DAVISONS' POEMS, OR, A Poetical rhapsody.  
Divided into six Books.  

The first, containing Poems and Devises.  
The second, Sonnets and Canzonets.  
The third, Pastorals and Elegies.  
The fourth, Madrigals and Odes.  
The fift, Epigrams and Epitaphs.  
The sixth, Epistles, and Epithalamiums.   
For variety and pleasure, the like never published.  
The Bee and Spider by a diverse power,  
Suck honey and poison from the selfsame flower.  
The fourth Impression, Newly corrected and augmented, and put into a form more pleasing to the Reader.  
LONDON, Printed by B. A. for Roger jackson, 1621.   

To the most Noble, Honourable, and worthy Lord, William Earl of Pembroke, Lord Herbert of Cardiff, Marmion, and Saint Quintine, Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's household, one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Counsel and Knight of the most noble order of the Garter.  
GReat Earl, whose brave Heroic 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 attire:  
Who rich in fading wealth, 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,  
Or Nephew to great Sidney of renown,  
Who hast deserved thy Coronet to crown  
With Laurel Crown a Crown excelling th'other  
I consecrate these Rhymes to thy great Name,  
Which if thou like, they seek no other fame.  
Fra: Dauison.   

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 friends Anonym●i, and my dearer Brother, to bear them company: Both without their consent, the latter being in the low Country wars, and the rest utterly ignorant thereof. My friends names 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 now undergo a sharper censure perhaps then our nameless works should have done, and I especially. For if their Poems be liked, the praise is due to their invention: if mislked, the blame both by them, and all men, will be derived upon me, for published that which they meant to suppress.  
If thou think we affect fame by these kinds of writings, though I think them no disparagement even to the best judgements, yet I answer in all our behalves, 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, jubio te stultum esse libenter. Since experience proves by examples of many, both dead and living, that diverse delighted, and excelling herein, being Princes or statesmen, have governed & counselled as wisely: being soldiers, have commanded armies as fortunately; being Lawyers, have pleaded as judicially and elequently: 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, and worthily placed, is the whetstone of wit and spur to all generous actions: and many excellent spirits with great fame of wit, and no stain of judgement, have written excellently in this kind, & specially the ever praiseworthy Sidney: So as if thou wilt needs make 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, without mean and worthless scribble, I utterly disclaim it, as being done by the Printer, either to grace the forefront with sir Philip 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 Anonymus were written (as appeareth by diverse things to sir Philip Sidney living, and of him dead) almost twenty years since, when Poetry was fare 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 6. or 7. years since, at idle time: as I journeyed up and down during my travails. But to leave their works to justify themselues, or the Authors to justify their works, & to speak of mine own; thy mislikes I contemn, thy praises (which I never 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. Dauison.   

An Alphabetical Table of all the Canzonets, Dialogues, Devises, Eglogues, Elegies, Epigrams, Epitaphs, Epistles, Epithalmions, Madrigals, Odes, Pastorals, Poems, Sonnets, and other principal matters contained in this book.  

A  
A Contention betwixt a Wife a Widow, & a Maid. 5  
A fiction how Cupid made a Nymph wound herself. 15  
A living death 132  
Absence. 212  
Absence and time, 253  
Affection 29, 219  
A●ax who killed himself 48  
Allegory of his love to a ship. 111  
Allusion to Theseus' voyage against the Minotaur. 90  
Antereons' Odes 248  
An answer to what love is. 211  
An invective against love. 107  
Anatomy of love 147  
Astrea's praise with silence 156  
Allusion to the confusion of Babel. 209   

B  
Batcheler. 3  
Beauty causeth love 77  
Beggars life praised. 136  
B●●ides his torments 109  
Blanks 46, 47  
Bodkin 46  
Bracelets 46  
Break heavy heart 129  
Brutus his inhabiting this Ile. 25   

C  
Cato Utican who slew himself, 49  
Chain 45  
Christian Stoic 103  
Clytaemnestra to Orestes 47  
Commendation of beauty. 226  
Commendation of Verse. 69  
Comparison between the strength of beasts 249  
Comparison of love between Beggars and Kings. 136  
Comparison to a candle fly. 211  
Comparison with perfect love. 134  
Complaint of love very wittily. 17  
Contention of love & reason. 73  
Contrarieties of love. 1●7  
corina's singing. 143  
Country Gentlemen. 3  
courtier 1  
Courtiers rule. 259  
Coif and Crascloth 45  
Cra●●bo the lousy shifter 260  
Cuckolds Epigram  
Cuddies Emblem 103  
Cuddies Pastoral. 175 

Eglogue 175    
Cupid made a Nymph to wound herself 15  
Cupid's marriage with dissimulation. 240  
Cupid proved a Fencer. 210  
Cupid shoots light, but wounds sore. 21  
Cushinet 46  
Cynthia queen of fortune 254  
Canzonets 

The lie given to sundry sorts and degrees 100  
The christian Stoic 103  
Upon seeing his face in her eyes 104  
A Dialogue between his flaming heart, & her frozen breast. 104  
He will esteem of her as she is to him 105  
An inscription for the Statute of Dido. 106  
Love's Hyperboles 106  
An invective against love 107  
petrarck's sonnet translated 108  
He proves himself to endure the tortures of Tantalus 109  
Loves discommodities. 110  
Execration of his passed love 112  
Of the Sun, A jewel being a Sunshining, etc. 113  
To his mistress eyes 114  
His hart arraigned of theft &c 115  
Deadly sweetness 116  
Ladies eyes fed Cupid for darts & fire 116  
Love's contrarieties 117  
Her outward gesture deceived his inward hope 118  
That he is unchangeable. 119  
Upon her absence. 120  
The lover's absence kills me her presence, etc. 121  
Fair face, and hard heart. 123  
An Inuective against love. 124  
Upon his Ladies buying strings for her Lure 125  
Car● will not let him live, nor hope dye. 126  
In praise of the Sun 127  
Death in love 128  
Break heavy heart. 129  
Desires government 130  
Loves properties 1●1  
Living death 132  
The passionate Prisoner 132  
Hopeless desires soon withers & dies 233  
Natural comparisons with perfect love 134  
Love is not like; in beggars and in Kings. 134  
To time 137  
A hymn in praise of Neptune 140  
An hymn in praise of Music 138  
An hymn in praise of his Mistress face 141  
Upon her paleness. 142  
Upon his Lady's sickness of the Pox 143  
Of Corin●es singing 143  
In the grace of wit, tongue, and face 144  
An invective against women 145  
Of love gift 146  
The anatomy of love 147  
Love the only price of love 148     

D  
Death in love 128  
Description of love 23  
Desire of hope 133. 134  
Desire hath conquered revenge 86  
Desires government 130  
Dialogues 

Between a lover and his Lady 57  
Between a Lover and Cupid 189  
Between a lover, death, and Cupid 190  
Between a lover's flaming heart, and his Lady's frozen breast. 104  
Between the lover and his heart. 50. 129  
Between the soul and the Body 56  
In praise of Astraea 156    
Dido's inscription 106  
Disdain at variance with desire 239  
Disdains Altar & sacrifice 55  
Dispraise of a courtly life 152  
Dispraise of lover's folly 242  
Divine 1  
Dozen of points 44  
Dial 46  
Devises. 

A Lottery before Queen Elizabeth. 42  
Inscriptions of Thesbe, Orestes, Aiax, Romulus, Fabritius, Curio, and Cato Utican 47 to 50  
Of the lightness of a Woman, 50  
A Dialogue between the lover & his heart. 50  
A Dialogue between a lover, death, and love 51  
Phaleuciacks 52  
Phaleuciacks 53  
Phaleuciacks 54  
An altar and sacrifice to disdain 55  
Upon beginning without making an end 56  
A Dialogue between the soul & the body 56  
Sapphics upon the Passion of Christ 57  
A Dialogue between the Lover and his Lady. 57  
Of man's fall in Adam, and restoring by Christ 59     

Elegies. 

He renounceth his food and former delight 196  
For what cause he obtains his Lady's favour 197  
To his Lady who vowed Virginity 199  
Her Praise is in her want. 202  
Of a woman's heart 202  
Loves Embassy, &c 203    
Eglogues 

Eglogue entitled Cuddy 175  
Eglogue concerning old age 192    
Epigrams 

Ad Alien 255  
In Herm 256  
De Mannella 256  
De Milone 256  
De Codro 257  
Ad quintum 257  
To poor Scholars 257  
In Cinnam 258  
To his friends 258  
De Philone 258  
Admetus Pessimos coniuges. 259  
A rule for courtiers 259  
On a painted Courtesan: 259  
In Aulam 259  
For a looking glass 260  
On a limping Cuckold 260  
On Crambo a lousy shifter 260  
In Asinium. 260  
In Quintum! In Sabam. 261  
In Aulum. 261    
Epitaphs 

An Epitaph on King Henry the 3 King of France. 265  
An Epitaph on King Henry the 4 King of France. 265  
An Epitaph on Queen Elizabeth 266    
Epistles 

Sundry Epistles or letters in verse 662     

F  
Fabritius Curio his Virtues. 49  
Face 141, 145  
Fair face and hard heart 123  
Falling band 45  
Fan 46  
Fortunes Wheels 43   

G  
Garden 21  
Garters 45  
Girdle 44  
Glass 144  
Gloves 44  
Gift 146   

H  
Hand 110  
Handkerchief 44  
Hexameters to Sir Philip Sidney 262  
Horace imitated. 20  
Hearts captivity 93  
Hymns. 

In praise of Music 138  
In praise of Neptune 140  
An hymn in praise of his mistress face 141     

I  
Of Aiax who killed himself 48  
Of Cato Utican who slew himself. 49  
Of Climennestra and her son Orestes 49  
Of Dido 106  
Of Fabritius curio 49  
Of Romulus who was nursed by a she Wolf. 48  
Of Thesbie. 47  
Inuective against love 107. 124  
Inuective against women. 145  
Inverted rhymes of love 158  
Ixion his torment's 20●   

K  
Kiss begged 208  
Kiss received 209  
King Henry's Epitaph 265  
Knives 44   

L  
Lace 4  
Lawyer. 2  
lenvoy in rhyming 53  
Love makes a man a Poet 84  
Lottery presented before Queen Elizabeth 42  
Lots 44  
Love enters by fame. 87  
Love like children's Physic 87  
Love punishable with love 71  
Lovers knot. 216  
Love the only price of love 148  
Lovers complaint 136  
Loves contention 73  
Loves contrarieties 117  
Loves description. 123  
Love's discommodities 110  
Loves dispraise and folly 242  
Love verbal ●14  
Love's natural comparisons 134  
Loves properties 131  
Love's Embassy. 203  
Lie 100   

M  
Maid 45  
Married man 3  
Mariners song & speech. 42  
Mask 44. 66  
Meditations on the frailty of man's life 27  
Merchant 3   

Madrigals. 

He must love her if he love his life 205  
That all happiness is derived from her 205  
Upon her dreaming that she saw him dead 206  
Upon his departure 206  
To Cupid. 207  
Upon his Mistress sickness, and his own health. 208  
He begs a kiss 208  
Upon a kiss received. 209  
Allusion to the confusion of Babel 209  
To her hand upon giving him her glove. 210  
Cupid proved a Fencer. 210  
He compares himself to a candle-flye. 211  
Answer to the question what love is 211  
Upon his timorous silence in her presence 212  
Upon her long absence 212  
Upon her hiding her face from him. 213  
Upon her heauty and inconstancy 213  
In praise of her eyes 214  
Verbal love 214  
In praise of two. 215  
To his lady's garden being absent far from her. 215  
The true love's knot. 216  
In praise of his love. 217     

N  
Necklace. 46  
Neptun●s praise 140  
Nutmeg 46   

O  
That only her beauty and voice pleaseth him. 218  
Upon her protestation of kind affection. 219  
His restless estate 220  
His farewell to his mistress. 223  
A Prosopopaeia wherein his heart etc. 224  
Upon her giving him back the paper, etc. 225  
Commendation of her beauty, stature, &c 226  
That each creature hath his abiding 227  
His Lady to be condemned &c 228  
A Dialogue between him and his heart. 229  
Wherein his Lady keeps his heart 231  
The more favour he obtains, the more he desires 232  
Desire and hope 233  
Upon visiting his Lady by moonlight 234  
The kind lover's complaint 236  
Unhappy eyes. 238  
Disdain at variance with desire 239  
Cupids marriage with dissimulation. 240  
Dispraise of Love, and lover's follies. 242  
To his Muse. 243  
To his heart. 244  
A defiance of disdainful love. 146  
The tomb of dead desire 247  
Three Odes translated out of Anacreon 148  
A comparison betwixt the strength of beasts, the wisdom of Man, and the beauty of a woman's heart 249  
Anacreons second Ode 251  
Anacreons third Ode 252  
That time and absence proves ra-rather helps than hurts to loves. 253  
Of Cynthia. 254   

P  
Petrarck● sonnet, Pace non trovo, etc. 108  
Physician 2  
Pox 143  
Poesy of a Ring 44  
Prayer book 45  
Praise of a Beggar's life 136  
Praise of her eyes 73  
Praise of Music 138  
Praise of Sir Philip Sidney. 262  
Praise of the two countesses, of Cumberland and Warwick 98  
Purse 43  
Twelve wonders of the world. 1  
Cupid makes a Nymph wound herself. 15  
A complaint of which all the staff's end with the words of the first 17  
A dialogue in imitation of Horace 20  
Cupid shoots light, but wounds sore. 21. 22  
A true description of love 23  
Of the first inhabiting this I'll by Brute, &c 25  
A Meditation on the frailty of this life 27  
A Poesy to prove affection is not love 29  
A Lover's request if he hold his peace 30  
A complaint for justice flight 30  
A Poem in the nature of an Epitaph 31  
Loves contentment 32  
A Repentant Poem 34  
Unions jewel 35  
A Panegyricke to the King. 38   

Q  
Quatraine 105   

R  
Repentant Poem 34  
Reporting Sonnet of praise 72  
Ring plain 44  
Rings poesy 44  
Roundelay very pretty in inverted Rhymes 158   

S  
Sapphics upon the Passion of Christ 57  
Scarf 45  
Sickness 208  
Sickness and recovery. 89  
Scissors. Snufkin 45 

He tells her how he'll hide his joys 62  
He promiseth to love as he is loved 63  
To mistress Diana 63  
Dedication of these Rhymes, &c 64  
That he cannot hide or dissemble his affection 65  
Upon his absence from her 65  
To Q. E. at a Mask 1594 66  
To pity 67  
Upon her acknowledging his desert 67  
Her answer in the same 68  
Upon her commending his verses 69  
To a worthy Lord, now dead, 70  
He demands pardon for loving 70  
Love punishable 71  
He calls his ears, 72  
Praise of her eyes 73  
Contention of love 73  
That she hath great power over his life, etc. 74  
Of his Ladies weeping 75  
He paints out his torment 75  
His sight & tears are bootless 76  
Her beauty makes him live even in despair 77  
Why her lips yields him no comfort 77  
Comparison of his heart, &c 80  
That he cannot leave to love, &c 81  
He desires leave to write, &c 81  
That time hath no power to end his love 82  
Of the Moon, &c 83  
That love only made him a Poet. 84  
Desire hath conquered revenge 86  
To his eyes for causing his pain. 86  
Upon loves entering by the ear. 87. 88  
Of his own and his Mistress sickness at one time 89  
Another of her sickness and recovery. 89  
Allusion to Thaesus' voyage. 90  
Upon her secret looking out at a window as he passed by 91  
To his Mistress, &c: 92  
To the Sun, etc. 92  
Upon sending her a Ring; &c 93  
The hearts captivity 93  
For her heart only 94  
That his love kills him with kindness 95  
She only might cure him, &c: 96  
He expresseth his great love unto her 96  
He wisheth both their hearts ever united. 97  
Loves seven deadly sins 97  
To two most honourable and virtuous Ladies and sisters, etc. 98  
To my Lord the Prince. 99  
To the Lady Elizabeth: etc. 99     

T  
Time cannot end or diminish love 82  
The mean estate is best 152  
To Pity 67  
Tongue 144   

V  
Unions jewel 35  
Urania's answer. 163   

W  
Writing tables 45  
Wit 144  
women's weight in Latin and English. 60  
women's hearts and unconstancy 145    

Epithalmion upon the spousals of W.A. and I.A.  

He who first did institute holy wedlock,  
Knitting man and woman in happy bedlock,  
Putting on their concupiscence a holy fetlock,  
Not to be broken:   

Grant O grant, ye grace to love one another,  
Like a Sister, Christian, and a brother,  
So make the weaker of you a mother,  
Love's happy token.    

Another of the same.  
Love is foolery if it be not founded,  
And on heavenly beauty chiefly grounded  
All deformity from the first sin runneth,  
All true beauty from our God only comes  
With love's purity him then only praise ye,  
That by mercy he to himself may raise ye,  
he's the fountain of all true perfect beauty,  
And best meriteth all hearts, love, and duty,  
Then send up to him all your sighs & groanings  
Then pour out to him all your tears and mournings,  
And fix only on him your joys and gladness,  
For to joy in earthly things is madness.   

A short Contents of all the six Books contained In this volume, etc.  

The 1. book containing Poems & Devises, gins fol. 1. to folio 62.  
The 2 book of Sonnets & Canzonets, gins folio. 62. to follio. 150.  
The 3. book of Pastorals & Elegies▪ gins folio. 150. to folio. 205.  
The 4. book of madrigals & Odes, gins folio 205. to folio 255.  
The 5. book of Epigrams & Epitaphs gins folio 255. to folio 266.  
The 6. book of Epistles, gins folio 266 to 272.  
And Epithalmions' gins before follio 1.    

THE FIRST BOOK OF POEMS AND DEVISES.  


I. POEM. YET OTHER TWELVE WONders of the World, by Sir john Davis'.  

I. The Courtier.  
LOng have I lived in Court, yet learned not all this while,  
To sell poor suitors, smoke: nor where I hate to smile:  
Superiors to adore, Inferiors to despise,  
To fly from such as fall, to follow such as rise,  
To cloak a poor desire, under a rich array,  
Not to aspire by vice, though 'ttwere the quicker way.   

II. The Divine.  
My calling is Divine, and I from God am sent,  
I will no chop-Church be, nor pay my patron rend,  
Nor yield to sacrilege, but like the kind true mother,  
Rather will lose all the child, then part it with another,  
Much wealth I will not seek, nor worldly masters serve,  
So to grow rich & far, while my poor flock doth starve.   

III. The Soldier.  
My occupation is, the noble trade of Kings,  
The trial that decides the highest right of things:  
Though Mars my Master be, I do not Venus' love,  
Nor honour Bacchus oft, nor often swear by love:  
Of speaking of myself, I all occasion shun,  
And rather love to do, then boast what I have done.   

four The Lawyer.  
The Law my calling is, my robe, my tongue, my pen,  
Wealth and opinion gain and make me judge of men.  
The known dishonest cause, I never did defend,  
Nor spun out suits in length, but wished and sought an end:  
Nor counsel did bewray, nor of both parties take,  
Nor ever took I fee for which I never spoke,   

V The Physician.  
I study to uphold the slippery state of man,  
Who dies, when we have done the best and all we can.  
From practice and from books I draw my learned skill,  
Not from the known receipt of Apothecary's bill.  
The earth my faults doth hide, the world my cures doth see.  
What youth and time effects, is oft ascribed to me.   

VI The Merchant.  
My trade doth every thing to every land supply,  
Discover unknown coasts, strange Countries to ally,  
I never did forestall, I never did engross,  
Nor custom did withdraw, though I returned with loss▪  
I thrive by fair exchange, by selling and by buying,  
And not by jewish use, reprisal, fraud, or lying.   

VII. The Country Gentleman.  
Though strange outlandish spirits praise towns & country scorn  
The country is my home, I dwell where I was born:  
There profit and command with pleasure I partake,  
Yet do not Hawks and dogs, my sole companions make.  
I rule, but not oppress, end quarrels, not maintain,  
See towns, but dwell not there t'abridge my charge or train   

VIII. The Bachelor.  
How many things as yet are dear alike to me,  
The field the horse, the dog, love arms or liberty.  
I have no wife as yet, whom I may call mine own,  
I have no children yet, that by my name are known.  
Yet if I married were I would not wish to thrive,  
If that I could not tame the veriest shrew alive.   

IX. The married man.  
I only am the man among all married men,  
That do not wish the Priest to be vnlinck●agen.  
& though my  did wring, I would not make my moan,  
Nor think my neighbour's chance, more happy than mine own  
Yet court I not my wife, but yield observance due.  
Being neither fond, nor cross, nor jealous, nor untrue.   

X. The Wife.  
The first of all our Sex came from the side of man,  
I thither am returned, from whence our Sex began,  
I do not visit oft, nor many, when I do:  
I tell my mind to few, and that in counsel too.  
I seem not sick in health, nor sullen but in sorrow,  
I care for somewhat else, than what to wear to morrow,   

XI. The Widow.  
My husband knew, how much his death would grieve me,  
And therefore left me wealth, to comfort and relieve me.  
Though I no more will have, I must not love disdain,  
Penelope herself did suitors entertain,  
And yet to draw on such, as are of best esteem,  
Nor younger than I am, nor richer will I seem.   

XII. The Maid.  
I marriage would forswear, but that I hear men tell,  
That she that dies a maid, must lead an Ape in Hell.  
Therefore if fortune come, I will not mock and play,  
Nor drive the bargain on, till it be driven away.  
Titles and lands I like, yet rather fancy can,  
A man that wanteth gold, than gold that wants a man.    

II. POEM. A contention betwixt a Wife, a Widow and a Maid.  Wife. 
Widow well met, whither go you to day?  
Will you not to this solemn offering go?  
You know it is Astrea's holy day:  
The Saint to whom all heart's devotion own:  Widow. 

Marry what else? I purposed so to do,  
Do you not mark how all the wives are fine,  
And how they have sent presents ready too,  
To make their offering at Astrea's shrine?   

See then the shrine and tapers burning bright,  
Come friend and let us first ourselves advance,  
We know our place, and if we have our right,  
To all the parish we must lead the dance.   

But soft, what means this bold presumptuous maid  
To go before without respect of us?  
Your forwardness (proud maid) must now be stayed,  
Where learnt you to neglect your betters thus?   Maid. 

Elder you are, but not my betters here,  
This place to maids a privilege must give:  
The Goddess being a maid, holds maidens dear,  
And grants to them her own prerogative.   

Besides, on all true virgins at their birth,  
Nature hath sent a crown of excellence,  
That all the wives and widows of the earth,  
Should give them place, and do them reverence.   Wife. 
If to be borne a maid be such a grace,  
So was I borne and graced by nature to,  
But seeking more perfection to embrace  
I did become a wife as others do.  Widow. 
And if the maid and wife such honour have,  
I have been both, and hold a third degree.  
Most maids are Wards, and every wife a slave,  
I have my livery sued, and I am free.  Maid. 

That is the fault that you have maidens been,  
And were not constant to continue so:  
The falls of Angels did increase their sin,  
In that they did so pure a state forgo.   

But Wife and Widow if your wits can make,  
Your state and persons of more worth than mine:  
Advantage to this place I will not take:  
I will both place and privilege resign.   Wife. 
Why marriage is an honourable state,  Widow 
And widowhood is a reverend degree:  Maid. 
But maidenhead that will admit no mate,  
Like majesty itself must sacred be.  Wife. 
The wife is mistress of her family,  Widow 
Much more the widow, for she rules alone:  Maid. 
But mistress of mine own desires am I,  
When you rule others wills and not your own.  Wife. 
Only the wife enjoys the virtuous pleasure,  Widow. 
The widow can abstain from pleasures known:  Maid. 
But th'uncorrupted maid preserves such measure,  
As being by pleasures wooed she cares for none.  Wife. 
The wife is like a fair supported vine,  Wid. 
So was the widow, but now stands alone:  
For being grown strong, she needs not to incline  Maid. 
Maids like the earth, supported are of none.  Wife. 
The wife is as a Diamond richly set,  Maid. 
The maid unset doth yet more rich appear,  Widow. 
The widow a jewel in the Cabinet,  
Which though not worn is still esteemed as dear.  Wife. 
The wife doth love, and is beloved again,  Widow. 
The widow is awaked out of that dream,  Maid. 

The maids white mind had never such a stain,  
No passion troubles her clear virtue's stream.   

Yet if I would be loved, loved would I be,  
Like her whose virtue in the bay is seen:  
Love to wife fades with satiety,  
Where love never enjoyed is ever green.   Widow. 
Then what's a virgin but a fruitless bay?  Maid. 

And what's a widow but a rose-lesse briar?  
And what are wives, but woodbinds which decay  
The stately Oaks, by which themselves aspire?   

And what is marriage but a tedious yoke?   Widow. 
And what's virginity but sweet self-love?  Wife. 
And what's a widow but an axle broke?  
Whose one part failing neither part can move?  Widow. 
Wives are as birds in golden cages kept,  Wife. 
Yet in those cages cheerfully they sing:  Widow. 
Widow's are birds out of those cages leapt,  
Whose joyful notes makes all the forest ring.  Maid. 
But maids are birds amidst the woods secure,  
Which never hand could touch, nor yet could take:  
Nor whistle could deceive, nor bait allure,  
But free unto themselves do music make.  Wife. 
The wife is as the turtle with her mate,  Widow. 
The widow, as the widow dove alone:  
Whose truth shines most in her forsaken state,  Maid. 
The maid a Phoenix, and is still but one.  Wife. 
The wife's a soul unto her body tied,  Widow. 
The widow a soul departed into bliss,  Maid. 
The maid an Angel which was stellified,  
And now t'as fair a house descended is.  Wife. 
Wives are fair houses kept and furnished well,  Widow. 
Widow's old castles void, but full of state:  Maid. 

But maids are temples where the Gods do dwell,  
To whom alone themselves they dedicate.   

But marriage is a prison during life,  
Where one way out, but many entries be:   Wife. 
The Nun is kept in cloister, not the wife,  
Wedlock alone doth make the virgin free,  Maid. 
The maid is ever fresh, like morn in May,  Wife. 
The wife with all her beams is beautified,  
Like to high noon the glory of the day,  Widow. 
The widow like a mild sweet eventide.  Wife. 
An office well supplied is like the wife,  Widow. 
The widow like a gainful office void:  Maid. 

But maids are like contentment in this life,  
Which all the world have sought, but none enjoyed,   

Go wife to Dunmow, and demand your flitch.   Widow. 
Go gentle maid, go lead the Apes in hell.  Wife. 

Go widow make some younger brother rich.  
And then take thought and die, and all is well.   

Alas poor maid, that hast no help nor stay:   Widow. 
Alas poor wife, that nothing dost possess:  Maid. 
Alas poor widow, charity doth say,  
Pity the widow and the fatherless.  Widow. 
But happy widows have the world at will,  
But happier wives whose joys are ever double:  Maid. 
But happiest maids whose hearts are calm & still,  
Whom fear, nor hope, nor love, nor hate doth trouble.  Wife. 
Every true wife hath an indented heart,  
Wherein the covenants of love are writ,  
Whereof her husband keeps the counterpart,  
And reads his comforts and his joys in it.  Widow. 
But every widow's heart is like a book,  
Where her joys pastimprinted do remain,  
But when her judgements eye therein doth look:  
She doth not wish they were to come again.  Maid. 
But the maid's heart a fair white table is,  
Spotless and pure, where no impressions be,  
But the immortal Characters of bliss,  
Which only God doth write, and Angels see.  Wife. 
But wives have children, what a joy is this?  Widow. 
Widows have children too, but maids have none,  Maid. 
No more have Angels, yet they have more bliss,  
Then ever yet to mortal man was known.  Wife. 
The wife is like a fair manured field:  Widow. 
The widow once was such, but now doth rest,  Maid. 
The maid, like Paradise, undressed, vntil'd.  
Bear's crops of native virtue in her breast.  Wife. 
Who would not dye a wife as Lucrece died?  Widow. 
Or live a widow as Penelope?  Maid. 
Or be a maid, and so be stellified,  
As all the virtues and the graces be.  Wife. 
Wives are warm Climates well inhabited:  
But maids are frozen zones where none may dwell  Maid. 
But fairest people in the North are bred,  
Where Africa breeds Monsters black as hell.  Wife. 
I have my husband's honour and his place,  Widow. 
My husband's fortunes all survive to me.  Maid. 

The moon doth borrow light, you borrow grace,  
When maids by their own virtues graced be.   

White is my colour, and no hue but this  
It will receive, no tincture can it stain.   Wife. 
My white hath taken one colour, but it is  
An honourable purple died in grain.  Widow. 
But it hath been my fortune to renew  
My colour twice from that it was before,  
But now my black will take no other hue,  
And therefore now I mean to change no more.  Wife. 
Wife's are fair Apples served in golden dishes,  Widow. 
widows good wine, which time makes better much  Maid. 
But Maids are grapes desired by many wishes,  
But that they grow so high as none can touch.  Wife. 
I have a daughter equals you my girl,  Maid. 
The daughter doth excel the mother then,  
As pearls are better than the mother of pearl,  
Maids lose their value, when they match with men  Widow. 
The man with whom I matched, his worth was such,  
As now I scorn a maid should be my pear,  Maid. 

But I will scorn the man you praise so much,  
For maids are matchless, and no mate can bear   

Hence is it that the virgin never love's,  
Because her like she finds not any where:  
For likeness evermore affection moves,  
Therefore the maid hath neither love nor peer:   Wife. 
Yet many virgins married wives would be,  Wid. 
And many a wife would be a widow fain.  Maid. 
There is no widow but desires to see,  
If so she might, her maiden days again.  Wife. 
There never was a wife that liked her lot:  Widow. 
Nor widow but was clad in mourning weeds,  Maid. 
Do what you will, marry, or marry not,  
Both this estate and that, repentance breeds.  Wife. 
But she that this estate and that hath seen,  
Doth find great odds between the wife and girls  Maid. 
Indeed she doth, as much as is between  
The melting haylestone, and the solid pearl.  Wife. 
If I were Widow, my merry days were passed,  widow. 
Nay, than you first become sweet pleasures guest,  
For maidenhead is a continual fast,  
And marriage is a continual feast.  Maid. 

Wedlock indeed hath oft compared been,  
To public Feasts where meet a public rout;  
Where they that are without would fain go in,  
And they that are within would fain go out.   

Or to the jewel which this virtue had,  
That men were mad till they might it obtain,  
But when they had it they were twice as mad,  
Till they were dispossessed of it again.   Wife. 
Maids cannot judge, because they cannot tell,  
What comforts and what joys in marriage be:  Maid. 
Yes, yes, though blessed Saints in heaven do dwell,  
They do the souls in Purgatory see.  widow. 
If every wife do live in Purgatory:  
Then sure it is, that Widows live in bliss:  
And are translated to a state of glory,  
But Maids as yet have not attained to this.  Maid. 

Not Maids? To spotless maids this gift is given,  
To live in incorruption from their birth,  
And what is that but to inherit heaven,  
Even while they dwell upon the spotted earth?   

The perfectest of all created things;  
The purest gold that suffers no allay:  
The sweetest flower that on th'earth's bosom springs,  
The pearl unbord, whose price no price can pay.   

The crystal Glass that will no venom hold,  
The mirror wherein Angels love to look,  
Diana's bathing Fountain clear and cold,  
Beauty's fresh Rose, and virtues living book.   

Of love and fortune both the Mistress borne,  
The sovereign spirit that will be thrall to none:  
The spotless garment that was never worn,  
The Princely Eagle that still flies alone.   

She sees the world, yet her clear thought doth take  
No such deep print as to be changed thereby,  
As when we see the burning fire doth make,  
No such impression as doth burn the eye.   Wife. 
No more (sweet maid) our strife is at an end,  
Cease now: I fear we shall transformed be,  
To chattering Pies, as they that did contend,  
To match the Muses in their harmony.  Widow 
Then let us yield the honour and the place,  
And let us both be suitors to the maid:  
That since the Goddess gives her special grace,  
By her clear hands the offering be conveyed.  Maid. 
Your speech I doubt hath some displeasure moved  
Yet let me have the offering, I will see,  
I know she hath both wives and widows loved,  
Though she would neither wife nor widow be.   

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

IT chan'st of late a Shepherd's swain  
That went to seek a strayed sheep,  
Within a thicket on the plain,  
Espied a dainty Nymph asleep.   

Her golden hair o'erspread her face,  
Her careless arms abroad were cast,  
Her Quiver had her pillow's place,  
Her 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 a pace.   

Scarce was he gone, when she awakes,  
And spies the shepherd standing by:  
Her bended bow in hast 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 forth with 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 yields strength in midst of pain.   

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

Take heed sweet Nymph try not the shaft,  
Each little touch will prick thy heart,  
Alas, thou know'st 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 new-come guest,  
Lord how the gentle Nymph doth start,   

She runs not now, she shoots no more,  
Away she throws both shafts and bow:  
She seeks for that she shunned before,  
She thinks the shepherd's 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.    

four POEM. A complaint, of which all the staff's end with the words of the first, like a Sestine.  

1.  
YE ghastly groves, that hear my woeful cries,  
Whose shady leaves would help to ease my pain,  
Thou silver stream that dost with tears lament:  
The cruel chance that doth with grief increase:  
Ye chirping birds whose cheerless notes declare,  
That ye bewail the woes I bear in mind,  
Bear witness how with care I do consume,  
And hear the cause why thus I pine away.   

2  
Love is the cause that makes me pine away,  
And makes you hear the Echo of my cries  
Through griefs increase: And though the cause of pain  
Which doth enforce me still thus to lament,  
Proceed from love: and though my pain increase  
By daily cries which do that pain declare,  
And witness are of my afflicted mind,  
Yet cry I will, till crying me consume.   

3  
For as the fire the stubble doth consume,  
And as the wind doth drive the dust away:  
So pensive hearts are spent with doleful cries,  
And cares distract the mind with pinching pain.  
But all in vain, I do my case lament;  
My sorrow doth by sobs and sighs increase:  
It nought avails my torments to declare,  
Since that my tears cannot her flinty mind   

4  
To pity move; I am cast out of mind,  
So hath she sworn I shall in pain consume,  
My weary days, my life must waste away,  
Consumed with deadly pain and restless cries.  
So Philomele too much oppressed with pain,  
By his misdeed that causeth her lament,  
Both day and night her mournful lays increase;  
And pinned, in pain her sorrows doth declare.   

5  
It is some ease hid sorrows to declare,  
But too small case to such a grieved mind,  
As by repeating cries doth more consume,  
To end that which he finds at all no way,  
But careful sighs mingled with ruthful cries,  
(A simple salve to cure so great a pain)  
Come then ye ghastly owls, help me lament,  
With fearful shrieks, and as your shrieks increase.   

6  
When as the Sun departing doth increase,  
The doubled shadows which as signs declare,  
The night draws near: so I to ease my mind,  
Here will augment my plaints; so to consume  
My loathed life: and though you fly away,  
Soon as the day returns and cease your cries,  
Yet I unhappy wretch oppressed with pain,  
But day and night am forced to lament,   

7  
So foul a change: But while I thus lament,  
My grief with tears: The more for to increase  
My woe; with scoffs, my state she doth declare,  
To him who first, from me her wanton mind;  
By gifts did win: since when I still cnnsume  
Ay more and more; ne find I any way,  
To ease my mind: but thus with mournful cries,  
I living dye, and dying live in pain.   

8.  
And now adve delight and farewell pain,  
Adieu vain hope; I shall no more lament,  
Her feigned faith which did my woes increase,  
And ye to whom my griefs I thus declare,  
Ye which have heard the secrets of my mind,  
And seen my lingering life in pain consume,  
Adieu ye woods, and waters hence away,  
By death I must, and cease my ruthful cries.   

Ye which hear not my cries nor know my pain,  
Yet do my chance lament, let pity increase:  
Your grief by tears declare: To case your mind,  
Witness how I consume, and waste away.    

V POEM. Or Dialogue in Imitation of that between Horace and Lydia, beginning, Donec, gratus eram tibi, etc.  1. Lover. 
WHile thou didst love me, & that neck of thine,  
More sweet, white, soft, than roses, silver, down,  
Did were a necklace of no arms but mine,  
I envied not the King of Spain his Crown.  2. Lady. 
While of thy heart I was sole Sovereign,  
And thou didst sing none but mellina's name,  
Whom for brown Cole thou dost now disdain,  
I cavide not the Queen of England's fame.  3. Lover. 
Though Cole be less fair, she is more kind,  
Her graceful dancing so doth please mine eye,  
And through mine ears her voice so charms my mind,  
That so dear she may live, I'll willing dye.  4. Lady. 
Though Cripsus cannot sing my praise in verse,  
I love him so for skill in Tilting shown,  
And graceful managing of Coursiers fierce:  
That his dear life to save, i'll lose mine own.  5 Lover. 
What if I sue to thee again for grace,  
And sing my praises sweeter than before,  
If I out of my heart blot Coles face,  
Wilt thou love me again, love him no more?  6 Lady. 
Though he be fairer than the morning star,  
Though lighter than the floating Cork thou be  
And then the Irish sea more angry fare,  
With thee I wish to live, and dye with thee.   

VI POEM. Cupid shoots light, but wounds sere.  

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,  
It touched me light, me thought I felt some pain:  
Some little prick at first d●●●ke me me smart,  
But yet that grief was quickly gone again.  
Full 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 on whose heart so little hurt did scorn,  
And deigned not to seek despised relief:  
At last, when rest doth after travel 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 stickst not deep thy shaft:  
If at the first, I had thy stroke espied,  
(Alas I thought thou wouldst not dally so)  
To keep myself always 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 wealth I know is spilt,  
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.   

VII. POEM. A true description of Love..  
Paraphrastcally translated out of Petrarch's 103. Sonnet beginning. S. Amor non è, the 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,  
Than 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 these 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,  
Since 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 steers man gone, sail, helm, & tackle lost,  
How can I hope to gain the wished coast?   

Wisdom and folly is the lucklosse fraught  
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 dye.    

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

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 & 〈◊〉 ●●●ong,  
War, blood, and death, were matter 〈◊〉 ●●ng.   

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 scoff,  
A likely man to write of Mars his frown,  
Well are they sped whose praises he will write,  
Whose wanton Pen can nought but love indite.   

This said, he whisked his particoloured wings,  
And down to earth he comes more swift than thought,  
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 lover's pain.   

Then I that now perceived his needless 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 stayed?  
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?  
Is 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 Lands rule assigned,  
Which long he sought by 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,  
Here shall my Muse Brutus' noble Love declare:  
Here shalt thou see thy 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 by 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 fear false hope will be the best.    

IX. POEM. Or 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 cannot long endure,  
Our greatest skill, our sweetest joy,  
Uncertain and unsure:  
For 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,  
That serves to show thee what thou want'st,  
This helps thee to beguile.   

But after death is perfect skill,  
And joy without decay,  
When 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 what we want,  
Nor know not what we have,  
We love to keep the body's life,  
We loathe the soul to save.    

X. POEM. A Poesy to prove affection is not love.  

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 sails,  
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,  
For following beauty or estate,  
Her liking still is turned to hate.  
For all affections have their change,  
And fancy only love's 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,  
But as the cinders 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 fain 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,    

XI. POEM.  
WHen I to you of all my woes complain,  
Which you make me endure without release,  
With scornful smiles you answer me again,  
That lovers true must bear and hold their peace.  
Dear I will bear, and hold my peace, if you  
Will hold your peace, and bear what I shall do.   

XII. POEM.  

IF wrong by force had justice put to flight,  
Yet were there hope she might return again,  
If lawless war had shut her up from sight,  
Yet lawful peace might soon restore her train.  
But now alas, what hope of hope is left,  
When wrongful death hath her of life bereft?   

The Sun that often falls, doth often rise,  
The Moon that waineth, waxeth full with light:  
But he that death in chains of darkness ties,  
Can never break the bands of lasting night.  
What then remains but tears of loss to wail,  
In which all hope of mortal help doth fail?   

Who then shall weep, nay who shall tears refrain,  
If common harms must move the minds of all?  
Too few are found that wrongful hearts restrain,  
And of too few, too many death doth call.  
These common harms I wail among the rest,  
But private loss denies to be expressed.    

XIII. POEM. A P●●● in the nature of an Epitaph of a friend.  

IF stepdame nature hath been scant,  
In dealing beauty's gifts to me:  
My wit shall help supply that want,  
And skill in steed of shape shall be.  
My stature I confess is small,  
And therefore nill I boast of war.   

My name shall fill the heavens and all,  
This skin shall serve to hide that scar.  
My head to bear the helm unfit,  
My hands unapt to murder men:  
But little heads oft hold much wit,  
And feeble hands can guide a Pen.    

XIIII. POEM. Love's contentment.  

DEath is my doom, awarded by disdain,  
A lingering death that will not let me die,  
This length of life is lenghtning of my pain,  
And length of pain gets strength of pain thereby:  
And strength of pain, makes pain of longer last,  
Ah who hath tied my life to pain so fast?   

And yet I seem, as if I did but fain,  
Or make my grief much greater than I need,  
When as the care to hide my burning pain,  
With secret sighs, constrains my heart to bleed.  
Yet well I wot, believed I shall not be,  
Until by death a proof thereof you see.   

But if this lodge, the witness of my woe,  
Whose stony walls unheard my plaints contain,  
Had sense to feel, and tongue my pain to show,  
Which he enclosed, I utter all in vain.  
You soon should know that most I make my moan,  
Alone, if here that loves can be alone.   

Why should I seek to make my shame be known,  
That foolish love is causer of my pain:  
(Forgive me love) the speech is not mine own,  
But so they speak that thee and thine disdain.  
And I myself confess my skill too small,  
To plead for love, and clear myself withal.   

What reason can my simple wit devise,  
Why bootless grief should thus my mind afflict?  
I love the thoughts, that love itself despise,  
I seek for that I never look to find.  
Oft have I heard, on which I think I die,  
Thine angry tongue all kind of love defy.   

Yet is my life upon thy promise stayed,  
By which thou hast assured me of thy love,  
And though thereby my hair be not allayed,  
No stay of slight, where gain is still above.  
Yet since thy heart can yield to love no more,  
I rest content, although I die therefore,   
Quis Deus opposuit nostris sua numin votis?   

XV. POEM. A repentant Poem.  

THough late my heart, yet turn at last,  
And shape thy course another way,  
'tis better lose thy labour past,  
Then follow on to sure decay.  
What though thou long have strayed awry,  
In hope of grace for mercy cry.   

Though weight of sin doth press thee down,  
And keep thee grovelling on the ground,  
Though black despair, with angry frown,  
Thy wit and judgement quite confound:  
Though time and wit have been misspent,  
Yet grace is left if thou repent.   

Weep then my heart, weep still and still,  
Nay melt to floods of flowing tears,  
Send out such shrieks as heaven may fill,  
And pierce thine angry judge's ears,  
And let thy soul that harbours sin,  
Bleed streams of blood to drown it in.   

Then shall thine angry judge's face,  
To cheerful looks itself apply,  
Then shall thy soul be filled with grace,  
And fear of death constrained to fly.  
Even so my God, oh when? how long?  
I would, but sin is too too strong.   

I strive to rise, sin keeps me down,  
I fly from sin, sin follows me,  
My will doth reach at glories crown,  
Weak is my strength, it will not be.  
See how my fainting soul doth pant,  
O let thy strength supply my want.    

XVI. POEM. Unions jewel.  

diverse rare gems in thee O union shine:  
First seven Margarits in thy jewel stand,  
Matilda's three, three Jane's of regal line,  
Two royal Maries, two Eliza's, and  
One Isbell, Anne, Sibyl, and Margery,  
All royal gems, set princely shine in thee.   

But first in it doth Agasia shine,  
Who first with Dutstus it began to make.  
Then Margaret, next of our King Edgar's line,  
Whom Malcolme King of Scots to wife did take.  
Whose grandchild Mawde our Empress did conjoin,  
Scots, Saxon, Norman blood in our King's line.   

For their child Mawde, our first Henry did marry,  
Of them Matild our said Empress did spring:  
By whose second husband our Kings did carry  
Name of great Plantagenet then Scots King.  
First Alexander did Sibilla wed,  
Who sprung from out William Conquerors bed.   

The third Matild their first King David married,  
Earl Waldoffes' daughter, Niece to great K. William:  
jane our King john's daughter thither was carried  
By their second Alexander after came  
Their third King Alexander who did marry  
Another Margaret, daughter of our third Harry.   

From them two did another Margaret spring,  
Who by Norway's Prince a fourth Margaret had,  
Scots infant Queen: whom first Edward our King:  
To have married to his Son, would have been glad.  
So Scotland's Pears would too: her death said nay,  
Which only this great union than did stay.   

Though that most noble and victorious king,  
This natural union could not then advance,  
Another he as great t'effect did bring  
When he his son married to th'heir of France,  
Isbell, by whom since all our Kings have claimed  
The crown of France, which some of them have gained.   

Though this our second Edward did prevent,  
That he from Scotland did not take his wife,  
His daughter jane performed his intent  
With second David spending there her life.  
He did the child of second Edward marry,  
As third Alexander did of our third Harry.   

Without issue they died, than Margery,  
Their first King Robert's daughter Bruse by name,  
Scots Queen by birth, must needs remembered be:  
By whom Lord Stewart did increase his fame.  
From them second Robert, & james Stewart from him  
Third Robert named, whence first james did begin.   

A valiant Prince who spent his youthful prime,  
In martial deeds, with our fift Henry in France:  
To whom our sixth King Henry in his time,  
jane our third Edward's grandchild did advance  
In marriage, she of Henry Bewford sprung,  
Somersets Earl was virtuous, fair and young.   

Fifth Margaret Richmond's Countess forth did bring  
Our seventh Henry, who one division ended,  
With Eliza, heir of our fourh Edward King:  
From both whom great'st Margaret of all descended:  
From whom & fourth james fift james Scottish king:  
And from him Mary Scots last Queen did spring.   

Fourth james being dead, Margaret did Douglas marry,  
They a daughter Margaret had, Earl Lyneux wife:  
Whose son Lord Darnley married their last Marry,  
Of whom comes Charles james finisher of strife.  
Who with Anne makes union by the childless death,  
Of our Queen's Mary, and Elizabeth.   

The rarest pearls, and richest Margarits all,  
Which ever did in any jewel stand:  
The rarest jewel too, and most Angelical,  
Almost made up by God and Nature's hand,  
By men to be finished, to this Isle sent,  
Then to be worn for her best ornament.    

XVII. POEM. Or Panegyricke to my Sovereign Lord the King.  

GReat King, since first this I'll by Jove's own hand,  
Was set apart within great Ocean's arms,  
And was appointed by herself to stand,  
Fenced round about with rocks from foreign harms:  
She into sundry parts hath oft been torn,  
And greatest wounds by her own blows hath borne.   

But all the fractions now which man did make,  
Since it in one whole number nature gave,  
Are added up, and brought to one great stake,  
And being all sum'de up, one total have.  
For Britain now to all the dividend,  
In one whole quotient all doth comprehend.   

For thou the Monarch of this western I'll,  
Now all her shivered parts hast brought together:  
Spreading thy Empire's wings eight hundred mile  
In length, and four in breadth, there staying neither.  
But over old Ocean's breast thy arm doth stretch  
Through Ireland, making it to India reach.   

To juda thou the Tribes hast brought again,  
Which by themselves did in Samaria dwell:  
jordane by thee whose stream did run amain,  
Is now dried up, that every Tribe may well  
To other go: thou hast broke down the wall,  
Which Adrian made, and which we Picticke call.   

Thou virtue's Orb where Fame is still ascendent,  
And never can her highest auge attain,  
Conqueror of all hearts, all flatteries transcendent,  
Who hold'st it loss to take, to give great gain.  
Of bounteous deeds the ever-running spring,  
To many wealth, to all dost gladness bring.   

The Muse's darling, who with golden Pen,  
And silu'red tongue thy princely mind canst tell,  
In whom learning, a Prince's richest gem,  
Both humane, and divine abounding dwell.  
The great contriver of this triple I'll,  
To one Imperial Diadem and stile.   

The royal product of the princely Dove,  
Which England's Noah from peace's Ark sent forth,  
After war's deluge, who Olive branch of love,  
Dost bring with thee in thy return from North:  
How joyfully did Britain reach her hand.  
To take thee int' the Ark of this her land?   

With great Eliza glory of her own,  
Wonder of future times, true Church's nurse,  
The ancient faith's reviver, on whom were shown,  
Heaven's blessings, all men's prayers, no man's curse.  
Fortune's favours, nature's wealth Gods high grace,  
The Muse's lodge, all virtues dwelling place.   

Our Sun did set with great Elizabeth,  
Before night thou a new daylight didst bring,  
Our summer's peace did close at her cold death,  
Without war's winter thou Renewdst our spring,  
All our lives joys with her dead seemed to be,  
Before entombed they were revived by thee.   

Centre of royal births, in whom do meet,  
Lines drawn from all the noble Conqueror's blood,  
Which ever in any part with warlike feet,  
Of this great Isle's circumference have stood,  
With thy fair Queen, a sea whither do run,  
Streams of all royal blood of Christendom.   

Both royal plants whence princely branches spring,  
Whereon grow our best fruits of hope and joy,  
Great offsprings both, of many a Noble King,  
An antidote sh' against this lands annoy.  
In whose mild looks hath princely majesty,  
A marriage made with modest courtesy.   

She virtue's book bound in a golden cover,  
Wherein nature hath writ with Gods own quill,  
All beauty's learning, where thou her true lover,  
Mayst read sweet lectures of delight at will.  
And on the frame of whose divinest feature,  
All graces shine that can be in a creature.   

Sprung of a double, knit to a triple King,  
Late quadruple, the holy number, Three,  
Grateful to God did seem more apt to bring,  
Peace to this Land with love and unity.  
Plant royal, set by juno in this land,  
Whose ancestors by Mars here once did stand.   

Sacred beauty makes seem angelical,  
Thee heavenly wisdom to the stars do raise,  
Minerva her, Apollo thee do call  
Their darlings, both truest themes of all our praise.  
Together live and love, and long do reign,  
To our, to your, to Gods, joy, bliss and gain.    
here endeth the Poems.   


I. DEVICE. A Lottery presented before the late Queen's Majesty at the Lord Chancellor's house. 1601.  
A Mariner with a Box under his arm, containing all the several things following supposed to come from the Carack came into the Presence singing this Song.  

CYnthia Queen of Seas and Lands,  
That fortune every where commands,  
Sent forth fortune to the Sea,  
To try her fortune every way.  
There did I fortune meet, which makes me now to sing,  
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor service to the King.   

All the Nymphs of Thetis train,  
Did Cinthia's fortunes entertain:  
Many a jewel, many a gem,  
Was to her fortune brought by them.  
Her fortune sped so well, as makes me now to sing,  
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor service to the King.   

Fortune that it might be seen,  
That she did serve a royal Queen,  
A frank and royal hand did bear,  
And cast her favours every where.  
Some toys fell to my share, which makes me now to sing  
There is no fishing to the Sea nor service to the King.   
And the Song ended, he uttered this short speech.  GGd save you fair Ladies all: and for my part, if ever I be brought to answer my sins, God for give my sharking, and lay usury to my charge. I am a Mariner, and am now come from ihe sea, where I had the fortune to light upon these few tristes. I must confess I came but lightly by them, but I no sooner had them, but I made a vow, that as they came to my hands by Fortune, so I would not part with them but by Fortune. To that end I ever since carried these Lots about me, that if I met with fit company I might divide my booty among them. And now (I thank my good Fortunes) I am lighted into the best company of the world, a company of the fairest Ladies that ever I saw. Come Ladies try your fortunes, and if any light upon an unfortunate Blank, let her think that Fortune doth but mock her in these tristes, and means to pleasure her in greater matters. 

The Lots.  

1 Fortune's Wheel.  
FOrtune must now no more on triumph ride,  
The wheels are yours that did her Chariot's guide.   

2 A Purse.  
You thrive, or would or may, your Lots a Purse,  
Fill it with gold, and you are ne'er the worse.   

3 A Mask.  
Want you a Mask, here Fortune gives you one,  
Yet nature gives the Rose and Lily none.   

4 A looking glass.  
Blind Fortune doth not see how fair you be,  
But gives a glass that you yourself may see.   

5 A Hankerchiefe.  
Whether you seem to weep, or weep indeed,  
This Handkerchief will stand you well in steed.   

6 A plain Ring.  
Fortune doth lend you, hap it well or ill,  
This plain gold Ring, to wed you to your will.   

7 A Ring with this Poesy. As faithful as I find.  
Your hand by Fortune on this Ring doth light,  
And yet the words do hit your humour right.   

8 A pair of Gloves.  
Fortune these Gloves to you in challenge sends,  
For that you love not fools that are her friends.   

9 A dozen of Points.  
You are in every point a lover true,  
And therefore Fortune gives the points to you.   

10. A Lace.  
Give her the Lace that love's to be straightlaced,  
So Fortune's little gift, is aptly placed.   

11 A pair of Knives.  
Fortune doth give these pair of Knives to you,  
To cut the thread of love if't be not true.   

12 A Girdle.  
By Fortune's Girdle you may happy be,  
But they that are less happy are more free.   

13 A pair of writing Tables.  
These Tables may contain your thoughts in part,  
But writ not all, that's written in your heart.   

14 A pair of Garters.  
Though you have Fortunes Garters. you must be,  
More stayed and constant in your steps then she.   

15 A Coif and Cross cloth.  
Frown in good earnest, or be sick in jest,  
This Coif and Crossecloth will become you best.   

16 A Scarf.  
Take you this Scarf, bind Cupid hand and foot,  
So love must ask you leave before he shoot.   

17 A Falling Band.  
Fortune would make you rise, yet guides your hand,  
From other Lots to take the falling band.   

18. A Stomacher.  
This Stomacher is full of windows wrought,  
Yet none through them can see into your thought.   

19 A pair of Sizzers.  
These Sizzers do your housewifery bewray,  
You love to work, though you are borne to play.   

20. A Chain.  
Because you scorn loves Captive to remain,  
Fortune hath sworn to lead you in a Chain.   

21 Prayer Book.  
Your Fortune may prove good another day,  
Till Fortune come, take you a book to pray.   

22. A Snuftkin.  
'tis Summer yet, a Snuftkin is your Lot,  
But 'twill be winter one day, doubt you not.   

23. A Fan.  
You love to see, and yet to be unseen,  
Take you this Fan to be your beauty's screen.   

24. A pair of Bracelets.  
Lady your hands are fallen into a snare,  
For Cupid's manacles these Bracelets are.   

25 A Bodkin.  
Even with this Bodkin you may live unharmed,  
Your beauty is with virtue so well armed.   

26 A Necklace.  
Fortune gives your fair neck this lace to wear,  
God grant a heavier yoke it never bear.   

27. A Cushinet.  
To her that little cares what Let she wins,  
Chance gives a little Cushinet to stick pins.   

28. A Dial.  
The Dyal's yours, watch time lest it be lost,  
Yet they must lose it that doth watch it most.   

29 A Nutmeg with a blank Parchment in it.  
This Nutmeg holds a Blank, but chance doth hide it:  
Writ your own wish and Fortune will provide it.   

30 Blank.  
Wots you not why Fortune gives you no prize,  
Good faith she saw you not she wants her eyes.   

31 Blank.  
You are so dainty to be pleaszed, God wots,  
Chance knows not what to give you for a Lot.   

32 Blank.  
'tis pity such a hand should draw in vain,  
Though it gain nought, yet shall it pity gain.   

33 Blank.  
Nothing's your Lot, that's more than can be told,  
For nothing is more precious than gold.   

34 Blank.  
You fain would have, but what you cannot tell,  
In giving nothing Fortune serves you well.   
Sir I.D.    

II. DEVICE. Inscriptions.  

Thesbe.  
YE woeful Sires, whose causeless hate hath bred,  
Grief to yourselves, death to my love and me.  
Let us not be disjoined when we are dead,  
Though we alive conjoined could never be.  
Though cruel stars denied us two one bed  
Yet in one tomb us two entombed see.  
Like as the dart was one, and one the knife  
That did begin our love and end our life.   

Clytaemnestra to her son Orestes, coming to kill her for murdering his father Agamemnon.  
HOld hold thy hand, vile son of viler mother.  
Death I deserve, but O not by thy knife.  
One parent to revenge, wilt thou kill other,  
And gives her death that gave thee (wretch thy life.  
Furies will plague thy murders execrable,  
Stages will play thee, and all mother's curse thee.  
To wound this womb or breast, how art thou able,  
When the one did bear thee, and the other nurse thee?   

AIAX.  
THis sword is mine, or will Laertes son,  
Win this as he Achilles armour won?  
This sword which you O Greeks oft bathed have known  
In Trojan blood, I'll now bathe in mine own.  
This fearful breast which all my enemies fierce  
Have left unpierst, now I myself will pierce.  
So men shall say, Aiax to none did yield,  
But t'Aiax self, and Aiax, Aiax killed.   

ROMULUS.  
NO common womb was fit me forth to bring,  
But a pure virgin Priest, child to a King.  
No mortal father worthy was to breed me,  
Nor humane milk was fierce enough to feed me,  
Therefore the God of war by wonder bred me,  
And a She-wolf by no less wonder fed me.  
In fine, the Gods because earth was too base  
T'entomb me dead, did me in heaven place.   

Fabritius Curio, who refused gold of the Samnites, and discovered to King Pyrrhus his Physician that offered to poison him.  
MY famous Country values gold fare less,  
Then conquest brave of such as gold possess.  
To be o'ercome with wealth I do not use,  
And to o'ercome with poison I refuse,  
No hand love's more than mine, to give to many,  
No hart hates more than mine to take of any.  
With so firm steel, virtue my mind hath armed,  
That not by gold nor iron it can be harmed.   

Cato Utican, Who slew himself because he would not fall into Caesar's bands.  
CAESAR, thou hast o'ercome to thy great fame  
Proud Germans, valiant gaul's, and Britons rude,  
Rome's liberty (but to thine eternal shame)  
And her great Champion thou hast eke subdued.  
Yet nether shall thy triumphs with my name,  
Be graced, nor sword be with my blood imbrued.  
Though all the conquered earth do now serve thee,  
Cato will dye unconquered, and free.    

III. DEVICE.  

Quid pluma levius? Puluis. Quid puluere? Ventus.  
Quid vento? Mulier. Quid mul●ure, Nihil.   
Translated thus.  

DVst is lighter than a Feather,  
And the wind more light then either:  
But a woman's fickle mind,  
More than a Feather, Dust, or Wind.    

four DEVICE. Or a Dialogue between the Lover and his heart.  L 
Speak gentle heart, where is thy dwelling place,  H 
With her whose birth the heavens themselues have ble●  L. 
What dost thou here?  H. 
Sometimes behold her fac●  
And lodge sometimes within her crystal breast.  L. 
She could thou hot, how can you then agree?  H. 
Not Nature now, but love doth govern me.  L. 
With her wilt thou remain, and let me dye?  H. 
If I return we both shall dye for grief.  L. 
If still thou stay, what shall I get thereby,  H. 
I'll move her heart to purchase thy reliefs  L. 
What if her heart be hard, and stop his ears?  H. 
I'll sigh aloud, and make him soft with tears.  L. 
If that prevail, wilt thou return from thence?  H. 
Not I alone, my heart shall come with me.  L. 
Then will you both live under my defence?  H. 
So long as life will let us both agree.  L. 
Why then despair, go pack thee hence away.  H. 
I live in hope to have a happy day.   

V DEVICE. Or a Dialogue between a Lover, Death, and Love..  Lover. 
Come gentle death.  D. 
Who calls?  L. 
one that's oppressed.  D. 
What is thy will?  L. 
That thou abridge my woe,  
By cutting off my life.  D. 
Cease thy request,  
I cannot kill thee yet.  L. 
Alas, why so?  D. 
Thou want'st thy heart.  L. 
who stole that same away?  D. 
Love whom thou servest, entreat him if thou may.  Lover. 
COme Cupid come.  C. 
Who calleth me so oft?  L. 
Thy vassal true who thou should know by right.  C. 
What makes thy cry so faint?  L. 
My voice is soft,  
Quite broke and spent with crying day and night.  C. 
What then, what's thy request?  L. 

That thou restore  
To me my heart, and steal the same no more.   

And thou O death, when I possess my heart,  
Dispatch me then at once.   D. 
Alas why so?  L. 
By promise thou art bound to end my smart.  D. 
But if thy heart return, then what's thy woe?  D. 
That brought from frost, it never will desire,  
To rest with me that am more hot than fire.   

VI DEVICE Phaleuciacks.  
TIme nor place did I want, what held me tongtide?  
What charms, what magical abused Altars?  
Wherefore wish 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 bootless 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.   

VII. DEVICE. Phaleuciacke.  
HOw, or where have I lost my life? 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 even 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.  

lenvoy in rhyming Phalenciacks.  
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.    

VIII DEVICE. Phaleuciacks.  
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 the shore had I launched, when all about me,  
Waves like hills did rise, till help from heaven  
Brought my Ship to the Port of late repentance.   

IX. DEVICE. An Altar and Sacrifice to disdain, for freeing him from love.  
 concrete poem in shape of altar 

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

Long suits in vain,  
Hate for goodwill:  
Stil-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 & demitum pedibus calcamus amorem.   

X. DEVICE. 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 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.   

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

XII. DEVICE. Saphickes upon the Passion of Christ.  
HAtred eternal, furious revenging,  
Merciless raging, bloody persecuting,  
Scandalous speeches, odious revile  
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 yields,  
Sound then his praises, to the world's amazement  
Thankfully singing.   

XIII. DEVICE. 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,  
Nor more your heart is moved,  
To end your grief and mine, so long time proved.  
But if I yield, and so your love decreaseth.  
Then I my lover lose, and your love ceaseth.   
Ignoto.   

A DEVISO.  


De lapsu hominis in Adam.  
PAuper amabilis & venerabilis est benedictus,  
Dives inutilis, insatiabilis, est maledictus  
Qui bona negligit, & mala diligit, intrat abyssum.  
Nulla potentia, nulla pecunia liberat ipsum,  
Irr●meabilis, insattabilis, illa vorago,  
Hic ubi me●gitur, horrida cernitur omnis imago.  
Vir miserabilis Euaque flebilis hoc subierunt,  
Hic cruciamina, per sua crimina, cum meruerunt.  
jussa Dei pia, iussa salubria si tenuissent,  
Vir neque foemina, nec sua semina, morte perissent,  
Sed quia spernere iussaque soluere non timuere,  
Mors gravis irruit, hoc merito fuit, & periere.  
janua mortis passio fortis orimen eorum,  
Attulit orbi semina morbi, tot que malorum.  
Illa parentes, atque sequentes culpa peremit,  
Atque piarum deliciarum munus ademit.  
Flebile satum dans cruciatum, dansque dolorem,  
Illa morenti perdere tanti regis honorem.  
Est data saevam causa per Euam perditionis,  
Dum meliorem sperat honorem voce dracenis,  
Hec male credens, nos quoque laedens crimine magno,  
Omnia tristi subdidit isti saecula damno.  
Stirps miserorum plena dolorum postea crevit,  
His quoque damnis pluribus annis subdita flevit.   

De restitutione hominis per Christum.  
SEd Deus omnipotens, qui verbo cuncta creavit,  
Sic cecidisse dolens homines quos semper amavit,  
Ipse suum verbum transmisit ad infima mundi,  
Exulibus miseris aperire viam redeundi.  
Filius ergo Dei descendit ab arce superna  
Nunquam descedens a maiestate paterna,  
Qui corpus sumens animatum, numine saluo  
Processit natus sacrae de virginis aluo.  
Verus homo, verusque Deus, pius & miserator,  
Verus saluator, nostraeque salutis amator,  
Sponte sua moriens mortem moriendo peremit  
Et sic perpetua miseros a morte redemit,  
Namque pia de morte resurgens, ut Leo fortis,  
Restituit vitam prostrato principe mortis.    


Of the fall of man in Adam.  
THE poor man beloved, for virtue approved,  
rignt blessed is he,  
Where covetous chuff who never hath enough,  
accursed shall be.  
Who goodness rejecteth, and evil affecteth,  
shall fall in the pit,  
No plenty of pence, shall free him from thence,  
no power nor wit.  
Both unrepassable and unsatiable,  
that galph will appear,  
Imbog'd he shall be, where nought he shall see,  
but horror and fear.  
Adam unstable, and Eve variable,  
the very first time,  
By falling from God, deserved this rod,  
(O horrible crime,)  
For had they adhered to God, and him feared,  
by keeping his reed,  
Then death had not come on, the man or the woman,  
or any their seed.  
But when as the man, from God's will began,  
basely to revolt,  
For his grievous sin, death came rushing in,  
and on him laid holt:  
This was the great crime, which at the first time,  
by craft of the devil,  
Did bring in the seed, of sickness and need,  
and all other evil:  
This was the sin, which first did begin,  
our parents to kill,  
And heavenly food, prepared for our good,  
did utterly spill.  
Unhappy the fate, which first such a state,  
such sorrow did bring,  
To him that had lost, so much to our cost,  
our heavenly King,  
The credulous Eve, 'twas she that did give,  
the cause of such evil,  
Hoping that honour, would come more upon her,  
deceived by the devil.  
Believing of him, did make her to sin,  
to all our great loss,  
For mankind  sense, received from hence,  
an horrible cross.  
For all the Nations, through all generations,  
which after have been,  
With grief of their heart, have tasted the smart  
of that primitive sin.   

Of the restoring of man by Christ.  
But jove omnipotent, all things  
by his word who created,  
Grieving man to be fall'n,  
whose love was in him so innated,  
Sent from above his word,  
for man to prepare a returning  
Thence, where else had he lain,  
through all eternity burning.  
So Gods only begotten Son,  
came down to redeem us,  
Yet did he still himself,  
his father's glory beteeme us.  
A body formed with a soul,  
to his divinity taking,  
And to be borne of a virgin,  
his humanity making.  
Born very God, very man,  
he a man God, merciful, holy,  
Purchased our salvation,  
was our Saviour wholly.  
For by his willing death,  
he death's self wholly defeated,  
And so us all from eternal death,  
by death rebegetted,  
From death again rising,  
he death's Prince mightily maimed,  
Whereby his own from death,  
to eternal life he regained,      
The end of the first Book.   

THE SECOND BOOK OF Sonnets and Canzonets.  


I. SONNET.  

WHen traitorous Photine, Caesar did present  
With his great rivals honourable head,  
He taught his eyes a stream of tears to shed  
Hiding in his false heart his true content.   

And Hannibal when Fortunes balance light,  
Razed low brought Rome and swayed proud Carthage down,  
While all but he, bewailed their yielding town  
He laughed to ease his swelling hearts despite.   

Thus cunning minds can mask with diverse art,  
Grief under feigned smiles, joy under tears,  
Like Hannibal I cannot hide my fears,  
Setting clear looks upon a cloudy heart.  
But let me joys enjoy, Deer you shall try,  
Caesar hide not his joys so well as I.    

II. SONNET.  
While Love in you did live, I only lived in you,  
While you for me did burn, for you alone I burned,  
While you did sigh for me, for you I sigh and mourned,  
Till you proved false to me, to you I was most true.  
But since love died in you, in you I live no more,  
Your heart a Servant new, mine a new Saint enjoyeth:  
My sight offends your eyes, mine eyes your sight annoyeth  
Since you held me in scorn, by you I set no store.  
Yet if dead Love, if your late flames return,  
If you lament your change, & count me your sole treasure,  
My love more fresh shall spring, my flame more bright shall burn.  
I'll love none else but you▪ & love you without measure,  
If not (untrue) farewell: in sand I'll sow no grain,  
Nor plant my love but where love yields me love again.   

III. SONNET. To Mistress Diana.  
PHoebus of all the Gods I wish to be:  
Not of the world to have the overseeing:  
For of all things in the world's circuit being  
One only thing I always wish to see.  
Not of all herbs the hidden force to know,  
For ah my wound by herbs cannot be cured:  
Not in the Sky to have a place assured,  
For my ambition lies on earth below.  
Not to be Prince of the Celestial choir,  
For I one Nymph prise more than all the Muses:  
Not with his bow to offer Love abuses,  
For I Love's vassal am, and dread his ire.  
But that thy light from mine, might borrowed be,  
And fair Diana might shine under me.   

four SONNET. Dedication of these Rhymes to his first Love..  
IF my harsh humble stile, 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 fight victorious.  
If these dim colours have your worth expressed,  
Laid by lover's hand, and not by Art laborious,  
Your Sunlike rays have my wit's harvest blessed,  
Enabled 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 it?  
I wondrous fair, he wondrous dear loving,  
How can his thoughts but make his pen be moving?   

V SONNET. That he cannot hide or dissemble his affection.  
I bend my wits, and beat my weary brain,  
To keep my in ward grief, from outward show,  
Alas I cannot: now 'tis vain I know,  
To hide a fire, whose flame appeareth plain.  
I 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.  
Yet blame not (Deer) this undissembled passion:  
For well may love, within small limits bounded,  
Be wisely masked in a disguised fashion.  
But he, whose heart, like mine, is throughly wounded,  
Can never feign, no though he were assured,  
That feigning might have greater grace procured.   

VI SONNET. Upon his absence from her.  
THe fairest eye, (O eyes in blackness fair)  
That ever shined, and the most heavenly face,  
The daintiest smiling, the most conquering grace,  
And sweetest breath that ere perfumed the air,  
Those cherry lips, whose kiss might well repair  
A dead man's state that speech did displace  
All mean desires, and all affections base,  
Clogging swift hope, and winging dead despair,  
That snow-white breast, and all those faultless features,  
Which made her seem a personage divine,  
And fare excelling fairest humane creatures,  
Hath absence banished from my cursed eine.  
But in my heart, as in a mirror clear,  
All these perfections to my thoughts appear.   

VII. SONNET. 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 maiden Queen,  
Than 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'Adamantine rocks great power is shown:  
But to your conquering eyes, whose force once known  
Makes even iron hearts loathe then to part?  
Or who of Proteus sundry tranformations,  
May better send you the new-fained Story,  
Then I whose love unfeigned 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.   

VIII. SONNET. 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 wrong.  
Wake Pity, wake, O do no more prolong  
Thy needful help! but quickly here my prayer  
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 dye, and dying hold my peace.  
And only live, and living mercy cry,  
Because her glory in my death will die.   

IX. SONNET. 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 dear) you speak not from your heart,  
To heinous wrongs you do together bind.  
To seek with glozing words mine eyes to blind,  
And yet with hateful deeds my love to thwart.  
To want what one deserves engrieves his pain,  
Because it takes away all self accusing:  
And under kindest words to make disdain,  
Is to a vexed soul too much abusing.  
Then if it be false, such glozing words refrain:  
If true, O then let worth his worth obtain.   

X. SONNET. Her answer in the same Rome's.  
IF your fond love want worth and great desert,  
Then blame yourself that 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 love is your fault 'twere some abusing,  
With bitter words t'enuenome much disdain.  
Then if't be true, all glozing I refrain,  
If false, why should not worth worths due obtain.   

XI. SONNET. Upon her coming (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 unconstancy,  
My praises style, hero're praised 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 hoarse Muse (as you say) to sing clearly  
How much, how much should I love and 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 and earth resound your praise admired.   
My then green Heart so brightly did eflame.   

XII. SONNET. To a worthy Lord (now dead) upon presenting him for a New-yeares-gift, with Caesar's Commentaries and Cornelius Tacitus.  
WOrthily famous Lord, whose virtues rare,  
Set in the gold of never stained Nobility,  
And noble mind shining in true humility,  
Make you admired of all that virtuous are:  
If 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.  
But till yourself, or some such put them forth,  
Accept of these as Pictures of your worth.   

XIII. SONNET. 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,  
Love's 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 bright eyes, which have my heart inflamed.  
Since eyes, love, lines, err then by your direction,  
Excuse mines eyes, my Lines, and my affection.   

XIIII. SONNET. Love and justice punishable 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 arise,  
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 judge me as I have confessed:  
For if my doom in justice scales be weighed  
With equal love my love must be repaid.   

XV. SONNET. 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 never 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) of equal sovereignty.  
But if nor eyes, nor ears can prove it true,  
Witness my heart, there's none that equals you.  
How they make my poor heart at once to dwell,  
In fire and frost, in heaven and in hell.   

XVI. SONNET. Praise of her eyes excelling all comparison.  
I bend my wit, but wit cannot device,  
Words fit to blaze the worth, your eyes contains  
Whose nameless worth, their worthless name disdains,  
For they in worth exeeede the name of eyes.  
Eyes they be not, but worlds in which there lies,  
More bliss than this wide world besides contains.  
Worlds they be not but stars, whose influence reigns,  
Over my life and lives 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 in flame my heart.  
Since then in Earth, nor Heaven, they equalled are,  
I must confess they be beyond compare.   

XVII. SONNET. Contention of Love and Reason for his heart.  
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,  
Love's 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 these 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 love's royalty  
He pledged my heart, as hostage for his loyalty.   

XVIII. SONNET. 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 gracious, in your heavenly face,  
I weigh not Fates, nor Stars, nor Fortune's ire,  
'tis not the influence of heaven's 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 expire.  
'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, and Stars conspire mine ill.  
Then (blessed Saint) into your favour take me,  
Fortune, nor Fate, nor Stars can wretched make me.   

XIX. SONNET. Of his Ladies weeping.  
WHat need I say how it doth wound my breast,  
By fate to be thus ravished from thine eyes  
Since your own tears by me doth sympathize,  
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 bear rest,  
Some of which tears, pressed forth by violence  
Your lips with greedy kissing strait did drink:  
And othersome 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 garment stay.   

XX. SONNET. He paints out his torment.  
Sweet, to my cursed life some favour show,  
Or let me not (accursed) in life remain:  
Let not my sense's sense of life retain,  
Since sense doth only yield me sense of woe,  
For now mine eyes only your frowns do know,  
Mine ears 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, oppressions and distress,  
Made even of wretchedness the wretched cave,  
Nay, too too wretched for vild wretchedness.  
For even sad sighs, as loathing there to rest,  
Struggle for passage from my grief-swollen breast.   

XXI. SONNET. His sighs and tears are bootless.  
I Have entreated, and I have complained,  
I have dispraised and praise I likewise 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 rockey heart may move:  
Therefore my sighs sigh in her ear 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, no sighs her cares.   

XXII. SONNET. Her beauty makes him live even in despair.  
WOunded with grief, I weep, and sigh and plain  
Yet neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears do good  
But all in vain I strive against the flood,  
Gaining but grief for grief and 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 hell I feel,  
Though neither plaints, nor sighs nor tears can move you,  
Yet must I still persist ever to love you.   

XXIII. SONNET. Why her lips yield him no word of comfort.  
OFt do I plain, and she my plaints doth read,  
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 much 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 take no relief.  
Much do I muse, but find no cause in this,  
That in her lips her heavenly lips that bliss them,  
Her words loath thence to part, stay there to kiss them.   

XXIIII. SONNET. Comparison of his heart to a tempest beaten Ship.  
LIke a Sea tossed Bark with tackling spent,  
And stars obscured his watery journey's 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 and tears,  
Tears flow like seas, and 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, my tears will rue it.   

XXV. SONNET. 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 h●●●●●e 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 that I must and yet cannot forsake her,  
My fruitless prayers shall cease in vain to move her:  
But my devoted heart ne'er cease to love her.   

XXVI. SONNET. He desires leave to write of his Love,  
MVst my devoted heart desist to love her?  
Not love I may, but I may not confess it,  
What harder 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 prayers 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 lean to say I love her!   

XXVII. SONNET. That time hath no power to end or diminish his love.  
TIme wasteth years, and months, and days & hours'  
Time doth consume fame, riches, wit and strength,  
Time kills the greenest herbs, and sweetest flowers,  
Time wears out youth, and beauty's pride at length,  
Time maketh every tree to dye and rot:  
Time turneth oft our pleasure into pain.  
Time causeth wars and wrongs to be forgot,  
Time clears the sky that first hung full of rain.  
Time brings to nought the mightiest Princes state,  
Time brings a flood from new resolved snow,  
Time calms the Sea where tempests roared late,  
Time ears whatsoever the Moon doth see below:  
Yet shall no time upon my heart prevail,  
Nor any time shall make my love to fail.   

XXVIII. SONNET. Of the Monne.  
Look how the pale Queen of the silent night,  
Doth cause the Ocean to attend upon her,  
And he as long as she is in his sight,  
With his full tide is ready her to honour:  
But when the silver waggon of the Moon  
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,  
The sea calls home his crystal waves to move,  
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow:  
So you that are the sovereign of my heart,  
Have all my joys attending on your will,  
My joys low ebbing when you do departed,  
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill  
So as you come, and as you do departed  
joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.   

Three Sonnets.  
That love only made him a Poet, and that all sorts of verses, both in rhyme and measure, agree with his Lady.  

XXIX. SONNET.  
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 to men 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 Castle 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 me to write:  
For Nature's graces are too fine for me,  
Praise like the Peacock prides herself to see,  
Desire of gain the basest minds delight.   

XXX. SONNET.  
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,  
Here 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 writ, by which I live?   

XXXI. SONNET.  
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 love's 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 and strife,  
Each word she speaks doth cause both death and life,  
Out of myself I live in her alone.    

XXXII. SONNET. Desire hath conquered revenge.  
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 hasts 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 flickered 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.   

XXXIII. SONNET. To his eyes.  
Unhappy eyes the causer of my pain,  
That to my so betrayed my strongest hold  
Wherein he like a tyrant now doth reign  
And boasts of winning that which reason sold.  
Too late you call for help to 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 dispersed the flame throughout my breast,  
No part is left to harbuor quiet rest,  
I burn in fire and do not spend:  
Like him whose growing maw,  
The vulture still doth gnaw.   

XXXIIII. SONNET. Ten Sonnets to Philomela.  

Sonnet I. Upon Love's entering by the ears.  
OFt did I hear our eyes the passage wear,  
By which Love entered to assail 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 Phylomel did bear.  
Yet let my heart thy heart to pittty 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 love's flames 'tis evermore consumed,  
Only because to love thee it presumed.    

XXXV. SONNET.  
O Why did Fame my heart to love betray,  
By telling my Deer 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 plaints and 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   

XXXVI. SONNET. 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 my 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 veil, which made my love abound,  
If sick (thought I) her beauty so excel,  
How matchless would it be if she were well.   

XXXVII. SONNET. Another of her sickness and recovery.  
PAle Death himself did love my Philomel,  
When he her virtues and rare beauty saw,  
Therefore he sickness sent: which should expel,  
His rivals' life, and my dear 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 love's Nature defended,  
For had she died, my love and life had ended.   

XXXVIII. SONNET. 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 near believes good news for true:  
Black fear the flag is, which my ship doth bear,  
Which (Deer) take down, if my love victor be:  
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.   

XXXIX. SONNET. Upon her looking secretly out at 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.  
Alas, my dear, 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?  
But if I had been blind, yet Love's 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 then cause was nigh.  
So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye  
Did turn to thee by mutual Sympathy.   

XL. SONNET.  
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 Philip's Son, scorning that I  
Should portraiture, which wanted Apelles Art,  
Commanded Love (who nought dare her deny)  
To burn the picture which was in my heart.  
The more love burned, the more her Picture shined:  
The more it shined, the more my heart did burn:  
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.   

XLI. SONNET. To the Sun of his Mistress beauty eclipsed with frowns.  
WHen as the Sun eclipsed is, some say,  
It thunder, lightning, rain, & wind portendeth,  
And not unlike but such things happen may,  
Sith like effects my Sun eclipsed sendeth.  
Witness my throat made hoarse with thundering cries,  
And heart with love's hot flashing lightnings fired:  
Witness the showers which still fall from mine eyes,  
And breast with sighs like stormy winds near rived.  
O 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.   

XLII. SONNET. Upon sending her a gold ring, with this Poesy, Pure and Endless.  
IF you would know the love which I you bear,  
Compare it to the Ring which your fair hand  
Shall make more precious, when you shall it wear:  
So my love's nature you shall understand.  
Is it of mettle pure? so you shall prove  
My love, which ne'er disloyal thought did stain.  
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 your more trying,  
And yet increaseth in the purifying.   

XLIII. SONNET. The heart's captivity.  
MY cruel dear having captived my heart,  
And bond it fast in chains of restless love:  
Requires it out of bondage to departed,  
Yet is she sure from her it cannot move.  
Draw back (said she) your hopeless love from me,  
Your worth requires a fare more worthy place,  
Unto your suit though I cannot agree,  
Full many will it lovingly embrace.  
It may be so (my dear) 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.  
I. D.   

XLIIII. SONNET. For her heart only.  
Only (sweet Love) afford me but thy heart  
Then close thine eyes within their ivory covers,  
That they to me no beam of light impart,  
Although they shine on all thy other lovers.  
As for thy lip of ruby, cheek of rose,  
Though I have kissed them oft with sweet content,  
I am content that sweet content to lose,  
If they sweet Will will not 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,  
For than I know thou wilt the rest impart.   

XLV. SONNET.  
BEst pleased she is, when love is most expressed,  
And sometime says that love should be requited,  
Yet is she grieved my love should now be righted,  
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.   

XLVI. SONNET.  
WHen a weak child is sick, and out of quiet,  
And for his tenderness cannot sustain  
Physic of equal strength unto his pain,  
Physicians to the Nurse prescribe a diet.  
O 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.  
But 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.  
Yet I assure myself, I should not die,  
If she were purged of her cruelty.   

XLVII. 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 high as heaven above the plain,  
And you (my love) as humble and as low,  
As are the deepest bottoms of the Main,  
Wheresoever 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,  
Where soe'er I am, below, or else above you,  
Where soe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.   

XLVIII. SONNET.  
THe Poets fain, that when the world began,  
Both sexes in one body did remain,  
Till love (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 counterpart.  
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.   

XLIX. SONNET. Loves seven deadly sins.  
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,  
3. And Envious bears envy, that my thought  
Should in his absence be to her so nigh.  
4. To kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,  
And so content 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 love's sweet fire.   

L. SONNET. To two most Honour 〈◊〉 and virtuous Ladies and Sisters, the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, the Lady Anne Countess of Warwick.  
YE Sister-Muses, do not you repine,  
That I two Sisters do with nine compare,  
Since each of these is fare more truly rare,  
Then the whole troop of all the heavenly nine.  
But if ye ask me which is more divine,  
I answer, like to their twin eyes 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 tongues take pleasure to speak well,  
How should I you command sith either one  
All things in heaven and earth so fare excel?  
The on  praise I can you give is this,  
That one of you, like to the other is.  
H. C.   

LI. SONNET. To my Lord the Prince.  
Darling of these, of future times the glory,  
Branch royal sprung from many a regal stem,  
On whose fair structure, written is the story,  
Of nature's chiefest skill, world's choicest gem:  
Wits richest Cabinet, virtue's best array,  
Centre where lines of all hearts loves do meet.  
Sweet ground whereon the Muse's love to play,  
Ripe in wit, though green in years, of form most sweet,  
Scotland's fair fruit, England's great hope, Frances love,  
Ireland's awe, Cambraies joy, great Britain's fame,  
Abridgement of all worth, the mighty jove,  
Long lengthen your good days, and still your name,  
And when you shall have honoured long this land,  
Grant you a glorious Saint in heaven to stand.   

LII. SONNET. To the excellent Lady Elizabeth her Grace.  
Fair virtue's gem set in most royal gold,  
The worthiest owner of the fairest mansion,  
Rich prize for which nature and fortune hold  
With Muses and graces Great contention:  
All which by agreement this partition make,  
None of themselves worthy of all discerning,  
Nature your beauty, Graces your virtues take,  
Fortune shares your honour, Muses your learning.  
Map of perfection, who deserve to be,  
And are the worthiest mark the world can yield,  
For all great Christian Princes loves, they see  
Such virtue's wheat, growing in beauty's field:  
Long may you live, a holy and happy life,  
A royal maid first, than a royal wife.   
The end of the Sonnets.   

Of Canzonets.  

I. CANZONET. THE LIE.  

Go soul the body's guest  
upon a thankless arrant,  
Fear not to touch the best,  
the truth shall be thy warrant:  
Go since I needs must dye,  
and give the world the lie.   

Say to the Court it glows,  
and shines like rotten wood,  
Say to the Church it shows  
what's good, and doth no good.  
If Church and Court reply.  
Then give them both the lie.   

Tell Potentates they live  
acting by others action,  
Not loved unless they give,  
not strong but by affection.  
If Potentates reply,  
give Potentates the lie.   

Tell men of high condition,  
that manage the estate,  
Their purpose is ambition,  
their practice only hate:  
And if they once reply,  
then give them all the lie.   

Tell them that brave it most,  
they beg for more by spending,  
Who in their greatest cost,  
like nothing but commending.  
And if they make reply,  
then give them all the lie.   

Tell zeal it wants devotion,  
tell love it is but lust:  
Tell time it meets but motion,  
tell flesh it is but dust.  
And wish them not reply,  
for thou must give the lie.   

Tell age it daily wasteth,  
tell honour how it altars,  
Tell beauty how she blasteth,  
tell favour how it falters.  
And as they shall reply,  
give every one the lie.   

Tell wit how much it wrangles  
in tickle points of niceness,  
Tell wisdom she entangles  
herself in over wiseness.  
And when they do reply,  
strait give them both the lie.   

Tell Physic of her boldness,  
tell skill it is prevention:  
Tell Charity of coldness,  
tell law it is contention,  
And as they do reply,  
so give them still the lie.   

Tell fortune of her blindness,  
tell nature of decay,  
Tell friendship of unkindness,  
tell justice of delay.  
And if they will reply,  
then give them all the lie.   

Tell Arts they have no soundness,  
but vary by esteeming,  
Tell schools they want profoundness,  
and stand so much on seeming.  
If Arts and Schools reply,  
give arts and schools the lie.   

Tell Faith it's fled the City,  
Tell how the country erreth,  
Tell manhood shakes of pity,  
tell virtue least preferred.  
And if they do reply,  
spare not to give the lie.   

So when thou hast as I,  
commanded thee, done blabbing,  
Because to give the lie,  
deserves no less than stabbing:  
Stab at thee he that will,  
no stab thy soul can kill.    

Cuddies Emblem.  Questo per amar l'aquista. 

II. CANZONET. The Christian Stoic.  
THe virtuous man is free, though bound in chains,  
though poor, content, though banished, yet no stranger,  
Though sick, in health of mind, secure in danger,  
And o'er himself, the world, and fortune reigns.  
Nor good haps, proud, nor bad, dejected make him,  
To Gods, not to man's will, he frames each action;  
He seeks no fame, but inward satisfaction,  
And firmer stands, the more bad fortunes shakes him.    

III. CANZONET. Upon seeing his face in her eye.  

FAirest and kindest of all womenkind:  
Since you did me the undeserved grace,  
In 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 heaven's 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, not by Time, nor Death can razed be.    

four CANZONET. A Dialogue between a Lover's flaming heart, and his Lady's frozen Breast.  Hart. 
Shun not (sweet Breast) to see me all of fire.  Breast. 
Fly not (dear Hart) to find me all of snow.  Hart. 
Thy snow inflame these flames of my desire.  Breast. 
And I desire, Desires sweet flames to know.  Ha. 
Thy snown'il hurt me.  Br. 
Nor thy fire will harm me.  Ha. 
This cold will cool me.  Br. 
And this heat will warm me:  Hart. 
Take this chaste fire to that pure virgin snow,  Breast. 
Being now thus warmed, I'll ne'er seek other fires  Hat. 
Tou giv'st more bliss than mortal hearts may know,  Breast. 
More bliss I take then Angels can desire.  Both together. 
Let one joy fill us, as one grief did harm us,  
Let one death kill us, as one love doth warm us.   

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

VI CANZONET. An inscription for the Statue of Dido.  
O most unhappy Dido,  
Unhappy Wife, and more unhappy Widow!  
Unhappy in thy Mate.  
And in thy Lover more unfortunate.  
By treason th'one was rest thee,  
By treason tother left thee.  
That left thee means to fly with,  
This left thee means to dye with.  
The former being dead,  
From Brother's sword thou fliest:  
The latter being fled,  
On Lovers, sword thou diest.  
Piu meritare, i conseguire. F. D.   

VII. CANZONET. Love's Hyperboles.  

IF Love had lost his shafts, and jove down threw  
His thunder bolts, or spent his forked fire,  
They only might recovered be anew  
From out my heart crosse-wounded with desire.  
Or if debate by Mars were lost a space,  
It might be found within the selfsame place.   

If Neptune's waves were all dried up and gone,  
My weeping eyes so many tears distil.  
That greater seas might grow by them alone:  
Or if no flame were yet remaining still.  
In Vulcan's forge, he might from out my breast  
Make choice of such as should befit him best.   

If Aeole were deprived of his charge,  
Yet soon could I restore his winds again,  
By sobbing sighs which forth I blow at large,  
To move her mind that pleasures in my pain,  
What man but I could thus incline his will,  
To live in love that hath no end of ill?    

VIII. CANZONET. An invective against Love..  

Love is a sour delight, a sugared grief,  
A living death, an ever-dying life.  
A breath of reason's law, a secret thief  
A sea of tears an everlasting strife,  
A bait for fools a scourge of noble wits,  
A deadly wound, a shot that ever hits.   

Love is a blinded God, a wayward Boy,  
A labyrinth of doubts, an idle lust,  
A slave of beauties will, a witless toy,  
A ravenous bird, a tyrant most unjust.  
A burning heat in frost, a flattering foe,  
A private hell, a very world of woe.   

Yet mighty Love regard not what I say,  
Who in a trance do lie, reft of my wits,  
But blame the light that leads me thus astray,  
And makes my tongue thus rave by frantic fits,  
Yet hurt me not, lest I sustain the smart,  
Which am content to lodge her in my heart.    

VIII. CANZONET. Petrarks' Sonnet translated. Pace non trovo, & non hodasar guera.  

I joy not Peace where yet no war is found,  
I fear and hope. I burn, yet frieze withal  
I mount to heaven, yet lie still on the ground,  
I nothing hold, yet I compass all.  
I live her bond, which neither is my foe,  
Nor friend, nor holds me fast, nor lets me go.   

Love will not let me live, nor let me dye,  
Nor locks me fast, nor suffers me to scape.  
I want both eyes and tongue, yet see I cry.  
I wish for death, yet after help I gape.  
I hate myself, yet love another wight,  
And feed on grief in lieu of sweet delight.   

At the self time, I both lament and joy,  
I still am pleased and yet displeased still:  
Love sometimes seems a God, sometimes a Boy,  
Sometimes I sink, sometimes I swim at will.  
Twixt death and life, small difference I make,  
All this (dear Dame) endure I for thy sake.    

IX. CANZONET. He proves himself to endure the hellish torments of Tantalus, Ixion, Titius, Sisyphus and the Belides.  

IN that I thirst for such a Goddess grace,  
As wants remorse, like Tantalus I die,  
My state is equal to Ixion's case,  
Whose mangled limbs are turned continually.  
In that my rolling toils can have no end,  
Nor love, nor time, nor chance will stand my friend.   

In that my heart consuming never dies,  
I feel with Titius an equal pain,  
Upon whose heart a vulture feeding lies.  
In that I rise through hope, and fall agine,  
By fear like Silyphus I labour still  
To turn arowling stone against a hill.   

In that I make my vows to her alone,  
Whose ears are deaf, and will retain no sound,  
With Belides my state is all but one,  
Which fill a Tub whose bottom is not sound.  
Thus in my heart since love therein did dwell  
Are all the torments to be found in hell.    

X. CANZONET. Love's discommodities.  

WHere heat of love doth once possess the heart,  
There cares oppress the mind with wonders ill,  
Wit runs awry not fearing future smart,  
And fond desire doth overmaster will.  
The belly neither cares for meat nor drink,  
Nor over-watched eyes desire to wink.   

Footsteps are false and wavering too and fro:  
The pleasing flower of beauty fades away,  
Reason retires, and pleasure brings in woe,  
And wisdom yields place to black decay,  
Counsel and fame, and friendship, are contemned,  
And bashful shame, and Gods themselves condemned.   

Watchful suspect is linked with despair,  
Inconstant hope is often drowned in fears,  
What folly hurts: Fortune cannot repair,  
And misery doth swim in seas of tears,  
Long use of life is but a lingering foe,  
And gentle death is only end of woe.    

XI. CANZONET. Allegory of his Love to a Ship.  

THe Soldier worn with wars delights in peace,  
The Pilgrim in his ease when toils are past,  
The ship to gain the Port, when storms do cease,  
And I rejoice discharged from love at last.  
Whom while I served, peace, rest, and land I lost,  
With wars, with toils, with storms, worn, tired & tossed.   

Sweet liberty now gives me leave to sing:  
What world it was, where love the rule did bear,  
How foolish Chance by lots ruled every thing,  
How error was main sail, each wave a tear.  
The master love himself, deep sighs were wind,  
Cares rowed with vows, the Ship a pensive mind.   

False hope the helm, oft turned the ship about,  
And constant faith stood up for middle mast,  
Despair the Cable twisted all with doubt,  
Held gripping grief the piked Anchor fast.  
Beauty was all the rocks, but I at last.  
Have gained the the Port, and now my love is past.    

XII. CANZONET. Execration of his passed love.  

I Curse the time, wherein these lips of mine,  
Did pray or praise the dame that was unkind.  
I curse my Ink my paper and each line,  
My hand hath writ in hope to please her mind.  
I curse her hollow heart, and flattering eyes,  
Whose ●lye deceits did cause my mourning cries.   

I curse the sugared speech and Siren's song,  
Wherewith so oft she hath bewitched mine care:  
I curse my foolish will that stayed so long  
And ooke delight to bide twixt hope and fear:  
I curse the hour wherein I first began,  
By loving looks to prove a witless man,   

I curse the days that I have spent in vain,  
In loving one ungrateful and unkind:  
I curse the Bow and shafts that bred my pain,  
And Love I curse, that Archer naked and blind.  
But on that hour that my fond love doth end,  
Millions of blessings I will ever spend,    

XIII. CANZONET. Of the Sun: A jewel, being a Sunne-shining upon the Marigold closed in a heart of gold, sent to his Mistress, named Mary.  
THe Sun doth make the Marigold to flourish,  
The sun's departure make it droop again,  
So golden Mary's sight, my joys do nourish,  
But by her absence all my joys are slain.  
The sun, the Marigold makes live and die,  
By her the sun shines brighter, so may I.  
Her smiles do glad the sun, and light the airs  
Revive my heart, and clear the cloudy sky.  
Her frowns the air make dark, the Sun to louvre.  
The Marigold to close, my heart to dye,  
By her the sun, the flower, the air, and I,  
Shine and darken, spread and close, live and dye,  
You are the sun, you are the golden Mary,  
Passing the Sun in brightness, gold in power:  
I am the flower whom you do make to vary.  
Flourish when you smile, droop when you do lower.  
Oh let this heart of gold, Sun, and flower,  
Sill live, shine, and spring in your heart's bower,   

XIIII. CANZONET. 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 dye.  
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 spilt,  
Kill me as often as thou wilt.    

XV. CANZONET. 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'indictment 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 truth 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 red rest,  
took sanctuary from his troubled 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 truth might reign, where rigour did appear,  
Gave sentence thus: that if he there would bide,  
That place was made, a guiltless heart to hide.    

XVII. CANZONET. 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 swerve,  
Sweet hope, my death, which waste my life at first.  
Sweet thoughts, sweet tears, sweet hope, sweet eyes,  
How chance that death in sweetness lies?    

XVIII. CANZONET. 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:  
I 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,  
Deprisure 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,  
Then that where grow both shafts and fire?    

XIX. CANZONET. Love's 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  
Aow most I wish that most I should refrain,  
And seek the thing that least I long to find,  
And find the wound by which my hart 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 lo see and yet I shun her sight,  
I scald in sun, and yet no shade desire,  
I live by death, and yet I wish to dye.  
I feel no hurt, and yet for help inquire,  
I die by life, and yet my life defy.   
Hen, cogor voti nescius esse mei.   

XX. CANZONET. Her outward gesture deceived his inward hope.  

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, soul, soute 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 bellowes 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.    

XXI. CANZONET. That he is unchangeable.  

The love of change hath changed the world throughout  
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,  
My heart affirms it feels the love it sought.  
Mine 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.   

Rest then (my heart) and keep thine old delight,  
Which like the Pheoenix 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 time, 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.    

XXIII. CANZONET. Upon her absence.  

THe summer sun that scalds the ground with heat.  
And burns the grass, and drives the river's 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 burn me with desire,  
Her absence turns me into flaming fire.   

Who so 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 life's that else should die,  
It closed 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 fain  
By seeking vent, increase my burning pain,   

But if my dear return alive and sound,  
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.    

XXIIII. CANZONET. The Lover absence kills me, her presence cures me.  

THe frozen Snake oppressed with heaped snow,  
By struggling hard gets out her tender head,  
And spies fare 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,  
Long time with biting hunger overpress,  
To see without, or smell within the scent,  
Of dainty fare for others tables dressed,  
Yet Snake and Prisnor both behold the thing,  
The which (but not with sight) might comfort bring.   

Such is my state, or worse if worse may be,  
My heart oppressed with heavy frost of care,  
Debarred of that which is most dear to me,  
Killed 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 grief.   

So This be saw her lover through the wall,  
And saw thereby she wanted that she saw:  
And so I see, and seeing want withal,  
And wanting so, unto my death I draw,  
And so my death were twenty times my friend,  
If with this verse my hated life might end.    

XXV. CANZONET. Fair Face, and hard Heart.  

Fair is thy face, and that thou knowest too well,  
Hard is thy heart, and that thou wilt not know:  
Thou flear'st and smil'st, when I thy praises tell,  
But stoppest thine ears when I my grief would show.  
Yet though in 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 reioycest 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?   

XXVI. CANZONET. An invective against Love..  

ALl is not gold that shineth bright in show,  
Not 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 harmless 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 betride,  
The gold is gone, the dross 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 aye,  
And never be with any storm defa'st.  
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 lover's life do spill.    

XXVII. CANZONET. Upon his Ladies buying strings for her Lute.  

IN happy time the wished fair is come,  
To fit my Lute with strings of every kind,  
Great pity 'tis, 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 strooke so long with moan,  
That at the last they all in pieces fell.  
And now they lie in pieces broke so small,  
That scarce they serve to make me frets withal.   

And yet they serve and bind my heart so straight,  
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.    

XXVIII. CANZONET. Care will not let him live, nor hope let him dye.  

MYy 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 last 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 tides drive 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, follows 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.    

XXIX. CANZONET. In praise of the Sun.  

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 pour 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 gazed on many a lovely face,  
Yet found I none to bind my will.  
Which made me think that beauty bright,  
Was noting 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.    

XXX. CANZONET. Death in love.  

MIne eyes have spent their tears, and 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 ouerburd'ned 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 dye,  
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 dye, to end this endless pain.    

XXXI. CANZONET. Break heavy heart.  

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 wast away.  
Away I wast 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 labour 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.    

XXXII. CANZONET. Desire's government.  

WHere wit is over-ruld 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.    

XXXIII. CANZONET. Love's properties.  

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

First burning heat sets all on 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, ●o 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.    

XXXIIII. CANZONET. Living Death.  

IF means be none to end my restless care,  
If needs I must overwhelmed with sorrow lie:  
What better way this sorrow to declare,  
Then, that I dying live, and cannot dye?   

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 live, and wail in woeful rhyme:  
That dying still I am, and cannot die.   
Spiro non vivo.   

XXXV. CANZONET. The passionate Prisoner.  

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 crevisse strain,  
That none but you may hear me thus complain.   

My hollow cries that beat thy stony side,  
Vouchsafe to hear, 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.    

XXXVI. CANZONET. Hopeless desire soon withers and dies.  

THough naked trees seem dead to sight,  
When Winter wind doth keenly blow,  
Yet if the root maintain her right,  
The Spring their hidden life will show.  
But if the root be dead and dry,  
No marvel though the branches dye.   

While hope did live within my breast,  
No Winter storm could kill desire,  
But now disdain hath hope oppressed,  
Dead is the root, dead is the spire.  
Hope was the root, and spire was love.  
No sap beneath, no life above.   

And as we see the rootless stock,  
Retain some sap, and spring a while  
Yet quickly p●●●● life less block,  
Because the ●o●te doth life beguile:  
S● life's desi●● which hope hath left,  
As twilight shines when Sun is reft.    

XXXVII. CANZONET. Natural comparisons with perfect love.  

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.  
S●●s have their surges, 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, and ears, no tongues to speak,  
They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break.    

XXXVIII. CANZONET. An answer to the first staff, that love is unlike in Beggars and in Kings.  

COmpare the Bramble with the Cedar tree,  
The Pismires anger with the Lion's rage:  
What is the buzzing fly where Eagles be?  
A 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 beggar's 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 head, of mighty Kings.   

What though in both the heart be seat of love,  
The selfsame 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.    

XXXIX. CANZONET. A song in praise of a Beggar's life.  

BRight shines the Sun, Play Beggars play,  
here's scraps enough to serve to day.  
What noise of Viols is so sweet,  
As when our merry clappers ring,  
What mirth doth want where Beggars meet,  
A beggar's 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 beggar's sleep.  
Bright shines, etc.   

A hundred head of black and white,  
Upon our gowns securely feed,  
If any dares 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.    

XL. CANZONET. To Time.  

Eternal Time that wastest without waist,  
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,  
Darke are thy nights, but bright and 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, to 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 measured, thou by none:  
All are in thee, thou in thyself alone.    

XLI. CANZONET. A hymn in praise of Music.  

PRaise, pleasure, profit, is that threefold band,  
Which ties men's minds more fast than Gordions knot  
Each one some draws, all three none can withstand,  
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 flows, for why it raiseth  
The mind overwhelmed with rude passions might:  
When against reason passions fond rebel,  
Music doth that confirm, and those 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 abound?  
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 delighted,  
And pleasant 'tis which pleaseth all so well.  
No greater profit is then self content:  
And this will Music bring, and care prevent.   

When antique Poets Music's 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 Musicians) never slake  
To sing sweet Musics praises day and night:  
The dying Swans in Music pleasures take,  
To show that it the dying can delight:  
In sickness, health, peace, war, we do it need,  
Which proves sweet Music's 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.    

XLII. CANZONET. Or a Hymn in praise of Neptune.  

OF Neptune's Empire le us sing,  
At whose command the waves o bay:  
To whom the river's tribute pay,  
Down the high mountains sliding:  
To whom the scaly Nation yields  
Homage for the crystal fields  
Wherein they dwell.  
And every Sea-God pays a lem,  
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 waters with their 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. Campion.   

XLIII. CANZONET. Or a Hymn that was sung by Amphitryte, Thamasis, & other Sea Nymphs in Graies-Inne, Mask at the Court. 1594. 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 heaven's 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 beauty's freshest youth,  
It is a feigned elizium's truth:  
The spring that wintered hearts renu'th,  
And this is that my soul pursueth.    

XLIIII. CANZONET. Upon her paleness.  

BLame not my checks though pile with love they be,  
The kindly hear into my heart is flowue:  
To cherish it that is dismayed by thee,  
Who art so cruel and unsteadfast grown.  
For ●ature 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 within their hearts,  
And when they woe, they speak with passion feigned,  
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.   
Tho. Campion.   

XLV. CANZONET. Of Corinna's 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.   
Tho. Campion.   

XLVI. CANZONET. Upon his Lady's sickness of the Pox●.  

Cruel and unpartial sickensse,  
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,  
In the pure snow of her face,  
When thou didst attempt to sack  
Her life's fortress, and it race.   

Th'heavenly honey thou didst suck,  
From her Rose cheeks might suffice,  
Why then didst thou mar and pluck  
Those dear flowers of rarest price?   

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 departed.    

XLVII. CANZONET. In the grace of wit, of tongue and face.  
Her face: her tongue, her wit, so fair, so sweet, so sharp,  
First bend, them drew, now hit, mine eye, mine ear my hart  
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,  
Mine eye, mine ear, my hart, with life, with hope, with skill my heart,  
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 hart  
This eye, this ear, this hart shall joy, shall bind, shall swear,  
Your face, your tongue, your wit, to serve, to love, to fear.   

XLVIII. CANZONET. An invective against women.  

ARe women fair? I wondrous fair to see too,  
Are women sweet? Yea passing sweet they be to:  
Most fair and sweet to them that in lie love them,  
 and discreet to all, save those that prove them.   

Are women wise? Not wise, but they be witty,  
Are women witty? Yea, the more the pity:  
They are so witty, and in wit so wily,  
That be ye ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.   

Are women fools? Not fools, but foundlings many,  
Can women fond be faithful unto any?  
When snow-white swans do run to colour sable,  
Then women fond will be both firm and stable.   

Are women Saints? No Saints, nor yet no devils.  
Are women good? not good, but needful evils.  
So Angellike, that devils I do not doubt them,  
So needful ills, that few can live without them.   

Are women proud? I, passing proud, and praise them.  
Are women kind? I, wondrous kind, and please them  
Or so imperious, no man can endure them,  
Or so kind hearted, any may procure them.   
Ignote.   

XLIX. CANZONET. This song was sung before her sacred Majesty at a show on horseback, wherewith the right Honourable the Earl of Cumberland presented her Highness on May day last.  

Of love gift.  
WHo gives a gift to bind a friend thereby,  
Doth set or put his gift to usury:  
And he that gives a gift that is not free,  
Gives where he list, so that he give not me.  
For bought and sold is friendship strange,  
Who life's by selling lives by change.  
And he that love's to change his friend,  
Will turn to nothing in the end.    

L. CANZONET. The Anatomy of Love..  

NOw what is love, I pray thee tell?  
It is that fountain and that well,  
Where pleasure and repentance dwell:  
It is perhaps that sounding bell,  
That tolls all in, to heaven, or hell,  
And this is love, as I hear tell.   

Now what is Love, I prithee say?  
It is a work on holy day,  
It is December matched with May,  
When lusty bloods in fresh array,  
Hear ten months after of their play:  
And this is love, as I hear say.   

Now what is love, I prithee fain,  
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,  
It is a gentle pleasing pain,  
A flower that dies and springs again.  
It is in faith that would full feign,  
And this is love, and not a stain.   

Yet what is love, I prithee say,  
It is a pretty shadow way,  
As well found out by night as day,  
It is a thing will soon decay:  
Then take the vantage while you may,  
And this is love as I hear say.   

Now what is love, I prithee show?  
A thing that creeps and cannot go,  
A prize that passeth too and fro,  
A thing for one, a thing for more.  
And he that proves shall find it so,  
And this is some sweet friend I trow.   

In vain I live, such sorrow life's in me,  
In vain lives sorrow, since by her I live:  
Life works in vain, where death will Master be,  
Death strives in vain, where life doth virtue give.  
Thus each of us would work another's woe,  
And hurts himself in vain, and helps his foe.    

LI. CANZONET. 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 more tall 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, of 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 fare doth fail,  
As lowest earth doth yield to heaven above.  
Divine is love, and scorneth worldly pelf,  
And can be bought with nothing, but itself.   

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 fare 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,  
Accep it for thy prisoner as it is.     
The end of the second Book.   

THE THIRD BOOK OF Pastorals and Eliges. Two Pastorals made by Sir Philip Sidney. Upon his meeting with his two worthy Friends, and fellow Poets, Sir Edward Dier, and M. Fulke Grevill.  


I PASTORAL.  

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 pressed our reeds to fill,  
With sound of music living.  
join hearts and hands, etc.   

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

My two and I be met,  
A happy blessed Trinity,  
As three most jointly set,  
In firmest band of unity.  
join hands, etc.   

Welcome my two to me, E. D. F. G. P. S.  
The number best beloved,  
Within my heart you be  
In friendship unremoved.  
join hands, etc.   

Give leave your flocks to range,  
Let us the while be playing,  
Within the Elmy grange,  
Your flocks will not be straying.  
join hands, etc.   

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

Like Lovers do their love,  
So joy I, in you seeing:  
Let 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 asunder,  
But linked in binding bands,  
By metamorphozed wonder.  
So should our severed bodies three,  
As one for ever joined be.   
Sir Phil. Sidney.   

II. PASTORAL. 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 Shepherd's God retaining.  
Now in servile Court remaining.   

There he wand'ring malcontent,  
up and down perplexed went,  
Daring not to tell to me,  
Spoke unto a senseless tree,  
Once amongst the rest electing.  
These same words, or this effecting.   

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

But may Love abiding be  
In poor shepherds base degree?  
It 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 Love's 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 the shepherd's 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 apearing  
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,  
May be still to thee relying.   

Only for my two love's sake, Sir Ed. D. and M. F. G.  
In whose love I pleasure take,  
Only two do me delight  
With their ever-pleasing sight,  
Of all men to thee retaining,  
Grant me with those two remaining.   

So shall I unto thee always,  
With my reeds sound mighty praise,  
And first Lamb that shall be fall,  
Yearly deck thine Altar shall,  
If it please thee to be reflected,  
And I from thee not rejected.   

So I left him in that place,  
To king pity on his case,  
Learning this among the rest  
That the mean estate is best,  
Better filled with contenting  
Void of wishing and repenting.   
S. Ph. Sidney.   

III. PASTORAL. Dialogue between two Shepherds, Thenot, and Piers, in praise of Astrea.  T●●n 
I Sing divine Astrea's praise,  
O Muses helps my wits to raise,  
And heave my verses higher.  Piers. 
Thou needs the truth but plainly tell,  
Which much I doubt thou canst not well  
Thou art so oft a liar.  Then. 
If in my song no more I show,  
Then heaven and earth, and Sea do know,  
Then truly I have spoken.  Piers. 
Sufficeth not no more to name,  
But being no less, the like, the same,  
Else laws of truth be broken.  Then. 
Then say, she is so good, so fair,  
With all the earth she may compare,  
Nor Momus self denying:  Piers. 
Compare may think where likeness holds,  
Nought like to her the earth enfolds,  
I looked to find you lying.  Then. 
Astraea sees with wisdom's sight,  
Astraea works by Virtue's might,  
And jointly both do stay in her.  Piers. 
Nay take from them her hand, her mind,  
The one is lame, the other blind,  
Shall still your lying stain her?  Then. 
Soon as Astraea shows her face,  
Strait every ill avoids 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.  Then. 
Astraea is our chiefest joy,  
Our chiefest guard against annoy,  
Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.  Piers. 
Where chiefest are, there others be,  
To us none else but only she,  
When wilt thou speak in measure?  Then. 
Astraea may be justly said,  
A field in flowery Robe arrayed,  
In season freshly springing.  Piers. 
That spring endures but shortest time,  
This never leaves astraea's clime,  
Thou liest, in stead of singing.  Then. 
As heavenly light that guides the day,  
Right so doth shine each lovely Ray,  
That from Astraea flieth.  Piers. 
Nay, darkness of that light in clouds.  
astraea's beams no darkness shrouds:  
How loudly Thenot lieth.  Then. 
Astraea 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 to only rise  
Above conceit her honour flies:  
But silence naught can praise her.  
Marry Countess of Pembreoke.   

four PASTORAL. A round clay in inverted Rhymes, between the two friendly Riual●, Strephon and Klaius, in the presence of Urania's Mistress to them both.  Strephon. 
O Whither shall I turn me,  
From thine eyes sight,  
Whose sparkling light  
With quenchless flames present, and absent burn me?  
For I burn when as view them,  
And I burn when I eschew them.  Klaius. 
Since I cannot eschew them,  
But that their light  
Is in my sight,  
Both when I view them not, and when I view them:  
Ere their flames will cease to burn me,  
From myself, myself must turn me.  Strephon. 
When none are present by you.  
I feel their might  
And your eyes bright  
Appear more glorious, other being nigh you.  
So alone, or else compared,  
Wretch, I am by them ensnared.  Klaius. 
Since 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 ere your looks are framed,  
By your looks I am inflamed.  Klaius. 
Since that I am inflamed,  
Even by their spite.  
And they incite  
Soul-warming flames when they are mildly framed,  
How so ere you look upon me,  
Love I must if you look on me.  Strephon. 
O when shall I them banish,  
Since against right,  
No day nor night.  
Though absent from me, from me they do vanish?  
So no respite time doth grant me,  
But incessantly they haunt me.  Klaius. 
Since 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 same 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 Dauison.   

V PASTORAL. Or Strephon's Palinode.  
Strephon, upon some unkindness conceived, having made show to leave Urania, and make love to another Nymph, was at the next solemn assembly of shepherds, not only frowned upon by Urania, but commanded with great bitterness out of her presence: Whereupon, sorry for his offence, and desirous to regain her grace, whom he never had forsaken, but in show, upon his knee, he in this song humbly craves pardon: and Urania finding his true penitence, and unwilling to lose so worthy a servant receives him again into greater grace and favour then before.  

SWeet, I do not pardon cra●e  
Till I have,  
By desires 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 heart's self guilty terror.   

Then, O then! let that suffice  
Your dear eyes  
Need not, need not more afflict me,  
Nor your sweet tongue dipped in gall,  
Need at all  
From your presence interdict me.   

Unto him that hell sustains.  
No new pains  
Need be sought for his tormenting.  
O my pains hells pains surpass:  
Yet alas!  
You are still new pains inventing.   

By my love, long, firm, and true,  
Borne to you,  
By these tears my grief expressing,  
By this Pipe which nights and days  
sounds your praise  
Pity me, my fault confessing.   

Or if I may not desire  
That your ire  
May with penance be suspended:  
Yet let me full pardon crave,  
When I have,  
With soon death my fault amended.   

Urania's 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 beginning it did fetch.   

Near my sight I'll interdict thee  
More at all.  
Near speak words more dipped in gall,  
Near, ne'er will I more afflict thee  
With these eyes.  
What is past, shall not suffice.   

Now new joys I'll be inventing,  
Which (alas)  
May thy passed Woes surpass.  
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  
I 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. Dauison.   

VI PASTORAL  

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

Fresh was the Mead in April's livery dight,  
Decked with green Trees, bedewed with silver Brookes,  
But ah! all other was the shepherd's plight,  
All other were both sheep and shepherd's looks:  
For both did show by their dull heavy cheer,  
They took no pleasure of the pleasant year.   

He weeping went, ay me that he should weep!  
They hung their heads, as they to weep would learn,  
His heavy heart did send forth sighing deep,  
They in their bleating voice did seem to yearn.  
He lean and pale, their fleece was rough and rend.  
They pined with pain, and he with dolours spent.   

His pleasant Pipe was broke (alas the while)  
And former merriment was banished quite.  
His shepherd's Crook that him upheld erewhile,  
He erst had thrown away with great despite.  
Tho leaning 'gainst a shrub that him sustained,  
To th'earth, sun, birds, trees, echo thus he plained.   

Thou all-foorth-bringing earth, though winter i'll,  
With blustering winds blow off thy mantle green,  
And with his Snow and hoary frosts do spill,  
Thy Flora-pleasing flowers and kill them clean.  
Yet when fresh spring returns again  
To drive away the winter's pain,  
Thy frost and snow  
Away do go.  
Sweet Zephyres 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 soul did bring.  
Alas the tops that did aspire,  
Lie trodden now in filthy mite.  
Alas! my head  
Is all be spread  
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 some rising Torrents overflow  
With nought-regarding streams thy pleasant green.  
And with their furious force do lay full low,  
Thy drowned flowers, how ever sweet they been?  
Soon fall those floods as soon as they rose,  
(For fury soon his force doth lose,  
And then full each  
Apollo's breath,  
The cold, yet drying Northwind, so doth warm,  
That by and by  
Thy meads be dry,  
And grow more fruitful by their former harm.   

O would the tears that Torrent-like do flow,  
A down my hollow cheeks with restless force,  
Would once (O that they could once) calmer grow,  
Would like to thine, once cease their ceaseless course.  
Thine last not long, mine still endure:  
Thine cold, and so thy wealth procure:  
No mine are still.  
And so do kill  
Both flower and root, with most unkindly dew:  
What sun or wind  
Away can find,  
The root once dead, the flowers to renew?   

Thou, though the scorchingh eat of Summer's Sun,  
(While ill-breathed Dog the raging Lion chaseth)  
Thy peckled flowers do make of colour dun,  
And pride of all thy greeny hair defaceth:  
And in thy moisture wanting side,  
Deep wounds do make and gashes wide:  
Yet as they wet,  
By Phoebus' heat,  
To 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? ah no, fare 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 wet  
The flowing wet of my still weeping eyes!  
Ah that no wet  
Can quench the heat,  
The burning heat within my heart that lies!   

Thou dost, poor wretch, 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:  
If once I might Astrea's grace regain:  
If once her heart would on my sorrows rue,  
Alas, I could these plaints forgo,  
And quite forget my former woe.  
But (O! to speak  
My heart doth break)  
For all my service, faith, and patiented mind,  
A crop of grief,  
Without relief,  
A crop of scorn, and of contempt I find.   

Soon as the Shepherd's star abroad doth wend,  
(Night's harbinger) to shut in brightsome day:  
And gloomy night, on whom black clouds attend,  
Doth 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,  
Her purple door to let in Phoebus' wain,  
The night gives place  
Unto his race,  
And then with joy the Sun returns again.   

O would my Sun would once return again!  
Return and drive away th'infernal night,  
In which I die, since she did first refrain  
Her 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 always,  
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 abandon 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 unrelieved,  
And quite deprived  
Of your dear sight, which may this night displace.   

Phoebus, although with fiery hoosed steeds,  
Thou daily do the sleepy 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 fable Cloak through vaulted sky,  
Thy iourne's ceased,  
And thou dost rest,  
In cooling waves of Thetis sovereignty.   

Thrice happy Sun whose pains are eased by night,  
O hapless I, whose woes last night and day.  
My pains by day do make me wish for night,  
My 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 case of silent night!   

Ye 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,  
And 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  
The neighbour groves with Echo of your song,  
In silent night,  
Full closely dight,  
You sound sleep the bushes green among.   

But I, who erst (ah woeful word to say)  
Enjoyed the pleasant spring of her sweet grace,  
And then could sing and dance and sport and play:  
Since her fierce anger did my spring displace:  
My nightly rest have turned to detriment,  
To plaints hath 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 flower of the field that erst didst fade,  
And nipped with Northern cold didst hang the head:  
And trees whose bared bows have lost their shade,  
Whose withered leaves by western blasts were shed,  
Ye'gin 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 sprout,  
My fainting legs do waste and fall away:  
Your stretched arms are clad with leaves about,  
My griefe-consumed arms do fast decay.  
You 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 do so 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 hearst, 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 heart'ly 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 griefs 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 ●e this weight oppress me still,  
Ere she through me taste any ill.  
Ah if I might  
But gain her fight,  
And show her ere 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 gas●ly 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, and 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,  
Than blustering sighs too boisterously 'gan blow,  
And his weak lips could not his fury stay,  
And inward grief withal so hugely swelled,  
As tears, sighs, grief had soon all words expelled.   

At last when floods of tears began to cease,  
And storms of weary sighs more calm to blow  
As he went on with words his grief to ease.  
And remnant of his broken plaint to show:  
He spied the sky o'erspread with nightly cloud,  
So home he went, his flock and him to shroud.   
Enbulus his Emblem.  Vni mihi Pergamon Restant. 
F.D.   

VII. PASTORAL. Eglogue entitled Cuddy.  

1  
A Little Heard-groome (for he was no bet)  
When course of year returned the pleasant spring,  
At break of day without-en further let  
Cast with himself his flock a field to bring,  
And for they had so long been penned with pain.  
At sight of Sun they seemed to live again.   

2  
Such was the flock all bend to browse and play,  
But nothing such their master was to see.  
down hung his drooping head like rainy day,  
His cheeks with tears like springs bedewed be.  
His wringed hands such silent move did make,  
Well may you guess he was with love y'take.  
The while his flock went feeding on the green,  
And wantonly for joy of Summer played,  
All in despite as if he n'ould be seen,  
He cast himself to ground full ill appaide.  
Should seem their pleasance made him more complain,  
For joy in sight not felt, is double pain.   

4  
Unhappy boy why livest thou still, quoth he,  
And hast thy deadly wound so long ago?  
What hope of after hap sustaineth thee?  
As if there might be found some ease of woe.  
Nay better dye ten thousand times then live.  
Since every hour new cause of death doth give.   

5  
The joyful Sun, whom cloudy winter's spite,  
Had shut from us in watery fishes haske,  
Returns again to lend the world his light,  
And red as rose gins his yearly task.  
His fiery steeds the steepy welkin beat,  
And both the horns of climbing bull do heat.   

6  
But ah! no Sun of grace appears to me,  
Close hid she lies, from whom I should have light,  
The clouds of black disdain so foggy be,  
That blind I lie (poor boy) bereft of sight:  
And yet I see the Sun I seek to find,  
And yet the more I see, the more am blind.   

7  
Thrice happy ground, whom spoilt with winter's rage,  
The heat of pleasant spring renews again:  
Unhappy I, who in my spring of age,  
The frost of cold despair hath well-nigh slain.  
How shall I bide your stormy winter's smart,  
When spring itself hath frorne my bloodless heart?   

8  
I see the beauty of thy flowers renew,  
Thy mantle green with sundry colours spread,  
Thou seest in me a change of former hue,  
Paleness for white, blackness for lively red.  
What hope of harvest fruit, or Summer flowers,  
Since that my spring is drowned with tears like showers?   

9  
And last of all, but lieu'st of all to me,  
Thou leany flock, that didst of late lament,  
And witness waist for shepherds all to see,  
(Thy knees so weak, thy fleece so rough & rend)  
That thou with pain didst pine away unfed,  
All for thy master was with love misled.   

10  
Now 'ginst as erst forget thy former state,  
And range amid the busks thyself to feed,  
Fair fall thee little flock, both rather and late,  
(Was never Lover's sheep, that well did speed)  
Thou free, I bond, thou glad, I pine in pain,  
I strive to die, and thou to live full fain.   

11  
Woe worth the stunned, wherein I took delight,  
To frame the shifting of my nimble feet,  
To cheerful sound of Pipe in Moonshine night,  
Such pleasance passed at erst does garme greet.  
I weened by night have shunned the parching ray,  
But night itself was twice more hot than day.   

12  
Then first of all (and all too soon for me)  
I saw thilk Lass, yea more than saw her too,  
Her crystal eyes more bright than Moon to see,  
Her eyes, her eyes, through which I am undo.  
On them I gazed, then saw I to my cost,  
Through too much sight mine only sight is lost.   

13  
Where been the dapper ditties that I dight,  
And Roundelays, and Virelaies so foot?  
Whilom with Collins self compare I might,  
For other swain, to strive was little boot,  
Such skill I had in making all above  
But all too little skill to conquer love.   

14  
What helps it me to have my piping praized  
Of all save her, whom only I would please?  
Nought care I though my fame to sky be razed  
For pleasant song that brings my heart no ease.  
Wherefore both Pipe and song I all forswear,  
And former pleasance utterly forbear.   

15  
With that he cast his look to Welkin high,  
And saw the doubled shadows fly away:  
And as he glanced half in despite awry,  
He spied the Shepherd's star shut in the day:  
Then rose, and homeward with his flock him went,  
Whose voice did help their master's case lament.    

VIII. PASTORAL. Made long since upon the death of Sir Philip Sidney.  Thenot. Perin. 

PERIN, arred what new mischance betide,  
Hath reft thee of thy wont merriment?  
Fair feeds thy flock this pleasant spring beside,  
Nor love, I ween, hath made thee discontent,  
Sild age and love, do meet in one consent.   Perin. 
Ah Thenot, where the joy of heart doth fail,  
What marvel there, if mirth and music quail?  
See how the flowers 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 old 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 the hope of Wull.  
And by thine Ewes blown bags, and bag pipes sound,  
So not one Aneling in thy flock be found.  Perin. 
Ah Thenot, by thine all-derliefest 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, the shepherd's glee,  
Broke is my pipe, and I myself forlorn  
My sheep unfed, their fleeces rend and torn.  Thenot. 
I much mused such uncoth change to see,  
My flocks refused to feed, yet hale they were:  
The tender Birds sat drooping on the tree,  
The careless Lambs went wand'ring here and 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 my mournful lays,  
Sound loud thy pipe, but sound it doleful wise.  Perin. 
Who else but Thenot can the Muses raise,  
And teach them sing and dance in mournful guise  
My fingers stiff, my voice doth horsely rise.  Thenot. 
All where is Collen and his passing skill?  
For him it fits our sorrow to fulfil.  Perin. 
T'way sore extremes for 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 breathe 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,  
Like running water love's to change and flit.  
But if thou list to hear a sorry fit,  
Which Cuddy could in doleful verse indite,  
Blow thou thy pipe while I the same recite.  Thenot. 
Gin when thou list, all be my skill but small,  
My 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 aye,  
So may your trees give shade always.  
Departed 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 Master's mind with l●ies 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 fare 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,  
Break me your Pipes that pleasant sound did yield,  
Sing now no more the songs of Colin Clout.  
Lament the end of all our joy,  
Lament the source of all annoy.  
Willey is dead,  
That wont to lead  
Our flocks and us in mirth and shepherd's 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-nymphs 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 wan.  
Me thinks I see  
The time when he  
Plucked from his golden locks his Laurel Crown,  
And so to raise,  
Our Willies praise,  
Bedecked his head, and softly set him down.   

The learned Muse's flock to hear his skill,  
And 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 song, they seemed in joy to flow,  
He ceased, they seemed to weep for woe,  
The rural rout,  
All round about,  
Like 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.  
more joy on earth that any time can last,  
See where his breathless corpse lies on the bear.  
That selfsame hand that rest his life,  
Hath turned shepherd's peace to strife.  
Our joy is fled  
Our life is dead,  
Our hope, our help, our glory all is gone:  
Our Poets praise  
Our happy days,  
And nothing left but grief, to think thereon   

What Thames, what Severne, or what western Seas,  
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 wrapped full cold in filthy clay,  
And nought remains  
To ease our pains,  
But hope of death to rid us hence away.   

Phillis, thine is the grief, above the rest,  
Where been thy sweetest Posies featly dight,  
Thy Garlands with a truelove's knot addressed,  
And all that e●st thou Willie didst behight?  
Thy labour all is lost in vain  
The grief whereof shall aye remain  
The sun so bright,  
That falls to night,  
To morrow from the East again shall rise,  
But we decay,  
And wast away,  
Without return, alas our Willie dies.   

See how the drooping flocks refuse to feed,  
The river's stream with tears about the banks:  
The trees do shed their leaves, to wail agreed,  
The 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,  
No voice of joy is heard in any place.  
The Meadows green,  
A change have seen,  
And florn hides her pale disfigured face   

Watch now ye shepherds Boys with waking eye  
And lose your time of sleep to learn to sing.  
Unhappy skill, what good is got thereby  
But painted praise that can no profit bring?  
If skill could move the sister's three,  
Our willie still alive should be.  
The wolf so wood  
Amazed stood,  
At sound of Willies pipe, and left his prey:  
Both pipe and Skill  
The sisters spill,  
So worse than any wicked Wolf are they.   

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

Come ye Shepherds daughters, come no more,  
To hear the songs that Cuddy want to sing:  
Hoarse is my Muse, my throat with crying sore,  
These woods with echo of my grief do●ing.  
Your Willies life was Cuddies joy,  
Your Willies death hath killed the boy:  
Broke lies my Pipe  
Till reeds be ripe  
To make a new one, but a worse I fear:  
Save year by year,  
To wail my De●re,  
All Pipe and song I utterly forswear.   Thenot. 
Alack 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 our smart.  Perin. 
Ah Thenot hadst thou seen his sorry look,  
His wringed hands his eyes to heaven upkest,  
His tears that streemed 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.   

IX. PASTORAL Shepherd. Herdsman.  
COme gentle heard man, sit by me  
And rune thy Pipe by mine  
here under neath this Willow tree,  
To shield the hot Sun shine,  
where I have made my summer bower,  
For prose of Summer beam,  
And decked it up with many a flower,  
Sweet seated by the streams.  
Where gentle Daphne 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 loves so light,  
But whereas others bear the Bell,  
As in her favour blest:  
Her shepherd loveth her as well,  
As those whom she love's best,  Herdsman. 
A Las 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 fare 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 shepherd's swain.  
For she of Lordly lad's 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,  
But petticoats of Scarlet hue,  
Which veil the skin snow white.  
There truest Lasses been to get  
For love and little cost:  
There sweet desire is paid his det,  
And labour seldom lost.  Shepherd. 
NO herdsman, no, thou ranst too loud  
Our trade so vile to hold  
My weed as great a heart doth shroud  
As his thats clad in gold.  
And take the truth that I thee tell,  
This song fair Daphne 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 shepherd's Boy,  
As after when as he was proved,  
King Priam's son of Troy.  
And therefore have I better hope,  
A● had those Lads of your,  
〈◊〉 courage takes as large a scope,  
Although their haps were more.  
A●● for thou shalt not deem I lest,  
And bear a mind more base,  
●o meaner hope shall haunt my breast,  
Then dearest Daphne's grace.  
My mind no other thought retains,  
Mine eye nought else admires,  
My heart no other passion strains,  
Nor other hap desires.  
My muse of nothing else entreats,  
My Pipe nought else can sound,  
My veins no other fever heats,  
Such faith's in shepherd's sound.  Herdsman. 
AH sh pheard then, I see with grief  
thy can 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 thy wane.  
I am but ●orrow for thy sake,  
Since love lulls 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 shall 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 Daphne's 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 hear allay,  
Where love inflames the blood.  Shepherd. 
THen Herdsman since it is my lot,  
And my good liking such,  
Strive not to break the faithful knot,  
that thinks no pain too much,  
For what contents my Daphne's best  
I never will despise:  
So she but wish my soul good rest  
When death shall close mine eyes.  
Then Herdsman farewel once again,  
For now the day is fled:  
So might thy cares, poor shepherd's Swain,  
Fly from thy careful head.   

X. PASTORAL. The beginning and end of this Eglogue are wanting. Concerning old Age.  Perin. 
FOr when thou art not as thou want of you're,  
No cause why life should please thee any more.  
Whilom I was (in course of former years,  
Ere freezing Eld had cooled my youthful rage)  
Of much worth among my shepherd's peers.  
Now for I am some deal ' y stepped in age,  
For pleasance, strength, and beauty 'gins asswae.  
Each little heard-groome laughs my wrinkled face,  
Each bonny lass for Cuddy shuns the place:  
For all this woe none can me justly twight.  
But hateful Eld the foe to pleasant rest,  
Which like a thief doth rob us of delight.  Wrenocke. 
Perin enough, few words be 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:  
But sicker for to speak the truth indeed,  
Thou seemest to blame, that blameless seems to me.  
And hurtless Eld to sneb (ill might he speed,  
That slays the Dog, for Wolves so wicked be)  
The faults of men thou layst on age I see,  
For which if Eld werein itself to blame,  
Then I and all my Peers should taste the same.  Perin. 
Wrenock, I ween thou dotest through rusty Eld,  
And thinkest with feigned words to blear mine eye,  
Thou for thy store art ever blessefull held,  
Thy heaps of gold, nill let thee sorrow spy,  
Thy flocks full safe here under shade do lie,  
Thy weanelings fat, thine ewes with bladder blown:  
A iollier shepherd have we seldom known,  Wrenocke. 
For thilk my store, great Pan y'herried be:  
But if for thee, 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 barred.  Perin. 
Seest not how free yond Lambkin skips and plays:  
And wags 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, uneaths now may it creep.  Wrenocke. 
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 say'ne (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 Shepherd's crook,  
That ever shineth brighter day by day:  
Also though wrinkled seems 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 yongths 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 queam.  
Now lig we laid, as drowned in heavy dream.   
The end of the Pastorals.   

Of Elegies.  

I. ELEGY. He renounceth his food, and former delight in Music, Poefie and painting.  

SItting at board, sometimes prepared to eat,  
If't hap my mind on these my woes to think,  
Sighs fill my mouth instead of pleasant meat,  
And tears do moist my lips in lieu of drink:  
But yet, nor sighs, nor terres that run amain,  
Can either starve my thoughts, or quench my pain.   

Another time with careful thought o're-tane,  
I thought these thoughts with music's might ro chase:  
But as I 'gan to set my notes in frame,  
A sudden passion did my mind displace.  
In stead of Rests, sighs from my heart did rise,  
In stead of Notes, deep sobs, and mournful cries.   

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 releas'de,  
If to the Muses I did me retire:  
Whose sweet delights were wont to case my woe,  
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 dullen weary brain,  
In hope some sweet conceit for to device:  
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, when as I looked to be bereft  
Of these heart vexing woes that still me strained,  
From forth mine eyes the blood for colour came,  
And tears withal to temper so the same.   

Adieu my food that wontst my soul to please,  
Adieu my songs that bred my 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 ought save sorrow find.    

II. ELEGY. For what cause he obtains his Lady's favour.  

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

Is't, that my Pock-holed face doth beauty lack?  
No Your sweet Sex, sweet beauty praiseth:  
Ours wit and valour chiefly raiseth.  
Is't that my musk-lesse  are plaine and black?  
No. What wise Lady love's fine noddies,  
With poor clad minds, and rich clad bodies?  
Is't, that no costly gifts mine Agents are?  
No. My true Heart, which I present you,  
Should more than pearl or gold content you.  
Is't, that my verses want invention rare?  
No. I was never skilful Poet,  
I truly love, and plainly show it.  
Is't, that I vaunt, or am effeminate,  
O scornful vices I abhor you.  
Dwell still in court the place fit for you.  
Is't, that you fear my love soon turns to hate?  
No. Though disdained, I can hate never,  
But loved, where once I love, love ever.  
Is't, that your favours jealous eyes suppress?  
No. only virtue never sleeping,  
Both your fair minds and bodies keeping.  
Is'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 love's a faithful worthy Lover.    

III. ELEGY. To his Lady who had vowed virginity.  

Even as my hand my Pen and paper lays,  
My trembling hand, my Pen from Paper stays,  
Lest that thine eyes which shining made me love you,  
Should frowning on my suit bid cease to move you,  
So that I fear 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 out strikes,  
So that my nursing murdering Pen affords,  
A grave and cradle to my new born words.  
But whilst as clouds tossed up and down the air,  
I racked hang twixt hope and sad despair,  
Despair is beaten, vanquished from the field,  
And unto conquering hope my heart doth yield.  
For if that Nature love to beauty offers,  
And Beauty shun the love that nature proffers:  
Then, either unjust beauty is to blame,  
With scorn to quench a lawful kindled flame.  
Or else unlawfully if love we must,  
And be unloved then nature is unjust.  
Unjustly then nature hath hearts created,  
There to love most, where most their love is hated,  
And flattering them with a fair 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 with wisdom's 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 beauties thra ',  
You be enioyeed of no one at all,  
For as the Lion's strength to seize his prey,  
And fearful heart's lightfoot 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 rain.   

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 glass and lustre proper unto each.  
So, where one body jointly do invest  
An Angel's face, and cruel Tiger's breast,  
There dieth both allegiance and command,  
For self divided Kingdoms cannot stand.  
But as a child that knows not what is what,  
Now craveth this and now affecteth that,  
And having weighs not that which he requires,  
But is unpleasde, even in his pleased desires.  
Chaste beauty so, both will, and will not have  
The selfsame 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 wove,  
Which made by day, she did at night bereave)  
Fruitless affections, endless thread is spun,  
At oneself 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 suffieed,  
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.    

four ELEGY. Her praise is in her want.  
She only is the pride of nature's skill:  
In none but her, all graces friendly meet.  
In 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.   

V ELEGY. Of a woman's heart.  
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, yet I believed 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  
Aswel thy shames, passions that were vain  
And think thy gain,  
To know that love lodged in a woman's breast  
Is but a guest.   

VI ELEGY. Love's Embassy in an jambicke Elegy.  

Unhappy verse! the witness of 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 lull 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.    
The end of the third Book.   

THE FOURTH BOOK OF Madrigals and Odes.  


I. MADRIGAL.  
THough you be not content  
That I (poor worm) should love you,  
As Cupid's power, and your sweet beauty cause me,  
Yet (dear) let pity move you  
To give me your consent.  
To love my life, as law of nature draws me,  
And if my life I love, then must I too  
Love your sweet self, for my life life's in you.   

II. MADRIGAL. Borrowed out of a Greek Epigram.  
he's rich enough whose eyes behold thee,  
Who hears thee sing a Monarch is  
A Demy-God who doth thee kiss,  
And love himself whose arms enfold thee.   

III. MADRIGAL. Upon her dreaming that she saw him dead.  

O Fair, yet murdering eyes,  
Stars of my miseries,  
Who while night clouds your beams,  
How much you wish my death show in your dreams:  
Is't not enough that waking you do spill me,  
But you asleep must kill me?  
O kill me still while you your sleep are taking,  
So you lend me kind looks when you are waking.   

The sound of thy sweet name, my dearest treasure,  
Delights me more than sight of other faces,  
A glimpse of thy sweet face breeds me more pleasure,  
Then any others kindest words and graces.   

One gracious word that from thy lips proceedeth,  
I value more than others Dovelike kisses:  
And thy chaste kiss in my conceit exceedeth,  
Others embraces and love's chiefest blisses.    

four MADRIGAL. Upon his departure.  
Sure (Deer) I love you not, for he that loveth,  
When he from her doth part  
That's Mistress of his heart,  
A deadly pain a hellish torment proveth.  
But when sad Fates did sever  
Me fare from seeing you I would see ever,  
I felt in my absenting  
No pain nor no tormenting.  
For sense of pain how could he find,  
That left his heart and soul behind?   

V MADRIGAL. To Cupid.  

Love if a God thou art,  
Then evermore thou must,  
Be merciful and just.  
If 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 fly,  
Laughs thee to scorn, and lives at liberty.   

Then, if a God thou wilt accounted be,  
Heale me like her, or else wound her like me.    

VI MADRIGAL. 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, I can this only reason give,  
That dead unto myself, in you I live.   

VII. MADRIGAL. He begs a kiss.  
SOrrow slowly killeth any,  
Sudden joy soon murders many.  
Then (sweet) if you would end me,  
'tis a fond course with lingering grief to spend me.  
For, quickly to dispatch me,  
Your only way is, in your arms to catch me,  
And give me dovelike kisses,  
For such excessive and unlookt-for blisses,  
Will so much over-ioy me,  
As they will strait destroy me.   

VIII. MADRIGAL. Upon a kiss received.  

SInce I your cherry lips did kiss,  
Where Nectar and Ambrosia is,  
My hungry maw no meat requires:  
My thirsty throat no drink desires.  
For by your breath which then I gained,  
Chameleon like my life's maintained.   

O grant me then those cherries still,  
And let me feed on them my fill.  
If by a surfeit death I get,  
Upon my tomb let this be set:  
By cherries twain his life he cherished,  
By cherries twain at length he perished.    

IX. MADRIGAL. Allusion to the confusion of Babel.  
THE wretched life I live  
In my weak senses such confusion maketh  
That like the 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 hates me,  
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 me,  
And her I term my life, that daily kills me.   

X. MADRIGAL. To her hand, upon her giving him her glove.  

O Hand of all hands living,  
The softest, moistest, whitest:  
More skilled than Phoebus on a Lute in running:  
More 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.    

XI. MADRIGAL. Cupid proved a Fencer.  
AH Cupid I mistook thee,  
I for an Archer, and no Fencer took thee.  
But as a Fencer oft feigns blows and thrusts,  
Where he intends no harm:  
Then turns his baleful arm,  
And wounds that part which lest his foe mistrusts.  
So thou with fencing art,  
Feigning to wound mine eyes, hast hit my hart.   

XII. MADRIGAL. He compares himself to a Candle fly.  
LIke to the silly fly,  
To the dear light I fly  
Of your disdainful eyes,  
But in a divers 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, fare brighter than the Suns.  
She near at hand is fired:  
I both near hand, and fare away retired.  
She fond thinks, nor dead, nor burnt to be,  
But I my burning and my death foresee.   

XIIII. MADRIGAL. Answers to her question, what Love was.  
IF I behold your Eyes,  
Love is a Paradise:  
But if I view my hart,  
'tis an infernal smart.   

XIIII. MADRIGAL. Upon his timorous 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 wils 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.   

XV. MADRIGAL. Upon her long absence.  
IF this most wretched and most 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'ever schools deceive a man,  
No joy, nor Sorrow, can of life bereave a man.   

XVI. MADRIGAL. Upon her hiding her face from him.  
Go wailing Accents go,  
With my warm tears and scalding tears attended,  
T th'author of my woe,  
And humbly ask her, why she is offended.  
Say Deer, why hide you so,  
From him your blessed Eyes,  
Where he beholds his earthly Paradise,  
Since he hides not from you  
His heart wherein love's heaven you may view?   

XVII. MADRIGAL. Upon her beauty and Inconstancy.  
Whosoever longs to try,  
Both love and lealousie,  
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,  
In fire and frost, in heaven and in hell.   

XVIII. MADRIGAL.  
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.   

XIX. MADRIGAL. 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.   

XX. MADRIGAL. In praise of two.  
FAustina hath the fairer face,  
And Phillida the better 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:  
Ay me! sith Fates have so provided,  
My heart (alas) must be divided.   

XXI. MADRIGAL. To his Lady's garden, being absent fare 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 those thy allies,  
Where her fair feet deign to tread,  
Which departing earth's low valleys,  
Shall to the milky way be led.   

Thy trees whose arms her embraced,  
And whose fruit her lips do kiss,  
In whose virtuous mind well placed  
The rare tree of knoweldge is,   

Happy are, so thy birds be.  
Whom she taught to sing by art,  
Who in heavenly harmony  
With the Angels bears a part.   

Happy, blessed, and fortunate,  
Bowers, Allies, Trees, and Birds,  
But my most unhappy state,  
Fare surmounts all reach of words.    

XXII. MADRIGAL. The True love's knot.  
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 through my restless thoughts, their rest in her did find,  
Yet are my hopes declined,  
Sith she is most unkind.  
But since her beauty's Sun my fruitless hope did breed,  
By ●●●nce 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 Deer,  
I cannot shift the shaft which in my side I bear:  
By me it resteth there  
The cause is not else where  
So have I seen the sick to run and turn again,  
As 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.   

XXIII. MADIGALL.  
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.   
The end of the Madrigals.   

Of Odes.  

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

1  
Passion's may my judgement blear,  
Therefore sure I will not swear,  
That others are not pleasing:  
But I speak it to my pain,  
And my life shall it maintain,  
None else yields my heart easing.   

2  
Ladies I do think there be,  
Othersome as fair as she,  
Though none have fairer features:  
But my turtle-like affection,  
Since of her I made Election,  
Scorns other fairest creatures.   

3  
Surely I will not deny,  
But some others reach as high  
With their sweet warbling voices:  
But since her notes charmed mine ear,  
Even the sweetest tunes I hear,  
To me seem rude harsh noises.    

II. ODE. Upon her protestation of kind affection, having tried his sincere fidelity.  

1  
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 well formed and fair,  
Or heart ensnared 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 enchanting grace,  
Or speech, which doth true eloquence inherit.   

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

III. ODE. 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 life blood fainteth.   

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

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

four ODE. Being by his absence in Italy deprived of her looks, words, and gestures, be desireth her to write unto him.  

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 love's you so,   

2  
Hope of my heart,  
O whereof 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.   

3  
Sunshine of joy,  
Why do your gestures, which  
All eyes and hearts bewitch,  
My bliss destroy?  
And pities sky ore-clouding  
Of hate an endless shower  
On that poor heart still power,  
Which in your bosom seeks this only shrouding?   

4  
Blame of my wound,  
Why are your lines, whose sight,  
Should cure me with delight,  
My poson found.  
Which through my veins dispersing,  
Make my poor heart and mind  
And all my senses find  
A living death in torments past rehearsing.   

5  
Alas my fate  
Hath of your eyes leprlued me,  
Which both killed and revived me,  
And sweetened hate:  
Your sweet voice, and sweet graces,  
Which clothed in lovely weeds  
Your cruel words and deeds  
Are intercepted by fare distant places.   

6  
But O the Anguish  
Which presence still presented,  
Absence hath not absented,  
Nor made to languish.  
No, no, t'increase my paining,  
The cause being (ah) removed.  
For which th'effect I loved,  
Th'effect is still in greatest force remaining.   

7  
O cruel Tiger,  
If to your hard hearts centre,  
Tears, vows, and Prayers may enter,  
Desist your rigour:  
And let kind lines assure me  
(Since to my deadly wound  
No salve else can be found)  
That you that kill me, yet at length will cure me    

V ODE. 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 dear and none but thee)  
If others do the Harvest gain,  
That's due to me for all my pain:  
If you delight to range,  
And oft to chop and change:  
Then get you some new fangled Mate.  
My doting love shall turn to hate,  
Esteeming you (though too too late)  
Not worth a pebble stone,  
Loving not me alone.    

VI ODE. A Presopopaeia, Wherein his heart speaks to his second Lady's breast.  

I Dare not in my Master's bosom rest,  
That flaming Aetna would to ashes burn me:  
Nor dare I harbour in his mistress breast.  
The frosty Climate into Ice would turn me,  
So, both from her and him I do retire me;  
Lest th'one should freeze me, and th'other fire me.   

Wing'd with true love, I fly to this sweet breast,  
Whose snow I hope will cool, but t'ice not turn me,  
Where fire and snow, I trust so tempered rest,  
As gentle heat will warm, and yet not burn me,  
But (O dear breast) from thee I'll ne'reretire me,  
Whether thou cool, or warm, or freeze, or fire me.    

VIII. ODE. 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;  
When into your sweet bosom I delivered  
A 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 hart close wrapped therein, into your breast refused wa●.   

When you that Scroll restored me,  
With grateful words, kind grace, and 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 Hart 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 and 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 still 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 and looks infused be.    

VIII. ODE. Commendation of her beauty, stature, behaviour and wit.  

SOme there are as fair to see too:  
But by Art, and not by Nature.  
Some as tall and goodly be too:  
But want beauty to their stature.   

Some have gracious kind behaviour,  
But are foul, or simple creatures:  
Some have wit, but want sweet favour,  
Or are proud of their good features.  
Only you and you want pity,  
Are most fair, tall, kind, and witty.    

IX. ODE. 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 Musicians in the air are fleeing.  
With fins the people gliding,  
Of water have the 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 divers dwelling,  
In heaven, hell earth, water, air, and Fire.  
Mine ear while you do sing, in Heaven remaineth:  
My mind in hell, through hope and 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.   

X. ODE. 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  
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.    

XI. ODE. A Dialogue between him and his heart.  

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 converted.  
Say, shall she go?  
Oh no, no, no, no, no.  
She is most fair though she be marble hearted.   

How often have my sighs declared mine anguish?  
Wherein is daily anguish,  
Yet doth she still procure it:  
Heart let her go, for I cannot 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 life 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 hates I cannot choose but love her.   

But shall 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 give 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 let 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 perserver?  
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 ever.    

XII. ODE. 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 hart.   

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 life's for you alone.    

XIII. ODE. 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.    

XIIII. ODE. Desire and hope.  

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 fain.  
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 no more, speak you that know the truth,  
If so great love be aught, but of youth.    

XV. ODE. Upon visiting his Lady by Moonlight.  

THe night say all, was made to 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 enjoined her heavenly sight.   

Say, gentle Dames, who 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.    

XVI. ODE. 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 my 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 life's by thee,  
Good reason thou the ruler be:  
Then give me leave to dye,  
And show thy power thereby.   

XVII. ODE. The kind Lover's complaint in finding nothing but folly for his faithfulness.  

IF my decay be your increase,  
If my distress be your delight.  
If war in me procure you 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 fain.   

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 nothing 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 spring 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 rolls 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.    

XVIII. ODE. Unhappy eyes.  

CLose your lids, unhappy eyes,  
From the sight of such a change:  
Love 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.   

Coy 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 dye 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 hath fired.    

XIX. ODE. Disdain at variance with desire.  

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.    

XX. ODE. Cupid's Marriage with disimulation.  

A Newfound match is made of late,  
Blind Cupid needs will change his wife,  
New-fangled 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.   

Cithaeron 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,  
Bare 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.   

XXI. ODE. Dispraise of Love, and Lover's follies.  

IF love be life, I long to dye,  
Live they that list for me:  
And 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,  
Unhappy 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, now war again,  
Desire, despair, delight, disdain,  
Though dead in midst of life,  
In peace, and yet at strife.   
In amore haec insunt mala.   

XXII. ODE. 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.    

XXIII. ODE. 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 thought'st thyself too long at rest,  
Such was thy pride.  
Needs must thou seek another 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 thy 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?  
I must confess I pity thee,  
And can no less.  
But bear a while thy pain,  
For fear thou fall again.   

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

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

XXIIII. ODE. A defiance to disdainful love.  

NOw have I learned with much ado 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,  
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.   

What hast thou left wherewith to move thy mind:  
What life to quicken dead desire:  
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,  
I feel no heat in all thy fire.  
Go change thy bow, and get a stronger,  
Go break thy shafts, and buy thee longer.   

In 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:  
Some strange conceit must be devised,  
Or thou and all thy skill despised.   
Scilicet asserui iam me, fugique catenas.   

XXV: ODE. The Tomb of dead Desire.  

WHen Venus saw Desire must dye,  
Whom high disdain,  
Had justly slain,  
For killing 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 chased 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,  
In stead of learned verse his tomb to grace.  
If you the name require,  
Hearts-ease from dead desire.    

XXVI. ODE. Three Odes translated out of Anacreon, the Greek Lyric Poet.  

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

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

XXVII. ODE. A comparison betwixt the strength of beasts, the wisdom of Man, and the beauty of a woman's heart.  

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

The fish by swimming escapes the wheel,  
The bird by flight the Fowler's net.  
With wisdom man is armed as steel,  
From 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.    

XXVIII. ODE.  

OF late what time the Bear turned round,  
At midnight in her wo●●ed way,  
And men of all sorts slept full sound,  
O'ercome with labour of the day:   

The God of love came to my door,  
And took the ring and knocks it hard:  
Whose the●e, quoth I, that knocks so sore,  
You break my sleep, my dreams are marred?   

A little boy, forsooth, q●●th he,  
D●ng wet, with ●ain●●s moonlesse night,  
With that me thought it pitied me.  
I oped 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, wil● 〈◊〉 ●oue too slack for me,   

He said, and 〈◊〉 bow and shot,  
And weighty 〈…〉 heart,  
The wound was ●ore and ●●ging hot,  
The heat like fie●y 〈◊〉 my ●●art.   

Mine Hhoast, quoth he, my s●●ng is well,  
And laughed so that he leapt again:  
Look to your wound for fear of swell,  
Your heart may hap to feel the pain.    

XXIX. ODE. Anacreon's second Ode, otherwise.  
NAture in her work doth give,  
to each thing that by her do live  
A proper gift where she may,  
Prevent in time her own decay,  
The Bull a horn, the Horse a hoof  
The light-hoofe hare to run aloof:  
The Lion's strength, who may resist?  
The birds aloft fly where they list.  
The fish swims safe in water 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 straue,  
When each desired it to have.   

XXX: ODE. 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,   

F●ying 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,  
And 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,  
Therefore I grieve, I welcomed such a Guest.    

XXXI. ODE.  
That time and absence proves.  
Rather helps then hurts to loves.  

Absence's, hear thou my Protestation,  
Against my strength,  
Distance and length:  
Do what you can for alteration,  
For hearts of truest mettle,  
Absence doth join and time doth settle:   

Who love's 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 take 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.    

XXXII. ODE. Of Cynthia.  

THe ancient readers of heaven's 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.     
The end of the fourth Book.   

THE FIFT BOOK OF Epigrams and Epitaphs.  

Of Epigrams. Epigrams translated out of Marshal.  

Ad Aelian 76. l. 1.  
Si memini fuerant tibi quatuor, Aelia, dentes,  
Expuit unta duos tussis & una duos.  
jam secura potes totis tussire diebus,  
Nil istuc quod agat tertia t●ssis habet.  

Four teeth of late you had, both black and shaking,  
Which durst not chew your meat for fear of aching,  
But since your cough (without a Barber's aid)  
Hath blown them out, you need not be afraid.  
On either side to chew hard crusts, for sure  
Now from the Toothache you live most secure.    

In Herm. 15. l. 2.  
Quod nulli calicem tuum propinas.  
Humane facis, Herme, non superbe.   

A Monsieur Naso, Verole.  
Naso let none drink in his glass but he,  
Think you 'tis curious pride? 'tis courtesy.   

De Manuella. 51. l. 1.  

Os & libra tibi lingit, Manuella, catellus.  
Non miror merdas filibet esse cani.   

I muse not that your Dog turds oft do eat,  
To a tongue that licks your lips, a turd's sweet meat.    

De Milone.  

Milo domi non est, peregre Milone profecto,  
Arua vacant, uxor non minus inde parit.  
Cur sit ager sterilis, cur uxor lacttet, eadem  
Quo fodiatur ager non habet uxor habet.   

MILO life's long in France, and while he's there,  
his ground bears nought, his wife doth children bear,  
Why should th'one barren, th'other fertile be?  
His ground lacks ploughing up, so doth not she.    

De Codro. Li. 15. 3.  
Plus credit nemo, quam tota Codrus in urbe,  
Cum sit tam pauper quomodo? coecus amat.  

CODRUS, although but of mean estate,  
Trusts more than any Merchant in the city,  
For being old and blind he hath of late,  
Married a wife, young, wanton, fair, and witty.    

Ad Quintum 117. L. 5.  
Quae legis causa nupsit tibi Laelia, Quinte.  
Vxorem hanc peteris dicere legitimam.  

THy lawful wife fair Laelia needs must be,  
For she was forced by law to marry thee.   

Nil mihi das viws, dicis post fata daturum,  
Si non es stultus, scis Maro quid cupiam.    

To A. S.  

RIch Chremes whiles he life's will nought bestow,  
On his poor Heirs, but all at his last day:  
If he be half as wise as rich I trow,  
He thinks that for his life they seldom pray.   

Semper eris pauper, si pauper es, Aemiliane,  
Danter opes nullis nunc nifi divitibus.    

To all poor Scholars.  
Fail ye of wealth, of wealth ye still will fail,  
None but fat sows are now greased in the tail.   

In Cinnam. 42. 42. L. 7.  
Primum est ut proestes, si quid te, Cinna rogabo,  
Illud deinde sequens, ut cito, Cinna, neges.  
Diligo praectanter, non odi Cinna, negantem,  
Sed tunc praestas, nec c●o Cinnanogas.   

To his friends.  
MY just demands so one grant or soon deny,  
Th'one friendship shows, and th'other courtesy:  
But who nor soon doth grant, nor soon say no,  
Doth not true friendship, and good manners know.   

In Cinnam. 107. L. 5.  
Esse nihil dicis, quicquid petis, improbe Cinna,  
Si nil Cinna petis, niltibi Cinna negoes.  

WHat soe'er you coggingly require,  
'tis noting (Cinna) still you cry:  
Then Cinna you have your desire,  
If you ask nought, nought I deny.    

De Philone. 48. L. 5.  
Nunquam se caenasse domi Philo iurat, & hoc est,  
Non coenat quoties nemo vocavit cum.  
PHilo swears he ne'er eats at home a nights,  
He means, he fasts when no man him invites.   

12. L. 12.  
YOu promise mountains still to me,  
When over night stark drunk you be.  
But nothing you perform next day,  
Hence forth be morning drunk, I pray.   

Ad Pessimos Coniuges. 35. L. 8.  
CVm sitis similes, paresque vita:  
Vxor pessima, pessimus maritus,  
Miror non bene convenire vobis.  

WHy do your wife and you so ill agree,  
Since you in manners so well matched be?  
Thou brazen-fa'st, she impudently bold,  
Thou still dost brawl, she evermore doth scold.  
Thou seldom sober art, she often drunk,  
Thou a whorehunting knave, she a known Punk.  
Both of you filch, both swear and damn, and lie,  
And both take pawns, and jewish usury,  
Not manners like make man and wife agree,  
Their manners must both like and virtuous be.     

EPIGRAMS.  

A Rule for Courtiers.  
HE that will thrive in Court must oft become,  
Against his will, both blind, and deaf and dumb.   

On a painted Courtesan.  
Whosoever saith thou sellest all, doth jest,  
Thou buyest thy beauty that sells all the rest.   

In Aulam.  
HEr Sons rich Aula terms her Lechers all,  
Whom other Dames loves, friends, and servants call.  
And sure me thinks her wit,  
Gives them a name more fit.  
For if all mothers them their sons do call  
Whom they have only borne nine months in all,  
May she not call them Sons with better reason,  
Whom she hath borne nine times as long a season?   

For a Looking-glass.  
IF thou be fair, thy beauties beautify,  
With virtuous deeds and manners answerable:  
If thou be foul, thy beauties want supply,  
With a fair mind and actions commendable.   

In Afinium.  
THou still wert wont in earnest or in jest,  
To praise an Ass as a most worthy best,  
Now like an Ass thyself thou still commendest.  
whatsoever thou speak'st with thine own praise thou endest  
Oh! I perceive thou praisest learnedly,  
An Ass in Thesi and Hipothesi.   

On a limping Cuckold.  
THou evermore dost ancient Poets blame,  
For feigning Venus' wife to Vulcan lame.  
I blame the star and Hymen to, that gave  
A fair strait wife to thee a foul lame knave,  
And nought doth ease my grief but only this,  
Thy Venus now hath got a Mars to kiss.   

On Crambo a lousy shifter.  
BY want of shift since louse at first are bred,  
And after by the same increased and fed,  
Crambo I muse how you have lice so many,  
Since all men know you shift as much as any.   

In Quintum.  
QVintus is burnt, and may thereof be glad,  
For being poor he hath a good pretence,  
At every Church to crave benevolence  
For one that had by fire lost all he had.   

In Sabam.  
WHy will not Saba in a glass behold  
Her face, since she grew wrinkled, pale & old?  
Doubtless I think she doubts that ugly sight  
Like Cow-turnd I O would herself affright.   

In Aulum.  
AVlus gives nought, men say, though much he crave,  
Yet I can tell to whom the pox he gave.   
F. D.   

An Epigram to Sir Philip Sidney in Elegical verse, translated out of jodel, the French Poet.  
Cambridge, worthy Philip, by this verse builds thee an altar  
'Gainst time and tempest, strong to abide for ever,  
That praise of verses no length of time can abolish,  
With Greece and Italy purchased endless honour:  
I 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.  

An Epigram in 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 life's eternal, with endless glory bedecked:  
Yea still on earth he life's, and still shall live by the Muses.   

Another Epigram upon the same.  
What strange adventure? what now unlooked for arrival,  
Hath drawn the Muses from sweet Boeotia 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 fits hid for shame in a corner,  
Here ye the careful sighs, fetched from the depth of her entrails?  
There weeps Calliope, there sometimes lusty Thal●ia.  
Ay me! alas, now know I the cause, now seek I no further,  
Here 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 world's end.   

Other Epigrams upon the same.  
Whom can I first accuse? whose fault account I the greatest,  
Where kept the Muses, what country's haunted Apollo?  
Where loitred 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 cannot Sidney recover.  
And couldst thou whilom prevail with destiny fatal,  
For King Admetus 'gainst course of natural order,  
As for Mars, well I wots, cold frost of Thracia kingdom,  
Hath killed all kindness, no ruth of them 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 sorrrwful outcries.  
But yet if hap some Muse, would add new grace to my verses,  
Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Denmark, Persia, Turkey,  
India where Phoebus mounts up from sea to the Skie-ward,  
India where Phoebus falls down from sky to the sea-warn'de,  
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 of spring,  
Forgetting hunger, forgetting slaughter appointed,  
As when Calliopes dear son, sweet harmony singing,  
Unto the true consent of his Harp strings tuned in order,  
Drew from their places wild beasts and trees by the music.  
Swift flowing Hebrus stayed all his streams in a wonder,  
As if chilcoldnesse frorne had them down to the bottom.  
But for I wot to well my slender skill to be nothing,  
Here will I quite forswear both Verse and Muse in an anger  
Lost hap my rudeness disgrace thy glory by praising.  
Dignum laude virum Musavetat mori.   
The end of the Epigrams.   

To the Epitaph upon the heart of Henry the third, late King of France and Poland: slain 1589. by a jacobine Friar.  
Upon the Tomb of his heart in the Church of S. Clou, near Paris, adjoining to the house where he was slain.  
Adsta viator, & dole Regum vicem,  
Cor Regis isto conditum est sub marmore,  
Qui iura Gallis, iura Sarmatis dedit.  
Tectus Cucullo hunc sustulit Sicarius,  
Abi Viator, & dole Regum vicem.  
This Paraphrastically Englished.  

WHether thy choice, or chance thee hither brings,  
Stay Passenger, and wail the hap of Kings.  
This little stone, a great King's heart doth hold,  
That ruled the fickle French, and Polackes bold:  
Whom with a mighty warlike host attended  
With traitorous knife, a couled monster ended.  
So frail are even the highest earthly things,  
Go passenger, and wail the hap of Kings.  
F. D.   

An Epitaph on Henry the fourth, the last King of France.  
THat we should more bewail the hap of Kings,  
Great Henry Bourbons death occasion brings,  
To Henry Valois next crowned King of France,  
Next both in blood, in name, in reign, in chance.  
Perils his youth, wars did his manhood spend,  
His old age peace, till murder his life did end:  
His conquest's glory, his wisdom peace did win,  
His faith heaven, Christ pardon for his sin.   

An Epitaph on Queen Elizabeth.  
ELiza that great maiden Queen lies here,  
Who governed England four and forty year,  
Our coins refined in Ireland tamed, Belgia protected,  
Friended France, foiled Spain, and Pope rejected:  
Princes found her powerful, the world virtuous,  
Her Subjects wise and just, and God religious:  
God hath her soul, the world her admiration,  
Subjects her good deeds, Princes her imitation.  
Cham Best.     

THE SIXTH BOOK OF Epistles.  

Or letters 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 they pray:  
So may no sickness nip those flowers sweet,  
Which ever flowering on your cheeks do meet:  
Nor all defacing time have power to race,  
The goodly building of that heavenly face.   

Another.  
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 stile may frame  
To thankes, or grudging, or to praise, or blame:  
And whereto writ, 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 other 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 read,  
Lest they some pity in your heart may 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 to have the same tormenting.  
When you have read them, use them as you lift,  
For by your sight they shall be fully blest:  
But till you read them, let the woes I have  
This harmless Paper from your fury save.   

Another.  
Clear up mine eyes, and 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 fair her eyes will not a look deny,  
To this sad story of thy misery.  
O than my dear, 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 rend:  
Whose mind a mirror is, which only shows,  
The ugly image of my present woes:  
Whose memory's'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 heart, so faithful, constant, true,  
That only love's, 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, minuitly expect  
When either it should run, and so be wrect,  
Upon despairs sharp Rock, or be o'erthrown  
With storm of your disdain so fiercely blown.   

Another.  
But yet of all the woes that do torment me,  
Of all the torments that do daily rend me,  
there's none so great (although I am assured,  
That even the lest cannot be long endured:)  
As that so many weeks (nay months, and years)  
Nay tedious ages, (for it so appears)  
My trembling heart (besides so many anguishs,)  
Twixt hope and 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 you do make me 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 alway thinks on you.  
Or whether you (as Oh I fear you do)  
Hare both myself, and gifts, and letters too.   

Another.  
I must confess (unkind) when I consider,  
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 doth merit,  
To love that love, which once I did inherit,  
Despair itself cannot make me despair  
But that you'll prove as kind as you are fair,  
And that my lines, and book (O would 'twere true)  
Are, though I know't not yet, received by you,  
And often have your cruelty repent.  
Whereby my guiltless heart, is thus tormented,  
And now at length in lieu of passed woe,  
Will pity, kindness, love and favour shoe.   

Another.  
But when again my cursed memory,  
To my sad thoughts confounded diversly,  
Presents the time, the teare-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 sugared 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 do you inchant,  
Of all that do your lovely presence haunt:  
In stead of 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, besides looks, nor aught that might  
Engrieve, increase so undeserved spite.  
When this (I say) I think, and think withal.  
How, nor those showers of tears mine eyes let fall  
Nor wind of blustering sighs withal their force,  
Can move your rocky heart once to remorse,  
Can I expect that letter 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.   

Another.  
Alas my Deer, if this you do device,  
To try the virtue of your murdering eyes,  
And in the Glass of bleeding hearts to view  
The glorious splendour of your beauties hue,  
Ah! try it on rebellious hearts and eyes,  
That do withstand the power of sacred lights  
And make them feel, (if any such be found)  
How deep and cureless 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.   
FINIS.