death you seek to end my woe,  
O that you of death were sped!  
But with Love hath death conspired,  
To kill none whom Love have fired.    


CVpid at length I spy thy crafty wile,  
Though for a time thou didst me sore beguile,  
When first thy shaft did wound my tender heart,  
●t touched me light, me thought I felt some pain;  
Some little prick at first did make me smart,  
But yet that grief was quickly gone again.  
●ull small account I made of such a sore,  
As now doth rankle inward more and more.   

So poison first the sinews lightly strains,  
Then strays, and after spreads through all the veins,  
No otherwise, than he, that pricked with thorn,  
Starts at the first, and feels no other grief,  
As one whose heart so little hurt did scorn,  
And deigned not to seek despised relief:  
At last, when rest doth after travail come,  
That little prick the joint with pain doth numb.   

What may I think the cause of this thy craft,  
That at the first thou stickest not deep thy shaft?  
If at the first I had thy stroke espied,  
(Alas I thought thou wouldst not dally so)  
To keep myself all ways I would have tried,  
At least, I think I might have cured my woe:  
Yet, truth to say, I did suspect no less,  
And knew it too, at least, I so did guess.   

I saw, and yet would willingly be blind.  
I felt the sting, yet flatt'red still my mind,  
And now too late I know my former guilt,  
And seek in vain to heal my cureless sore;  
My life, I doubt, my health I know is spilled,  
A just reward for dallying so before:  
For I that would not when I might have ease,  
No marvel though I cannot when I please.   

Clipeum post vulnera.    

A Paraphrastical translation of Petrarch's Sonnet, beginning, SH' Amor non è, che dunque è quel ch'io sento.  

IF Love be nothing but an idle name,  
A vain devise of foolish Poet's skill:  
A feigned fire, devoid of smoke and flame;  
Then what is that which me tormenteth still?  
If such a thing as Love indeed there be,  
What kind of thing, or which, or where is he?   

If it be good, how causeth it such pain?  
How doth it breed such grief within my breast?  
If nought, how chance the grief that I sustain,  
Doth seem so sweet amidst my great unrest?  
For sure me thinks it is a wondrous thing,  
That so great pain should so great pleasure bring.   

If with my will amidst these flames I fry,  
Whence come thee tears? how chance I thus complain?  
If force perforce I bear this misery,  
What help these Tears that cannot ease my pain?  
How can this fancy bear such sway in me,  
But if myself consent, that so it be?   

And if myself consent, that so it be,  
Unjust I am thus to complain and cry;  
To look that other men should secure me,  
●ince by my fault I feel such misery:  
Who will not help himself when well he can,  
Deserves small help of any other man.   

Thus am I tossed upon the troublous Seas,  
By sundry winds, whose blasts blow sundry ways:  
And every blast still driving where it please,  
Brings hope and fear to end my lingering days:  
The Steersman gone, sail, helm, & tackle lost,  
How can I hope to gain the wished Coast?   

Wisdom and folly is the luckless freight,  
My ship therewith ballast unequally:  
Wisdom too light, folly of too great weight,  
My Bark and I, through them, in jeopardy:  
Thus, in the midst of this perplexity,  
I wish for death, and yet am loath to die.    


Fair is thy face, and that thou knowest too well,  
Hard is thy heart, and that thou wilt not know:  
Thou hearest and smil'st, when I thy praises tell,  
But stopst thine Ears when I my grief would show:  
Yet thou ghin vain, needs must I speak,  
Or else my swelling heart would break.   

And when I speak, my breath doth blow the fire,  
With which my burning heart consumes away:  
I call upon thy name and help require,  
Thy dearest Name which doth me still betray:  
For grace, sweet Grace thy name doth sound,  
Yet ah! in thee no grace is found.   

Alas, to what part shall I then appeal?  
Thy face so fair disdains to look on me:  
Thy tongue commands my heart his grief conceal,  
Thy nimble feet from me do always flee:  
Thine Eyes cast fire to burn my heart,  
And thou rejoicest in my smart.   

Then, since thou seest the life I lead in pain,  
And that for thee I suffer all this grief,  
O let my Heart this small request obtain,  
That thou agree it pine without relief!  
I ask not Love for my good will,  
But leave, that I may love thee still.   

Quid minus optari per mea vota potest.    

ODE. VIII.  

Disdain that so doth fill me,  
Hath surely sworn to kill me,  
And I must die:  
Desire that still doth burn me,  
To life again will turn me  
And live must I.  
O kill me then disdain!  
That I may live again.   

Thy looks are life unto me,  
And yet those looks undo me,  
O death and life!  
Thy smile some rest doth show me,  
Thy frown with war o'erthrow me,  
O peace and strife!  
Nor, life nor death is either,  
Then give me both, or neither.   

Life only cannot please me,  
Death only cannot ease me,  
Change is delight.  
I live that death may kill me,  
I die that life may fill me,  
Both day and night.  
If once Despair decay,  
Desire will wear away.    

An invective against love.  

ALL is not Gold that shineth bright in show,  
Nor every flower so good, as fair, to sight,  
The deepest streams, above do calmest flow,  
And strongest Poisons oft the taste delight,  
The pleasant bait doth hide the harmful hook▪  
And false deceit can lend a friendly look.   

Love is the gold whose outward hue doth pass,  
Whose first beginnings goodly promise make,  
Of pleasures fair and fresh as Summer's grass,  
Which neither Sun can parch, nor wind can shake  
But when the Mould should in the fire be tried,  
The Gold is gone, the dr●sse doth still abide.   

Beauty, the flower so fresh, so fair, so gay,  
So sweet to smell, so soft to touch and taste,  
As seems it should endure, by right, for ay,  
And never be with any storm defaced:  
But when the baleful Southern wind doth blow,  
Gone is the glory which it erst did show.   

Love is the stream, whose waves so calmly flow,  
As might entice men's minds to wade therein:  
Love is the poison mixed with sugar so,  
As might by outward sweetness liking win.  
But as the deep o'reflowing stops thy breath,  
So poison once received brings certain death.   

Love is the bait, whose taste the fish deceives,  
And makes them swallow down the choking hook:  
Love is the face whose fairness judgement reaves,  
And makes thee trust a false and feigned look:  
But as the hook, the foolish fish doth kill,  
So flattering looks, the lovers life do spill.   

Vsque ade● dulce puella malum est.    

Upon an Heroical Poem which he had begun (in Imitation of Virgil,) of the first Inhabiting this famous I'll by Brute, and the Trojans.  

MY wanton Muse that whilom wont to sing,  
Fair Beauty's praise and Venus sweet delight,  
Of late had changed the tenor of her string,  
To higher tunes than serve for Cupid's fight:  
Shrill Trumpets sound, sharp Swords & Lance strong  
War, blood, and death, were matter of her song   

The God of Love by chance had heard thereof,  
That I was proved a Rebel to his Crown,  
Fit words for War, quoth he, with angry skoff,  
A likely man to write of Mars' frown:  
Well are they sped whose praises he shall write,  
Whose wanton Pen can nought but Love indit   

This said, he whisked his parti-coulored wings,  
And down to earth he comes more swift than thog  
Then to my heart in angry haste he flings,  
To see what change these news of wars had wrought  
He pries, and looks, he ransacks every vain,  
Yet finds he nought, save love, and lovers pain   

Then I that now perceived his needle's fear,  
With heavy smile began to plead my cause:  
In vain (quoth I) this endless grief I bear,  
In vain I strive to keep thy grievous Laws,  
If after proof so often trusty found,  
Unjust Suspect condemn me as unsound.   

Is this the guerdon of my faithful heart?  
Is this the hope on which my life is staid?  
Is this the ease of never-ceasing smart?  
Is this the price that for my pains is paid?  
Yet better serve fierce Mars in bloody field,  
Where death, or conquest, end or joy doth yield.   

Long have I served: what is my pay but pain?  
Oft have I sued: what gain I but delay?  
My faithful love is quited with disdain,  
My grief a game, my pen is made a play:  
Yea, Love that doth in other favour find,  
In me is counted madness out of kind.   

And last of all, but grievous most of all,  
Thyself, sweet Love, hath killed me with suspect;  
Can Love believe, that I from Love would fall?  
●s war of force to make me Love neglect?  
No, Cupid knows, my mind is faster set,  
Then that by war I should my Love forget.   

My Muse indeed to War inclines her mind,  
The famous Acts of worthy Brute to write:  
To whom the Gods this islands rule assigned,  
Which long he soughtby seas through Neptune's spite  
With such conceits my busy head doth swell,  
But in my heart nought else but Love doth dwell.   

And in this war thy part is not the least,  
Hear shall my Muse Brutus' noble Love declare:  
Hear shalt thou see the double Love increased,  
Of fairest Twins that ever Lady bare:  
Let Mars triumph in Armour shining bright,  
His conquered Arms shall be thy triumphs light.   

As he the world, so thou shalt him subdue,  
And I thy glory through the world will ring:  
So be my pains, thou wilt vouchsafe to rue,  
And kill despair: With that he whisked his wing,  
And bade me write, and promised wished rest,  
But sore I hope false hope will be the best.    

Upon his Ladies buying strings for her Lute.  

IN happy time the wished Fair is come,  
To fit thy Lute with strings of every kind:  
Great pity ti's, so sweet a Lute be dumb,  
That so can please the Ear, and ease the mind:  
Go take thy choice, and choose the very best,  
And use them so, that head and heart find rest.   

Rest thou in joy, and let me wail alone,  
My pleasant days have ta'en their last farewell:  
My Heartstrings Sorrow struck so long with moan,  
That at the last they all in pieces fell:  
And now they lie in pieces brook so small,  
That scarce they serve to make me frets withal.   

And yet they serve and bind my heart foe strait,  
That frets indeed they serve to fret it out:  
No force for that, in hope thereof I wait,  
That death may rid me both of hope and doubt:  
But death, alas, draws backward all too long,  
And I each day feel now increase of wrong.    

Care will not let him live, nor Hope let him die.  

MY heavy heart which Grief and hope torment,  
Beats all in vain against my weary breast:  
As if it thought with force to make a vent,  
That Death might enter to procure my rest:  
But, foolish heart, thy pains are lost, I see,  
For death and life both fly and follow thee.   

When weight of care would press me down with pain,  
That I might sink to depth of death below:  
Hope lends me wings, and lifts me up again,  
To strive for life, and live in greater woe:  
So fares the boat, which winds drive to the shore,  
And Tide drives backward where it was before.   

Thus neither Hope will let me die with Care,  
Nor Care consent that Hope assure my life:  
I seek for life, death doth his stroke prepare,  
I come to death, and life renews my strife:  
All as the shadow follow them that fly,  
And flies from them that after it do high.   

What is my hope? that hope will fail at last,  
And grief get strength to work his will on me:  
Either the Wax with which hopes wings are fast,  
By scalding sighs mine Eyes shall melted see:  
Or else my Tears shall wet the feathers so,  
That I shall fall and drown in waves of woe.    

Cupid's Marriage with Dissimulation.  

A Newfound match is made of late,  
Blind Cupid needs will change his wife;  
newfangled Love doth Psyche hate,  
With whom so long he led his life.  
Dissembling, she  
The Bride must be,  
To please his wanton eye.  
Psyche laments  
That Love reputes,  
His choice without cause why.   

Cycheron sounds with music strange,  
Unknown unto the Virgins nine:  
From flat to sharp the Tune doth range,  
Too base, because it is too fine.  
See how the Bride  
Puffed up with pride,  
Can mince it passing well,  
She trips on toe,  
Full fair to show,  
Within doth poison dwell.   

Now wanton Love at last is sped,  
Dissembling is his only joy,  
●are Truth from Venus' Court is fled,  
Dissembling pleasures hides annoy.  
It were in vain  
To talk of pain,  
The wedding yet doth last,  
But pain is near,  
And will appear,  
With a dissembling cast.   

Despair and hope are joined in one,  
And pain with pleasure linked sure:  
Not one of these can come alone,  
No certain hope, no pleasure pure.  
Thus sour and sweet  
In love do meet,  
Dissembling likes it so,  
Of sweet small store,  
Of sour the more,  
Love is a pleasant woe.   

Amor & mellis & fellis,    

ODE. X. Dispraise of Love, and lovers follies.  

●F Love be life, I long to die,  
Live they that list for me:  
●nd he that gains the most thereby,  
A fool, at least, shall be.  
But he that feels the sorest fits,  
Scapes with no less than loss of wits;  
An happy life they gain,  
Which Love do entertain.   

In day by feigned looks they live,  
By lying dreams in night.  
Each frown a deadly wound doth give,  
Each smile a false delight.  
if'ft hap their Lady pleasant seem,  
It is for others love they deem,  
If void she seem of joy,  
Disdain doth make her coy.   

Such is the peace that Lovers find,  
Such is the life they lead.  
Blown here and there with every wind,  
Like flowers in the Mead.  
Now war, now peace, than war again,  
Desire, Despair, Delight, Disdain,  
Though dead in midst of life,  
In peace, and yet at strife.   

In amore haec insunt mala.    


THe golden Sun that brings the day,  
And lends men light to see withal,  
In vain doth cast his beams away,  
Where they are blind on whom they fall.  
There is no force in all his light,  
To give the Mole a perfect sight.   

But thou, my Sun, more bright than he▪  
That shines at noon in Summer tide,  
Hast given me light and power to see,  
With perfect skill my sight to guide.  
Till now I lived as blind as Mole,  
That hides her head in earthly hole.   

I heard the praise of beauty's grace,  
Yet deemed it nought but Poet's skill.  
I gaz'de on many a lovely face,  
Yet found I none to bind my will.  
Which made me think, that beauty bright,  
Was nothing else but red and white.   

But now thy beams have cleared my sight,  
I blush to think I was so blind.  
Thy flaming Eyes afford me light,  
That Beauties blaze each where I find:  
And yet these Dames that shine so bright,  
Are but the shadow of thy light.    

ODE XI. To his Muse.  


REst, good my Muse, and give me leave to rest,  
We strive in vain.  
Conceal thy skill within thy sacred breast,  
Though to thy pain.  
The honour great which Poets wont to have,  
With worthy deeds is buried deep in grave,  
Each man will hide his name,  
Thereby to hide his shame,  
And silence is the praise their virtues crave.   

To praise, is flattery, malice to dispraise,  
Hard is the choice.  
What cause is left for thee, my Muse, to raise  
Thy heavenly voice?  
Delight thyself on sweet Parnassus' hill,  
And for a better time reserve thy skill,  
There let thy silver sound,  
From Cyrrha would rebound,  
And all the vale with learned Music fill.   

Then shall those fools that now prefer each Rhyme  
Before thy skill,  
With hand and foot in vain assay to climb  
Thy sacred hill.  
There shalt thou sit and scorn them with disdain,  
To see their fruitless labour all in vain;  
But they shall fret with spite,  
To see thy glory bright,  
And know themselves thereto cannot attain.    


MIne eyes have spent their tears, & now are dry,  
My weary hand will guide my pen no more.  
My voice is hoarse, and can no longer cry,  
My head hath left no new complaints in store.  
My heart is overburdened so with pain,  
That sense of grief doth none therein remain.   

The tears you see distilling from mine eyes,  
My gentle Muse doth shed for this my grief.  
The plaints you hear are her incessant cries,  
By which she calls in vain for some relief.  
She never parted since my grief begun,  
In her I live, she dead, my life were done.   

Then (loving Muse) depart, and let me die,  
Some braver Youth will sue to thee for grace,  
That may advance thy glory to the sky,  
And make thee scorn blind Fortunes frowning face.  
My heart and head that did thee entertain,  
Desire and Fortune with despite have slain.   

My Lady dares not lodge thee in her breast,  
For fear, unwares she let in Love with thee.  
For well she thinks some part in thee must rest,  
Of that which so possessed each part of me.  
Then (good my Muse) fly back to heaven again  
And let me die, to end this endless pain.    


Break heavy heart, and rid me of this pain,  
This pain that still increaseth day by day:  
By day with sighs I spend myself in vain,  
In vain by night with tears I waste away:  
Away I waste with tears by night in vain,  
Tears, sighs, by night, by day increase this pain.   

Mine Eyes no Eyes, but fountains of my tears,  
My tears no tears, but floods to moist my heart:  
My heart no heart, but harbour of my fears,  
My fears no fears, but feelings of my smart:  
My smart, my fears, my heart, my tears, mine eyes  
Are blind, dried, spent, past, wasted with my cries.   

And yet mine Eyes, though blind, see cause of grief:  
And yet my tears, though dried, run down amain:  
And yet my heart, though spent, attends relief,  
And yet my fears, though past, increase my pain:  
And yet I live, and living, feel more smart,  
And smarting, cry in vain, break heavy heart.    


WHere wit is over-rulde by will,  
And will is led by fond desire:  
There Reason were as good be still,  
As speaking, kindle greater fire:  
For where desire doth bear the sway,  
The heart must rule, the head obey.   

What boots the cunning Pilots skill,  
To tell which way to shape their course:  
When he that steers will have his will,  
And drive them where he list perforce:  
So Reason shows the truth in vain,  
Where fond desire as King doth reign.    


TWixt heat and cold, twixt death and life,  
I frieze and burn, I live and die:  
Which jointly work in me such strife,  
〈◊〉 live in death, in cold I fry,  
Nor hot, nor cold, nor live, nor dead,  
Neither, and both, this life I lead.   

●irst, burning heat sets all one fire,  
Whereby I seem in flames to fry:  
Then cold despair kills hot desire,  
That drenched deep, in death I lie:  
Heat drives out cold, and keeps my life,  
Cold quencheth heat, no end of strife.   

The less I hope to have my will,  
The more I feel desire increase.  
And as desire increaseth still,  
Despair to quench it doth not cease:  
So live I as the Lamp, whose light,  
Oft comes, oft goes, now dim, now bright.     

A living death.  

IF means be none to end my restless ear,  
If needs I must o'erwhelmed with sorrow lie.  
What better way this sorrow to declare,  
Then, that I dying live, and cannot die.   

If nought but loss I reap in stead of gain,  
If lasting pain do every day increase;  
To thee (good Death) alas, I must complain,  
Thou art of force to make my sorrow cease.   

If thou, because I thee refused sometime,  
Now shut thine ears, and my request deny,  
Still must I love, and wail in woeful Rhyme,  
That dying still I am, and cannot die.  
Spiro, non vivo.    


YE walls that shut me up from sight of men,  
Enclosed wherein, alive I buried lie.  
And thou, sometime my bed, but now my den,  
Where, smothered up the light of Sun, I fly.  
O shut yourselves, each chink and crevice strain,  
That none but you may hear me thus complain.   

My hollow cries that beat thy stony side,  
Vouchsafe to beat, but beat them back again,  
That when my grief hath speech to me denied,  
Mine ears may hear the witness of my pain.  
As for my Tears, whose streams must ever last  
My silent couch shall drink them up as fast.    

Hopeless desire soon withers and dies.  

THough naked Trees seem dead to sight,  
When winter wind doth keenly blow,  
●et if the root maintain her right,  
●he Spring their hidden life will show.  
But if the root be dead and dry,  
No marvel though the branches die.   

While Hope did live within my breast,  
●o winter storm could kill desire.  
●ut now disdain hath hope oppressed,  
●ead is the root, dead is the spire.  
Hope was the root, the spire was Love,  
No sap beneath, no life above.   

●nd as we see the rootelesse stock  
betaine some sap, and spring a while,  
●et quickly prove a lifeless block,  
●●cause the root doth life beguile;  
So lives Desire which Hope hath left,  
As twilight shines when Sun is reft.    

ODE XII. To his Heart.  

NAy, nay, thou strivest in vain, my heart,  
To mend thy miss.  
Thou hast deserved to bear this smart,  
And worse than this.  
That wouldst thyself debase,  
To serve in such a place.   

Thou thoughtst thyself too long at rest,  
Such was thy Pride.  
Needs must thou seek a nobler breast,  
Wherein to bide.  
Say now, what hast thou found?  
In fetters thou art bound.   

What hath thy faithful service won,  
But high disdain?  
Broke is the thread thy fancy spun,  
Thy labour vain.  
Fallen art thou now with pain,  
And canst not rise again.   

And canst thou look for help of me  
In this distress?  
〈◊〉 must confess I pity thee,  
And can no less.  
But bear a while thy pain,  
For fear thou fall again.   

●earne by thy hurt to shun the fire,  
Play not with all:  
When climbing thoughts high things aspire,  
They seek their fall.  
Thou ween'st nought shone but gold,  
So wast thou blind and bold.   

●et lie not still for this disgrace,  
But mount again:  
●o that thou know the wished place  
Be worth thy pain.  
Then, though thou fall and die,  
Yet never fear to fly.    

PHALEUCIACKS. II.  

Wisdom warns me to shun that once I sought for  
And in time to retire my hasty footsteps:  
Wisdom sent from above, not earthly wisdom,  
No such thoughts can arise from earthly wisdom.  
Long, too long have I slept in ease uneasy,  
On false worldly relief my trust reposing;  
Health and wealth in a boat, no stern nor anchor,  
(Bold and blind that I was) to Sea be taking:  
Scarce from shore had I launched, when all about me,  
Waves like hills did arise, till help from heaven,  
Brought my Ship to the port of late repentance.   

O navis, referent in mare te novi  
Fluctus.—    

ODE XIII.  

NOw have I learned with much a do at last,  
By true disdain to kill desire:  
This was the mark at which I shot so fast,  
Unto this height I did aspire:  
Proud Love, now do thy worst, and spare not,  
●or thee and all thy shafts I care not.   

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,  
What life to quicken dead Desire?  
〈◊〉 count thy words and oaths as light as wind,  
I feel no heat in all thy fire.  
So change thy bow and get a stronger,  
So break thy shafts and buy thee longer.   

●n vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,  
In vain thy wanton Eyes allure.  
These are but toys for them that love to gaze,  
I know what harm thy looks procure:  
●ome strange conceit must be devised,  
Or thou and all thy skill despised.   

Scilicet asserui iam me, fugíque catenas.    

Being scorned, and disdained, he inveighs against his Lady.  

SInce just disdain began to rise,  
And cry revenge for spiteful wrong:  
What erst I praised, I now despise,  
And think my Love was all too long.  
I tread in dirt that scornful pride,  
Which in thy looks I have descried:  
Thy beauty is a painted skin,  
For fools to see their faces in.   

Thine Eyes that some as Stars esteem,  
From whence themselves, they say, take light,  
Like to thee foolish fire I deem,  
That leads men to their death by night.  
Thy words and oaths are light as wind,  
And yet far lighter is thy mind:  
Thy friendship is a broken reed,  
That fails thy friends in greatest need.  
Vitijs patientia victa est.    

ODE XIIII. The Tomb of dead Desire.  

WHen Venus saw Desire must die,  
Whom high disdain  
Had justly slain  
For kill Truth with scornful Eye;  
The Earth she leaves, and gets her to the sky,  
Her golden hair she tears,  
Black weeds of woe she wears;  
For help unto her father doth she cry,  
Who bids her stay a space,  
And hope for better grace.   

To save his life she hath no skill,  
Whom should she pray,  
What do or say,  
But weep for wanting of her will?  
Mean time, Desire hath ta'en his last farewell;  
And in a Meadow fair,  
To which the Nymphs repair,  
His breathless Corpse is laid with worms to dwell;  
So Glory doth decay,  
When Death takes life away.   

When Morning Star had chafed the night,  
The Queen of Love  
Looked from above,  
To see the Grave of her delight:  
And as with heedful Eye she viewed the place,  
She spied a flower unknown,  
That on his grave was grown,  
●n stead of learned Verse his Tomb to grace.  
If you the Name require,  
hearts-ease from dead Desire.    

An Altar and Sacrifice to Disdain, for freeing him from love.  


My Muse by thee restored to life,  
To thee Disdain, this Altar rears,  
Whereon she offers causeless strife,  
Self-spending sighs, and bootless tears   

Long Suits in vain,  
Hate for Good will:  
Still-dying pain,  
Yet living still.  
Self-loving pride,  
Looks coily strange,  
Will Reasons guide,  
Desire of change.  
And last of all,  
Blind Fancies fire;  
False Beauties thrall,  
That binds desire.   

All these I offer to Disdain,  
By whom I live from fancy free.  
With vow, that if I love again,  
My life the sacrifice shall be.    

Vicimus & dominum pedibus calcamus amorem. ANOMOS.     

Certain other Poems upon diverse Subjects, by the same Author.  
Three Odes translated out of Anacreon, the Greek Lyric Poet.  

ODE I.  

OF Atreus Sons feign would I write,  
And feign of Cadmus would I sing:  
My Lute is set on loves delight,  
And only Love sounds every string.   

Of late my Lute I alt'red quite,  
Both frets and strings for tunes above,  
I sung of fierce Alcides' might,  
My Lute would sound no tune but Love,  
Wherefore ye worthless all farewell,  
No tune but Love my Lute can tell.    

ODE II.  

THe Bull by nature hath his horns,  
The Horse his hooves to daunt their foes,  
The lightfoot Hare the hunter scorns,  
The Lion's teeth his strength disclose.   

The Fish, by swimming, escapes the we'll,  
The Bird, by slight, the fowler's net.  
With wisdom Man is armed as steel,  
Poor women none of these can get.   

What have they then? fair Beauty's grace,  
A two-edged Sword, a trusty Shield,  
No force resists a lovely face,  
Both fire and sword to Beauty yield.    

ODE. III.  

OF late, what time the Bear turned round  
At midnight in her wonted way,  
●nd men of all sorts slept full sound,  
●'re come with labour of the day.   

The God of Love came to my door,  
●nd took the ring and knocked it hard.  
●ho's there, quoth I, that knocks so sore,  
●ou break my sleep, my dreams are marred?   

A little boy forsooth, quoth he,  
Dung-wet with rain this Moonelesse night;  
With that me thought it pitied me,  
I open the door, and candle light.   

And strait a little boy I spied,  
A winged Boy with shafts and bow,  
I took him to the fire side,  
And set him down to warm him so.   

His little hands in mine I strain,  
To rub and warm them therewithal:  
Out of his locks I crush the rain,  
From which the drops apace down fall.   

At last, when he was waxen warm,  
Now let me try my bow, quoth he,  
I fear my string hath caught some harm,  
And wet, will prove too slack for me.   

He said, and bend his bow, and shot,  
And wightly hit me in the heart;  
The wound was sore and raging hot,  
The heat like fury rekes my smart.   

Mine host, quoth he, my string is well,  
And laughed, so that he leapt again:  
Look to your wound for fear it swell,  
Your heart may hap to feel the pain.    

Anacreon's second Ode, otherwise.  

NAture in her work doth give,  
To each thing that by her doth live:  
A proper gift whereby she may,  
Prevent in time her own decay.  
The Bull a horn, the horse a hoof,  
The lightfoot hare to run aloof:  
The lions strength who may resist,  
The birds aloft, fly where they list.  
The fish swims safe in waters deep,  
The silly worm at least can creep:  
What is to come, men can forecast,  
And learn more wit, by that is past:  
The woman's gift what might it be,  
The same for which the Ladies three,  
Pallas, juno, Venus strove,  
When each desired it to have.   T. S.  

Anacreon's third Ode, otherwise.  

CVpid abroad, was lated in the night,  
His Wings were wet, with ranging in the rain,  
Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight,  
To dry his plumes, I heard the Boy complain.  
I oped the door, and granted his desire,  
I rose myself, and made the Wag a fire.   

Prying more narrow by the fires flame,  
I spied his Quiver hanging at his back:  
Doubting the Boy might my misfortune frame,  
I would have gone for fear of further wrack.  
But what I feared, did me poor wretch betide,  
For forth he drew an Arrow from his side.   

He pierced the quick, and I began to start,  
A pleasing wound, but that it was too high:  
His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart,  
Away he flew, for now his wings were dry;  
But left the Arrow sticking in my Breast,  
That sore I grieve, I welcomed such a Guest.   R. G.  


THe lowest Trees have tops, the Ant her gall,  
The fly her spleen, the little sparks their heat:  
The slender hairs cast shadows, though but small,  
And Bees have stings, although they be not great:  
Seas have their source, & so have shallow springs,  
And love is love, in Beggars, as in Kings.   

Where rivers smoothest run, deep are the fords,  
The Dial stirs, yet none perceives it move:  
The firmest faith is in the fewest words,  
The Turtles cannot sing, and yet they love:  
True Hearts have eyes, & ears, no tongues to speak,  
They hear, & see, and sigh, and then they break.   Incerto.  

An Answer to the first Staff, that Love is unlike in Beggars and in Kings.  

COmpare the Bramble with the Cedar tree,  
The Pismyres anger which the lions rage:  
What is the Buzzing fly where Eagles be?  
drop the spark, no seas can Aetna suage.  
Small is the heat in beggars breasts that springs,  
But flaming fire consumes the hearts of Kings.   

who shrouds himself where slender hairs cast shade?  
But mighty Oaks may scorn the Summer Sun:  
Small cure will serve, where Bees the wound have made  
But Dragon's poison through each part doth run:  
Light is the love that beggars bosom stings,  
Deep is the wound that Cupid makes in Kings.   

Small channels serve, where shallow springs do slide,  
And little help will turn or stay their course:  
The highest banks scarce hold the swelling tide,  
Which overthrows all stops with raging force:  
The base sort scarce wet them in the springs,  
Which overwhelm the heads of mighty kings.   

What though in both the heart be set of Love?  
The self same ground both corn and cockle breeds  
Fast by the Briar, the Pine-tree mounts above,  
One kind of grass, the jade, and jennet feeds:  
So from the heart, by secret virtue springs,  
Unlike desire in Beggars and in Kings.   
ANOMOS'   

A Song, in praise of a beggars life.  

BRight shines the Sun, play Beggars play,  
Here's scraps enough to serve to day.  
What noise of Vials is so sweet,  
As when our merry clappers ring?  
What mirth doth want where Beggars meet?  
A beggars life is for a King.  
Eat, drink, and play, sleep when we list,  
Go where we will, so stocks be missed.  
Bright shines, etc.   

The world is ours, and ours alone,  
For we alone have world at will,  
We purchase not, all is our own,  
Both fields and streets we Beggars fill.  
Nor care to get, nor fear to keep,  
Did ever break a beggars sleep.  
Bright shines, etc.   

A hundred head of black and white,  
Upon our downs securely feed,  
●f any dare his master bite,  
He dies therefore as sure as Creed.  
Thus beggars Lord it as they please,  
And none but Beggars live at ease.  
Bright shines the Sun, etc.    

Upon beginning without making an end.  

Begin, and half is done, yet half undone remains,  
Begin that half, & all is done, & thou art eased of pains  
The second half is all, when half thereof is dun,  
The other half is all again, new work must be begun  
Thus he that still gins, doth nothing but by halves,  
And things half done, as good undone, half oxen are but calves.    

An Epigram to Sir Philip Sidney in elegical Verse, Translated out of jodelle, the French Poet.  

●ambridge, worthy Philip, by this verse builds thee an Altar,  
●Gainst time & tempest, strong to abide for ever,  
That praise of verses no length of time can abolish,  
Which Greece & Italy purchased endless honour.  
then pursuing their steps like glory to purchase,  
Will make thy memory famous in after ages,  
And in these measured verses thy glory be sounded,  
So be thy holy favour, help to my holy fury.    

HEXAMETERS, Upon the never-enough praised Sir Philip Sidney.  

WHat can I now suspect? or, what can I fear any longer?  
Oft did I fear, oft hope, whilst life in Sidney remained.  
Of nothing can I now despair, for nought can I hope for;  
This good is in misery, when great extremity grieves us,  
That neither hope of good, nor fear of worse can affright us.  
And can I then complain, when no complaint can avail me?  
How can I seem to be discontent, or what can I weep for?  
He lives eternal, with endless Glory bedecked:  
Yea still on earth he lives, and still shall live by the Muses.    

An other upon the same.  

WHat strange adventure? what now unlooked for arrival,  
Hath drawn the Muses from sweet Booetia mountains,  
To choose our country, to seek in London abiding?  
Are fair Castalian streams dried? stands Cyrrha no longer?  
Or love the Muses, like wantoness, oft to be changing?  
Scarce can I that suppose, scarce think I those to be Muses.  
No sound of melody, no voice but dreary lamenting.  
Yet well I wots too well, Muse's most dolefully weeping.  
See where Melpomene sits hid for a shame in a corner.  
Hear ye the careful sighs, fetched from the depth of her entrails?  
There weeps Calliope, there sometimes lusty Thaleia.  
Ay me! alas, now know I the cause, now seek I no further,  
Hear lies their glory, their hope, their only rejoicing.  
Dead lies worthy Philip, the care and praise of Apollo,  
Dead lies his carcase, but fame shall live to the worlds end.    

Others upon the same.  

WHom can I first accuse? whose fault account I the greatest?  
Where kept the Muses, what countries haunted Apollo?  
Where loitered bloody Mars? where lingered worthy Minerva?  
What could three Sisters do more than nine in a combat?  
Was force of no force? was fair entreaty refused?  
Where is the Music, that sometimes moved Allecto?  
That gained Eurydice, that left Proserpina weeping;  
Choose whether of the two you list, your skill to be nothing,  
Or your most faithful servants unkindly rewarded.  
And thou that braggest of skilful surgery knowledge,  
That canst of Simples discern the quality secret,  
And give fit plasters, for wounds that seem to be cureless,  
Whereto avails thy skill? that can not Sidney recover,  
And couldst thou whilom prevail with destiny fatal:  
For King Admetus 'gainst course of natural order,  
And canst do nothing to save so faithful a servant?  
As for Mars well I wots, cold frost of Thracia kingdom,  
Hath killed all kindness, no ruth of him can be looked for:  
And dainty Pallas disdained forsooth to be present,  
Envy perhaps: nay grief as I guess, was cause of her absence.  
Only we poor wretches, whom gods and Muses abandon,  
Lament thy timeless decay with sorrowful outcries,  
But yet if hap some Muse, would add new grace to my verses,  
Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Denmark, Persia, Turkey,  
India where Phoebus climbs from the sea to the skie-ward,  
India where Phoebus declines from the sky to the Seaward,  
Tartary, Pole, Lettow, Muscovy, Bohemia, Norway,  
All coasts where rising or falling Phoebus appeareth,  
Should hear, and wonder to hear thy glory resounded:  
Armenian Tigers enraged for theft of a youngling,  
Princely Lions roaring, for want of prey to be starved,  
Fierce Bears, and grunting wild Boars, upon Arcady mountains,  
Should stand astonished, forgetting natural offspring,  
Forgetting hunger, forgetting slaughter appointed.  
As when Calliopes dear son, sweet harmony singing,  
Unto the true consent of his Harpe-strings tuned in order,  
Drew from their places wild beasts and trees by the music.  
Swift-flowing Hebrus staid all his streams in a wonder,  
As if i'll coldness frorne had them down to the bottom,  
But for I wot too well my slender skill to be nothing,  
Hear will I quite forswear both Verse and Muse in an anger,  
Lest hap my rudeness disgrace thy glory by praising.   

Dignum laud virum Musa vetat mori.    

To Time.  

Eternal time, that wastest without waste,  
That art, and art not, diest, and livest still:  
Most slow of all, and yet of greatest haste,  
Both ill, and good, and neither good, nor ill.  
How can I justly praise thee, or dispraise?  
Dark are thy nights, but bright & clear thy days.   

Both free and scarce, thou giv'st and tak'st again,  
Thy womb that all doth breed, is Tomb to all:  
What so by thee hath life, by thee is slain,  
From thee do all things rise, by thee they fall.  
Constant, inconstant, moving, standing still,  
Was, is, shall be, do thee both breed and kill.   

I lose thee, while I seek to find thee out,  
The farther off, the more I follow thee;  
The faster hold, the greater cause of doubt,  
Was, is, I know, but shall, I cannot see.  
All things by thee are measur'de, thou by none,  
All are in thee, thou in thyself alone.    

A Meditation upon the frailty of this Life.  

O Trifling toys that toss the brains,  
While loathsome life doth last!  
O wished wealth, O sugared joys,  
O life when death is past:  
Who loathes exchange of loss with gain?  
Yet loathe we death as hell.  
What woeful wight would wish his woe?  
Yet wish we here to dwell.  
O fancy frail that feeds on earth,  
And stays on slippery joys:  
O noble mind, O happy man,  
That can contemn such toys.   

Such toys as neither perfect are,  
And can not long endure,  
Our greatest skill, our sweetest joy,  
Uncertain and unsure:  
or life is short and learning long,  
All pleasure mixed with woe;  
sickness and sleep steal time unseen,  
And joys do come and go.  
Thus learning is but learned by halves,  
And joy enjoyed no while,  
●hat serves to show thee what thou want'st.  
This helps thee to beguile.   

But after death is perfect skill,  
And joy without decay,  
Whenn sin is gone that blinds our eyes,  
And steals our joys away:  
No crowing cock shall raise us up,  
To spend the day in vain,  
No weary labour shall us drive  
To go to bed again.  
But for we feel not we want,  
Nor know not what we have,  
We love to keep the body's life,  
We loath the Soul to save.    

A Dialogue between the Soul and the Body. Soul.  
●Yme, poor Soul, whom bound in sinful chains  
This wretched body keeps against my will!  ●dy 
Ay me poor Body, whom for all my pains,  
This froward soul causeless condemneth still.  
Causeless? whenas thou strivest to sin each day?  ●ule 
Causeless: whenas I strive thee to obey.  ●ule 
Thou art the means, by which I fall to sin,  ●dy 
Thou art the cause that settest this means a-work  ●ule 
No part of thee that hath not faulty been:  ●ule 
I show the poison that in thee doth lurk.  ●ule 
I shall be pure when so I part from thee:  
So were I now, but that thou stainest me.   

Sapphicks. Upon the Passion of Christ.  

HAtred eternal, furious revenging,  
Merciless raging, bloody persecuting,  
Slanderous speeches, odious revilings,  
Causeless abhorring;  
Impious scoffings by the very Abjects,  
Dangerous threatening by the Priests anointed,  
Death full of torment in a shameful order,  
Christ did abide here.  
He that in glory was above the Angels,  
Changed his glory for an earthly Carcase,  
Yielded his glory to a sinful outcast,  
Glory refusing.  
Me that in bondage many sins retained,  
He for his goodness, for his only goodness,  
Brought from hell-torments to the joys of heaven,  
Not to be numbered.  
Dead in offences, by his aid revived,  
Quickened in spirit, by the grace he yieldeth,  
Sound then his praises, to the world's amazement,  
Thankfully singing.   
ANOMOS'     

DIVERS POEMS OF SUNDRY AUTHORS  

A Hymn in praise of Music.  

Praise, Pleasure, Profit, is that threefold b●  
Which tiesmens' minds more fast than Guard  
Each one some draws, all three none can w●  
Of force conjoined, Conquest is hardly got.  
Then Music may of hearts a Monarch be,  
Wherein Praise, Pleasure, Profit, so agree.   

Praiseworthy Music is, for God it praiseth,  
And pleasant, for brute beasts therein delight:  
Great profit from it slows, for why it raiseth  
The mind overwhelmed with rude passions might.  
When against reason passions fond rebel,  
Music doth that confirm, and these expel.   

If Music did not merit endless praise,  
Would heavenly Spheres delight in silver round?  
If joyous pleasure were not in sweet lays,  
Would they in Court and Country so a●ound?  
And profitable needs we must that call,  
Which pleasure linked with praise doth bring to all   

Heroic minds with praises most incited,  
Seek praise in Music, and therein excel:  
God, man, beasts, birds, with Music are delight  
And pleasant 'tis, which pleaseth all so well.  
No greater profit is then self content  
And this with Music bring, and care   

When antic Poets musics praises tell,  
They say it beasts did please, and stones did move:  
To prove more dull than stones, than beasts more ,  
Those men, which pleasing Music did not love.  
They feigned, it Cities built, and States defended,  
To show the profit great on it depended.   

Sweet birds (poor men's musicans) never slake  
To sing sweet musics praises day and night:  
The dying Swans in Music pleasure take,  
To show, that it the dying can delight;  
In sickness, health, peace, war, we do it need,  
Which proves, sweet musics profit doth exceed.   

But I, by niggard praising, do dispraise  
Praiseworthy Music in my worthless Rhyme:  
Ne can the pleasing profit of sweet lays,  
Any save learned Muses well define.  
Yet all by these rude lines may clearly see,  
Praise, Pleasure, Profit, in sweet Music be.   
I. D.   

Ten Sonnets, to Philomela.  

SONNET I. Upon loves entering by his Ears.  

OFt did I hear, our Eyes the passage were,  
By which Love entered to avail our hearts;  
Therefore I guarded them, and void of fear  
Neglected the defence of other parts.  
Love knowing this, the usual way forsook;  
And seeking, found a by-way by mine Ear:  
At which he entering, my heart prisoner took,  
And unto thee sweet Philomela did bear.  
Yet let my heart, thy heart to pity move,  
Whose pain is great, although small fault appear  
First it lies bound in fettering chains of Love,  
Then each day it is racked with hope and fear.  
And with loves flames 'tis evermore consumed,  
Only, because to love thee it presumed.    

SONNET. II.  

O Why did Fame my heart to Love betray,  
By telling my deer's virtue and perfection?  
Why did my Traitor Ears to it convey,  
That Syren-song cause of my Heart's infection,  
Had I been deaf, or Fame her gifts concealed,  
Then had my heart been free from hopeless Love:  
Or were my state likewise by it revealed,  
Well might it Philomela to pity move.  
Then should she know how love doth make me languish,  
Distracting me twixt hope and dreadful fear:  
Then should she know my care, my plants, & anguish  
All which for her dear sake I meekly bear.  
Yea I could quietly deaths pains abide,  
So that she knew that for her sake I died.    

SONNET III. Of his own, and his Mistress sickness at one time.  

Sickness intending my Love to betray,  
Before I should sighed of my Dear obtain:  
Did his pale colours in my face display,  
Lest that my Favour might her favour gain.  
Yet not content herewith, like means it wrought,  
My Philomel's bright beauty to deface:  
And Nature's glory to disgrace it sought,  
That by conceived Love it might displace.  
But my firm Love could this assault well bear,  
Which Virtue had not beauty for his ground:  
And yet bright beams of beauty did appear,  
Through sickness vail, which made my love abound  
If sick (thought I) her beauty so excel,  
How matchless would it be if she were well    

SONNET FOUR Another of her Sickness, and Recovery.  

PAle Death himself did Love my Philomela,  
When he her Virtues and rare beauty saw:  
Therefore he sickness sent, which should expel,  
His Rival life, and my Decree to him draw.  
But her bright beauty dazzled so his Eyes,  
That his dart life did miss, though her it hit:  
Yet not therewith content, new means he tries,  
To bring her unto Death, and make life flit.  
But Nature soon perceiving, that he meant  
To spoil her only Phoenix, her chief pride:  
Assembled all her force, and did prevent  
The greatest mischief that could her betide.  
So both our lives and loves Nature defended,  
For had she died, my love and life had ended.    

SONNET V Allusion to Theseus' voyage to Crete, against the Minotaur.  

MY Love is sailed, against dislike to fight,  
Which, like vild monster, threatens his decay  
The ship is Hope, which by Desires great might  
Is swiftly borne towards the wished Bay:  
The company which with my Love doth far,  
(Though met in one) is a dissenting crew;  
They are joy, Grief, and never sleeping Care  
And doubt, which ne'er believes good news for tr●  
Black fear the Flag is, which my ship doth bear,  
Which (Deer) take down, if my Love victor b●  
And let white Comfort in his place appear,  
When Love victoriously returns to me,  
Lest I from rock Despair come tumbling down  
And in a Sea of Tears be forced to drown.    

SONNET. VI Upon her looking secretly out of a window as he passed by.  

ONce did my Philomela reflect on me  
Her Crystal pointed Eyes as I passed by,  
Thinking not to be seen, yet would me see;  
But soon my hungry Eyes their food did spy.  
●as, my Deer, couldst thou suppose, that face  
Which needs not envy Phoebus' chiefest pride,  
Can secret be, although in secret place,  
And that transparent glass such beams could hide?  
●ut if I had been blind, yet loves hot flame  
Kindled in my poor heart by thy bright Eye,  
Did plainly show when it so near thee came,  
By more the usual heat, than cause was nigh:  
So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye  
Did turn to thee by mutual Sympathy.    

SONNET. VII.  

WHen time nor place would let me often view  
Natures chief Mirror, and my sole delight;  
Her lively Picture in my, heart I drew,  
That I might it behold both day and night,  
But she, like Phillip's Son, scorning that I  
Should portray her wanting Apelles' Art,  
Commanded Love (who nought dare her deny  
To burn the Picture which was in my Hart.  
The more Love burned the more her picture shined  
The more it shined, the more my heart did burnt  
So what to hurt her picture was assigned,  
To my Heart's ruin and decay did turn.  
Love could not burn the Saint, it was divine,  
And therefore fired my heart, the Saints poor shrine    

SONNET. VIII.  

WHen as the Sun eclipsed is, some say,  
It thunder, lightning, rain, & wind portended  
And not unlike but such things happen may,  
Sith like effects my Sun eclipsed sendeth.  
Witness my throat made hoars with thundering cry  
And heart with loves hot flashing lightnings fire  
Witness the showers which still fall from mine eye  
And breast with sighs like stormy winds near riue●  
Shine then once again, sweet Sun on me,  
And with thy beams dissolve clouds of despair  
Whereof these raging Meteors framed be,  
In my poor heart by absence of my fair,  
So shalt thou prove thy Beams, thy heat, thy light  
To match the Sun in glory, grace, and might.    

SONNET. IX. Upon sending her a Gold Ring, with this Posy Pure, and Endless.  

IF you would know the Love which you I bear,  
Compare it with the Ring, which your fair hand  
Shall make more precious, when you shall it wear;  
So my loves Nature you shall understand  
Is it of metal pure? so you shall prove  
My Love, which ne'er disloyal thought did slain,  
Hath it no end? so endless is my Love,  
Unless you it destroy with your disdain.  
Doth it the purer wax the more 'tis tried?  
So doth my Love: yet herein they descent,  
That whereas Gold the more 'tis purified,  
By waxing less, doth show some part is spent,  
My Love doth wax more pure by you more trying,  
And yet increaseth in the purifying.    

SONNET X.  
MY Cruel Deer having captived my heart,  
And bond it fast in Chains of restless Lou●  
Requires it out of bondage to departed,  
Yet is she sure from her it cannot move.  
Draw back (said she) your hopeless love from m●  
Your worth requireth a more worthy place:  
Unto your suit though I cannot agree,  
Full many will it lovingly embrace.  
It may be so (my Deer) but as the Sun  
When it appears doth make the stars to vanish:  
So when yourself into my thoughts do run,  
All others quite out of my heart you banish.  
The beams of your Perfections shine so bright,  
That straightway they dispel all others light.  
Melophilus    

A Hymn in Praise of Neptune.  

OF Neptune's Empire let us sing,  
At whose command the waves obey:  
To whom the rivers tribute pay,  
Down the high mountains sliding.  
To whom the skaly Nation yields  
Homage for the Crystal fields  
Wherein they dwell;  
And every Sea-god pays a gem,  
Yearly out of his watery Cell,  
To deck great Neptune's Diadem.   

The Tritons dancing in a ring,  
Before his Palace gates, do make  
The water with the Echoes quake,  
Like the great Thunder sounding:  
The Sea-nymphs chant their Accents shrill,  
And the Sirens taught to kill  
With their sweet voice;  
Make every echoing Rock reply,  
Unto their gentle murmuring noise,  
The praise of Neptune's Empery.   
Th. Campton.  
This Hymn was sung by Amphitryte Thametis, a●● other Sea-nymphs in Grays-inn Mark, at t●● Court. 1564.   

Of his Mistress' Face.  

ANd would you see my Mistress face?  
It is a flowery garden-place:  
Where knots of beauty have such grace,  
That all is work, and no where space.   

It is a sweet delicious Morn,  
Where day is breeding, never borne:  
It is a Meadow yet unshorn,  
Which thousand flowers do adorn.   

It is the heavens bright reflex,  
Weak eyes to dazzle and to vex:  
It is th'idea of her sex,  
Envy of whom doth world perplex.   

It is a face of death that smiles,  
Pleasing, though it kill the while:  
Where death and love in pretty wiles,  
Each other mutually beguiles.   

It is fair Beauties freshest youth,  
It is the feigned Eliziums' truth:  
The spring that wintered Hearts renu'th,  
And this is that my Soul pursueth.   
Th. Campion.   

Upon his Paleness.  

BLame not my Cheeks, though pale with love the● be  
The kindly heat into my heart is flown:  
To cherish it that is dismayed by thee,  
Who art so cruel and unsteadfast grown.  
For Nature called for by distressed hearts,  
Neglects, and quite forsakes the outward parts.   

But they whose cheeks with careless blood are stained  
Nurse not one spark of Love with their hearts:  
And when they woe, they speak with passion fain●  
For their fat love lies in their outward parts.  
But in their breasts where love his court should hold  
Poor Cupid sits, and blows his nails for cold.   
Th. Campion.   

Of Corinnaes' singing.  

WHen to her Lute Corinna sings,  
Her voice revives the leaden strings,  
And doth in highest notes appear,  
As any challenged Echo clear.  
But when she doth of mourning speak,  
Even with her sighs the strings do break.   

And as her Lute doth live or die,  
Led by her passions, so must I:  
For when of pleasure she doth sing,  
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring:  
But if she do of sorrow speak,  
Even from my heart the strings do break.   
Th: Campion.   

A Dialogue betwixt the Lover and his Lady.  

LAdy, my flame still burning,  
And my consuming anguish,  
Doth grow so great, that life I feel to languish,  
Then let your Heart be moved,  
To end my grief and yours, so long time proved.  
And quench the heat that my chief part so fireth,  
Yielding the fruit that faithful love requireth.    

Her Answer.  

Sweet Lord, your flame still burning,  
And your consuming anguish,  
Cannot be more than mine, in which I languish,  
No more your Heart is moved,  
To end my grief and yours so long time proved.  
But if I yield, and so your love decreaseth,  
Then I my Lover lose, and your love ceaseth.   
Ignoto.   

An Elegy.  
O Faithless World, and thy most faithless part,  
A Woman's Heart:  
The true Shop of variety, where sits,  
Nothing but fits,  
And fevers of Desire, and pangs of Love,  
Which toys remove.  
Why was she borne to please, or I to trust  
Words writ in dust?  
Suffering her eyes to govern my Despair,  
My pain for Air,  
And fruit of time rewarded with untruth,  
The food of youth.  
Untrue she was, ytt I belieueed her eyes,  
Instructed spies,  
Till I was taught; that Love was but a School  
To breed a fool.  
Or sought she more than Triumphs of denial,  
To see a trial.  
How far her Smiles commanded my weakness?  
Yield and confess:  
Excuse not now thy folly, nor her Nature;  
Blush and endure  
Aswell thy shame; as passions that were vain,  
And think thy gain,  
To know that Love, lodged in a Woman's Breast  
Is but a Guest.  
H. W.   


Conceit begotten by the eyes,  
Is quickly borne, and quickly dies:  
For while it seeks our hearts to have,  
Mean while there Reason makes his grave:  
For many things the eyes approve,  
Which yet the heart doth seldom love.   

For as the seeds in spring time sown,  
Die in the ground ere they be grown,  
Such is conceit, whose rooting fails,  
As child that in the cradle quails,  
Or else within the Mother's womb,  
Hath his beginning, and his tomb.   

Affection follows Fortune's wheels;  
And soon is shaken from her heels;  
●or following beauty or estate,  
Her liking still is turned to hate.  
●or all affections have their change,  
And fancy only loves to range.   

Desire himself runs out of breath,  
And getting, doth but gain his death:  
Desire, nor reason hath, nor rest.  
And blind doth seldom choose the best,  
Desire attained is not desire,  
●ut as the finders of the fire.   

As ships in ports desired are drowned,  
As fruit once ripe, then falls to ground,  
As flies that seek for flames, are brought  
To cinders by the flames they sought:  
So fond Desire when it attains,  
The life expires, the woe remains.   

And yet some Poets feign would prove,  
Affection to be perfect love,  
And that Desire is of that kind,  
No less a passion of the mind.  
As if wild beasts and men did seek,  
To like, to love, to choose alike.   
W. R.   

MADRIGAL.  

FAustina hath the fairer face,  
And Phillida the fairer grace,  
Both have mine eye enriched.  
This sings full sweetly with her voice,  
Her fingers make as sweet a noise,  
Both have mine ear bewitched.  
Aim! sith Fates have so provided,  
My heart (alas) must be divided.    

To his Lady's Garden, being absent far from her.  

GArden more than Eden blessed  
Art thou, thus to have thy bowers,  
Freed from Winter, and still dressed.  
With her faces Heau'n-set flowers.   

Happy too are these thy Allies,  
Where her fair feet deign to tread,  
Which departing Earth's low Valleys,  
Shall the Milky way be led.   

Thy Trees whose Arms he embraced,  
●nd whose fruit her lids did kiss,  
●n whose virtuous mind well placed  
●he rare Tree of knowledge is.   

●appy are: So thy Birds be,  
Whom she learns to sing by Art,  
Who in heavenly harmony  
With the Angels bears a part.   

●appy, blessed, and fortunate,  
●owers, Allies Trees, and Burds,  
●●t my most unhappy stare,  
●●r surmounts all reach of words.   
T. Sp.   

Upon his Lady's Sickness of the Small Pocks.  

CRuel and unpartial Sickness,  
Sword of that Arch-monarch Death,  
That subdues all strength by weakness,  
Whom all Kings pay tribute breath.   

Are not these thy steps I track,  
An the pure snow of her face,  
When thou didst attempt to sack  
Her lives fortress and it raze?   

Th'heavenly Honey thou didst suck,  
From her Rose Cheeks might suffice;  
Why then didst thou mar and pluck  
Those dear flowers of rarest prize?   

Meanest thou thy Lord to present  
With those rich spoils and adorn,  
Leaving me them to lament,  
And in Inkes black tears thus mourn?   

No: I'll in my Bosom wear them,  
And close lock them in my heart:  
Thence, nor time, nor death, shall bear them  
Till I from myself do part.   
Th. Sp.   

A Reporting Sonnet.  

Her Face, her Tongue, her Wit, so fair, so sweet, so sharp,  
First bend, then drew, now hit, mine Eye, mine Ear, my heart:  
Mine Eye, mine Ear, my heart, to like, to learn, to love,  
Her face, her tongue, her wit, doth lead, doth teach, doth move.  
Her face, her tongue, her wit, with beams, with sound, with Art,  
Doth blind, doth charm, doth rule, mine Eye, mine Ear, my heart:  
Mine Eye, mine ear, my heart, with life, with hope, with skill,  
Her face, her tongue, her wit, doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.  
O face, O tongue, O wit, with frowns, with checks, with smart,  
Wring not, vex not, wound not, mine Eye, mine ear, my 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.    

SONNET.  

ONly (sweet love) afford me but thy heart,  
Then close thine eyes within their ivory cover  
That they to me no beam of light impart,  
Although they shine on all thy other lovers.  
As for thy lip of ruby, cheeks of rose,  
Though I have kissed them oft with sweet Content  
●●●n content that sweet content to lose,  
If thy sweet will will bar me, I assent.  
Let me not touch thy hand, but through thy glove,  
Nor let it be the pledge of kindness more;  
Keep all thy beauties to thyself, sweet love,  
I ask not such bold favours as before.  
I beg but this, afford me but thy heart,  
●or than I know thou wilt the rest impart.    

ODE.  

Absence's, hear thou my Protestation,  
Against thy strength,  
Distance, and length;  
Do what thou canst for alteration.  
For hearts of truest mettle,  
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle.   

Who loves a Mistress of such quality,  
He soon hath found  
Affections ground  
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.  
To hearts that cannot vary,  
Absence is present, Time doth tarry.   

My Senses want their outward motions,  
Which now within  
Reason doth win,  
Redoubled in her secret notions:  
Like rich men that takes pleasure,  
In hiding, more than handling Treasure.   

By Absence, this good means I gain,  
That I can catch her,  
Where none can watch her,  
In some close corner of my brain,  
There I embrace and kiss her,  
And so I both enjoy and miss her.   

Love is the link, the knot, the band of unity,  
And all that love, do love with their beloved to be:  
Love only did decree,  
To change his kind in me.  
For though I loved with all the powers of my mind,  
And though my restless thoughts, their rest in her did find:  
Yet are my hopes declined,  
Sith she is most unkind.  
For since her beauty's sun my fruitless hope did breed  
By absence from that sun, I hoped to starve that weed  
Though absence did indeed  
My hopes not starve, but feed.  
For when I shift my place, like to the strike dear,  
I cannot shift the shaft, which in my side I bear:  
Ay me it resteth there  
The cause is not elsewhere.  
So have I seen the sick to turn & turn again,  
●s if that outward change, could ease his inward pain  
But still alas in vain,  
The fit doth still remain.  
Yet goodness is the spring from whence this ill doth grow,  
For goodness caused the love, which great respect did owe:  
Respect true love did show,  
True love thus wrought my woe.   
Ignoto.   

SONNET.  

BEst pleased she is, when Love is most expressed,  
And sometime says that love should be requite●  
Yet is she grieved my love should now be righte●  
When that my faith hath proved what I protest.  
Am I beloved whose heart is thus oppressed?  
Or dear to her, and not in her delighted:  
I live to see the Sun, yet still benighted,  
By her despair is blam'de, and hope suppressed.  
She still denies, yet still her heart consenteth,  
She grants me all, but that which I desire;  
She fuel sends, but bids me leave the fire,  
She lets me die, and yet my death lamenteth.  
O foolish Love, by reason of thy blindness,  
I die for want of Love, yet killed with kindness.    

SONNET.  

WHen a weak Child is sick, and out of quiet,  
And for his tenderness can not sustain  
Physic of equal strength unto his pain,  
Physicians to the Nurse prescribe a Diet.  
I am sick, and in my sickness weak,  
And through my weakness dead; if I but take  
The pleasantest receipt that Art can make,  
Or if I hear but my Physician speak.  
●ah (fair God of Physic) it may be,  
But Physic to my Nurse would me recover;  
She whom I love with beauty nurseth me,  
But with a bitter mixture kills her Lover.  
I assure myself, I should not die,  
he were purged of her cruelty.    

SONNET.  

WEre I as base as is the lowly plain,  
And you (my Love,) as high as heaven above,  
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain,  
Ascend to Heaven, in honour of my love.  
Were I as hight as Heaven above the plain,  
And you (my Love) as humble and as low  
As are the deepest bottoms of the Main,  
Wherso'ere you were, with you my Love should go  
Were you the Earth (dear Love) and I the skies,  
My love should shine on you like to the Sun,  
And look upon you with ten thousand Eyes,  
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were dun  
Wheresoever I am, below, or else above you,  
Wheresoever you are, my heart shall truly love you   
I. S.   

A MADRIGAL.  

MY Love in her Attire doth show her wit,  
It doth so well become her:  
For every season she hath dress fit,  
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.  
No Beauty she doth miss,  
When all her Robes are on:  
But Beauty's self she is,  
When all her Robes are gone.    

A MADRIGAL.  

WHen I to you complain,  
Of all the woe and pain,  
Which you make me endure without release:  
You answer nought again,  
But, Bear and hold your peace.  
Dear I will bear, and hold my peace, if you,  
Will hold your peace, and bear what I shall do.    

SONNET.  

THe Poets feign that when the world began,  
Both sexes in one body did remain;  
Till jove (offended with this double man)  
Caused Vulcan to divide him into twain.  
In this division, he the heart did sever,  
But cunningly he did indent the heart,  
That if there were a reuniting ever,  
Each part might know which was his counterpa●●  
See then (dear love) th'Indenture of my heart,  
And read the covenants writ with holy fire:  
See (if your heart be not the counterpart,  
Of my true hearts indented chaste desire.)  
And, if it be, so may it ever be,  
Two hearts in one, twixt you my Love and me.   
I. S.   

An invective against Women.  

ARe women fair? I wondrous fair to see to,  
Are women sweet? Yea passing sweet they be to;  
Most fair and sweet to them that inly love them,  
Chaste & discreet to all, save those that prove them.   

●re women wise? Not wise, but they be witty,  
●re women witty? Yea, the more the pity:  
●hey are so witty, and in wit so wily,  
●hat, be you ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.   

●re women feet? Not fools, but foundlings many,  
an women fond be faithful unto any?  
●hen snow-white swans do turn to colour sable,  
●hen women fond will be both firm and stable.   

●re women Saints? No Saints, nor yet no Devils,  
●re women good? Not good, but needful evils.  
Angellike, that Devils I do not doubt them;  
needful ills, that few can live without them.   

●●e women proud? I passing proud, & praise them,  
●●e women kind? I wondrous kind, and please them:  
●●r so imperious, no man can endure them;  
●●r so kindhearted, any may procure them.   
Ignoto.   

An Elegy in Trimeter jambickes.  

Unhappy Verse! the witness of my unhappy state,  
Make thyself fluttring wings of thy fast flying thought  
And fly forth unto my Love, wheresoever she be.   

Whether lying restless in heavy bed, or else  
Sitting so cheerless at the cheerful board, or else  
Playing alone careless on her heavenly Virginals.   

If in Bed, tell her that mine eyes can take no rest:  
If at Board, tell her that my mouth can taste no food:  
If at her Virginals, tell her I can hear no mirth.   

Asked why, say waking Love suffereth no sleep:  
Say that raging Love doth appall the weak stomach:  
Say that lamenting Love marreth the musical.   

Tell her, that her pleasures were wont to lul me asleep  
Tell her, that her beauty was wont to feed mine eyes:  
Tell her, that her sweet tongue was wont to make me mirth   

Now do I nightly waste, wanting my kindly rest:  
Now do I daily starve, wanting my lively food:  
Now do I always die, wanting my timely mirth.   

And if I waste, who will bewail my heavy chance?  
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end?  
And if I die, who will say, this was Immerito?   Edmund Spencer.  

SONNET  

MIne eye with all the deadly sins is fraught,  
1. First proud, sith it presumed to look so high:  
a watchman being made, stood gazing by,  
2. and idle, took no heed till I was caught:  
And envious, bears envy that by thought  
should in his absence be to her so nigh:  
to kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,  
4. and so consent gave to a murder wrought:  
5. And covetous, it never would remove  
from her fair hair, gold so doth please his sight  
6. unchaste, a bawd between my heart and love  
7. a glutton eye, with tears drunk every night.  
These sins procured have a Goddess ire:  
Wherefore my heart is damned in loves sweet fire   
H. C.   

SONNET. To two most Honourable and Virtuous Ladies, sisters.  

Ye Sister-Muses, do not ye repine,  
That I two Sisters do with nine compare,  
Since each of these is far more truly rare,  
Then the whole troup of all the heavenly nine.  
But if ye ask me which is more divine,  
I answer, Like to their twinne-eys they are,  
Of which, each is more bright than brightest star  
Yet neither doth more bright than other shine.  
Sisters of spotless fame, of whom alone  
Malicious to●gues take pleasure to speak well,  
How should I you commend, sith either one  
All things in heaven and earth so far excel?  
The only praise I can you give, is this,  
That One of you like to the Other is.   
H. C.   

Of Cynthia.  

TH'Ancient Readers or heavens Book,  
Which with curious eye did look  
Into Nature's story;  
All things under Cynthia took  
To be transitory.   

This the learned only knew,  
But now all men find it true,  
Cynthia is descended;  
With bright beams, and heavenly hue,  
And lesser stars attended.   

Lands and Seas she rules below,  
Where things change, and ebb, and flow,  
Spring, wax old, and perish;  
Only Time which all doth mow,  
Her alone doth cherish.   

Time's young hours attend her still,  
And her Eyes and Cheeks do fill,  
With fresh youth and beauty:  
All her lovers old do grow,  
But their hearts, they do not so  
In their Love and duty.   This Song was sung before her sacred Majesty at show on horseback, wherewith the right Honorabl● the Earl of Cumberland presented her Highness' on May day last.  
Finis.