IDEAS MIRROR.  
AMOURS IN QVATORZAINS.  
I serve é tace assai domanda.  
AT LONDON, Printed by james Roberts, for Nicholas Linge. Anno. 1594.   

Gentle Reader correct these faults escaped in the printing.  
AMour 13. line 13. for by Tempe, read my Tempe.  
Amour 16. line 3. for delivered, read delivered.  
Amour 34. line 13. for forforne, read forlorn.  
Amour 40. line 14. for Go Bastard, read Go bastard go,   

To the dear Child of the Muses, and his ever kind Maecenas, Ma. Anthony Cook, Esquire.  

VOuchsafe to grace these rude unpolished rhymes,  
Which long (dear friend) have slept in sable night,  
And come abroad now in these glorious times,  
Can hardly brook the pureness of the light.   

But sith you see their destiny is such,  
That in the world their fortune they must try,  
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,  
Wearing your name their gracious livery.   

Yet these mine own, I wrong not other men,  
Nor traffic further than this happy Clime,  
Nor filch from Ports nor from Petrarchs pen,  
A fault too common in this latter tyme.  
Divine Sir Philip, I avouch thy writ,  
I am no Pickpurse of another's wit.  Yours devoted, M. Drayton.  

Anchor triumph, upon whose blessed shore,  
The sacred Muses solemnize thy name:  
Where the Arcadian Swains with rites adore  
Pandora's poesy, and her living fame.   

Where first this jolly Shepherd 'gan rehearse,  
That heavenly worth, upon his Oaten reed,  
Of earth's great Queen: in Nectar-dewed verse,  
Which none so wise that rightly can aread.   

Now in conceit of his ambitious love,  
He mounts his thoughts unto the highest gate,  
Strained with some sacred spirit from above,  
Bewrays his love, his faith, his life, his fate:   

In this his mirror of Ideas praise,  
On whom his thoughts, and fortunes all attend,  
Tunes all his Ditties, and his Roundelays,  
How love begun, how love shall never end.  
No wonder though his Muse then soar so high,  
Whose subject is the Queen of Poesy.  Gorbo il fidele.   


Amour. 1.  
Read here (sweet Maid) the story of my woe,  
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares:  
With my lives sorrow enterlyned so,  
Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears.   

The sad memorial of my miseries,  
Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost:  
My lives complaint in doleful Elegies,  
With so pure love as time could never boast.   

Receive the incense which I offer here,  
By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,  
My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer,  
My soul's oblations to thy sacred name.  
Which name my Muse to highest heaven shall raise,  
By chaste desire, true love, and virtues praise.   

Amour. 2.  
My fair, if thou wilt register my love,  
More than world's volumes shall thereof arise,  
Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shalt prove  
A second flood down raining from mine eyes.   

Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold,  
The Sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke:  
And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled,  
They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke.   

Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see  
Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice:  
That soul (sweet Maid) which so hath honoured thee,  
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes.  
Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright,  
When darkness hath obscured each other light.   

Amour. 3.  
My thoughts bred up with Eagle-birds of love,  
And for their virtues I desired to know,  
Upon the nest I set them, forth to prove,  
If they were of the eagle's kind or no.   

But they no sooner saw my Sun appear,  
But on her rays with gazing eyes they stood,  
Which proved my birds delighted in the air,  
And that they came of this rare kingly brood.   

But now their plumes full summed with sweet desire,  
To show their kind, began to climb the skies:  
Do what I could my Eaglets would aspire,  
Strait mounting up to thy celestial eyes.  
And thus (my fair) my thoughts away be flown,  
And from my breast into thine eyes be gone.   

Amour. 4.  
My fair, had I not erst adorned my Lute,  
With those sweet strings stolen from thy golden hair,  
Unto the world had all my joys been mute,  
Nor had I learned to descant on my fair.   

Had not mine eye seen thy Celestial eye,  
Nor my heart known the power of thy name,  
My soul had ne'er felt thy Divinity,  
Nor my Muse been the trumpet of thy fame.   

But thy divine perfections by their skill,  
This miracle on my poor Muse have tried:  
And by inspiring, glorified my quill,  
And in my verse thyself art deified.  
Thus from thyself the cause is thus derived,  
That by thy fame all fame shall be survived.   

Amour. 5.  
Since holy Vestal laws have been neglected,  
The Gods pure fire hath been extinguished quite:  
No Virgin once attending on that light,  
Nor yet those heavenly secrets once respected.   

Till thou alone to pay the heavens their duty,  
Within the Temple of thy sacred name,  
With thine eyes kindling that Celestial flame,  
By those reflecting Sunbeams of thy beauty.   

Here Chastity that Vestal most divine,  
Attends that Lamp with eye which never sleepeth,  
The volumes of Religion's laws she keepeth,  
Making thy breast that sacred relics shrine,  
Where blessed Angels singing day and night,  
Praise him which made that fire, which lends that light.   

Amour. 6.  
In one whole world is but one Phoenix found,  
A Phoenix thou, this Phoenix then alone,  
By thy rare plume thy kind is easily known,  
With heavenly colours died, with natures wonder crowned,   

Heap thine own virtues seasoned by their sun,  
On heavenly top of thy divine desire:  
Then with thy beauty set the same on fire,  
So by thy death, thy life shall be begun.   

Thyself thus burned in this sacred flame,  
With thine own sweetness all the heavens perfuming,  
And still increasing as thou art consuming,  
Shalt spring again from th'ashes of thy fame;  
And mounting up, shalt to the heavens ascend,  
So mayst thou live, past world, past fame, past end.   

Amour. 7.  
Stay, stay, sweet Time, behold or ere thou pass  
From world to world, thou long hast sought to see,  
That wonder now wherein all wonders be,  
Where heaven beholds her in a mortal glass.   

Nay, look thee Time in this Celestial glass,  
And thy youth past, in this fair mirror see:  
Behold world's Beauty in her infancy,  
What she was then, and thou or ere she was.   

Now pass on Time, to after-worlds' tell this,  
Tell truly Time what in thy time hath been,  
That they may tell more worlds what Time hath seen  
And heaven may joy to think on past world's bliss.  
here make a Period Time, and say for me,  
She was, the like that never was, nor never more shallbe.   

Amour. 8.  
Unto the World, to Learning, and to Heaven,  
Three nine there are, to every one a nine,  
One number of the earth, the other both divine,  
One wonder woman now makes 3. odd numbers even.   

Nine orders first of Angels be in heaven,  
Nine Muses do with learning still frequent:  
These with the Gods are ever resident:  
Nine worthy men unto the world were given.   

My Worthy, one to these nine Worthies, addeth,  
And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine:  
And my good Angel in my soul divine,  
With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth.  
My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angel then,  
Makes every one of these three nine a ten.   

Amour. 9  
Beauty sometime in all her glory crowned,  
Passing by that clear fountain of thine eye:  
Her sunshine face there chancing to espy,  
Forgot herself, and thought she had been drowned.   

And thus whilst Beauty on her beauty gazed,  
Who then yet living, deemed she had been dying,  
And yet in death, some hope of life espying,  
At her own rare perfections so amazed;   

Twixt joy and grief, yet with a smile frowning,  
The glorious sunbeams of her eyes bright shining,  
And she on her own destiny divining,  
Threw in herself, to save herself by drowning.  
The Well of Nectar, paved with pearl and gold,  
Where she remains for all eyes to behold.   

Amour. 10.  
Oft taking pen in hand, with words to cast my woes,  
Beginning to account the sum of all my cares,  
I well perceive my grief innumerable grows,  
And still in reckonings rise more millions of despairs.   

And thus dividing of my fatal hours,  
The payments of my love I read, and reading cross,  
And in substracting, set my sweets unto my sours,  
Th'arrearage of my joys, directs me to my loss.   

And thus mine eyes, a debtor to thine eye,  
Who by extortion gaineth all their looks,  
My heart hath paid such grievous usury,  
That all her wealth lies in thy Beauty's books.  
And all is 〈◊〉 which hath been due to me,  
And I a Bankrupt quite undone by thee.   

Amour. 11.  
Thine eyes taught me the Alphabet of love,  
To con my Cros-rowe ere I learned to spell:  
For I was apt a scholar like to prove,  
Gave me sweet looks when as I learned well.   

Vows were my vowels when I then begun  
At my first Lesson in thy sacred name,  
My consonants the next when I had done,  
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame.   

My liquids then were liquid crystal tears,  
My cares my mutes so mute to crave relief,  
My doleful Dypthongs were my lives despairs,  
Redoubling sighs the accents of my grief:  
My loves Schoolmistress now hath taught me so,  
That I can read a story of my woe.   

Amour. 12.  
Some Atheist or vile Infidel in love,  
When I do speak of thy divinity,  
May blaspheme thus, and say, I flatter thee:  
And only write, my skill in verse to prove.   

See miracles, ye unbelieving see,  
A dumbe-borne Muse made to express the mind,  
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,  
One by thy name, the other touching thee.   

Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine,  
And mine ears deaf, by thy fame healed be,  
My vices cured, by virtues sprung from thee,  
My hopes reviv'd which long in grave had line.  
All unclean thoughts, foul spirits cast out in me,  
By thy great power, and by strong faith in thee.   

Amour. 13.  
Clear Anchor, on whose silver-sanded shore,  
My soule-shrinde Saint, my fair Idea lies:  
O blessed Brook, whose milk-white Swans adore  
That crystal stream refined by her eyes.   

Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring,  
Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showers:  
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,  
Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers.   

Say thus fair Brook when thou shalt see thy Queen,  
Lo, here thy Shepherd spent his wandering years:  
And in these shades (dear Nymph) he oft hath been,  
And here to thee he sacrificed his tears.  
Fair Arden, thou by Tempe art alone  
And thou sweet Anchor art my Helicon.   

Amour. 14.  
Looking into the glass of my youths miseries,  
I see the ugly face of my deformed cares,  
With withered brows, all wrinkled with despairs,  
That for my misspent youth the tears fell from my eyes.   

Then in these tears, the mirrors of these eyes,  
Thy fairest youth and Beauty do I see,  
Imprinted in my tears by looking still on thee:  
Thus midst a thousand woes, ten thousand joys arise.   

Yet in these joys, the shadows of my good,  
In this fair limmed ground as white as snow,  
Painted the blackest Image of my woe,  
With murdering hands imbrud in mine own blood.  
And in this Image 〈◊〉 dark cloudy eyes,  
My life, my youth, my love, I here Anatomize.   

Amour. 15.  
Now Love, if thou wilt prove a Conqueror,  
Subdue this Tyrant ever martyring me,  
And but appoint me for her Tormentor,  
Then for a Monarch will I honour thee.   

My heart shall be the prison for my fair,  
I'll fetter her in chains of purest love,  
My sighs shall stop the passage of the air:  
This punishment the pitiless may move.   

With tears out of the Channels of mine eyes,  
She'st quench her thirst as duly as they fall:  
Kind words unkindest meat I can devise,  
My sweet, my fair, my good, my best of all.   

I'll bind her then with my torne-tossed hair,  
And rack her with a thousand holy wishes.  
Then on a place prepared for her there,  
I'll execute her with a thousand kisses.  
Thus will I crucify my cruel she,  
Thus I'll plague her which so hath plagued me.   

Amour. 16.  
virtues Idea in virginity,  
By inspiration, came conceived with thought:  
The time is come delivered she must be,  
Where first my Love into the world was brought.   

Unhappy Borne, of all unhappy day,  
So luckless was my Babes nativity:  
Saturn chief Lord of the Ascendant lay,  
The wandering Moon in earth's triplicity.   

Now, or by chance, or heavens high providence,  
His Mother died, and by her Legacy,  
(Fearing the stars presaged influence,)  
Bequeathed his wardship to my sovereigns' eye;   

There hunger star●en, wanting looks to live,  
Still empty gorged, with cares consumption pinned,  
Salt lukewarm tears she for his drink did give,  
And evermore with sighs he supped and bind.  
And thus (poor Orphan) lying in distress,  
●yes in his pangs, God help the motherless.   

Amour. 17.  
If ever wonder could report a wonder,  
Or tongue of wonder worth could tell a wonder thought,  
Or ever joy express, what perfect joy hath taught,  
Then wonder, tongue, than joy, might well report a wonder.   

Can all conceit conclude, which past conceit admireth,  
Or could mine eye but aim, her objects past perfection,  
My words might imitate my dearest thoughts direction:  
And my soul then obtain which so my soul desireth.   

Were not Invention stauld, treading Inventions maze,  
Or my swift-winged Muse tired by too high flying,  
Did not perfection still on her perfection gaze,  
Whilst Love (my Phoenix bird) in her own flame is dying,  
Invention and my Muse, perfection and her love,  
Should teach the world to know the wonder that I prove.   

Amour. 18.  
Some when in rhyme they of their Loves do tell,  
With flames and lightning their exordiums paint,  
Some invocate the Gods, some spirits of Hell,  
And heaven, and earth, do with their woes acquaint.   

Elizia is too high a seat for me,  
I will not come in Stixe nor Phlegeton,  
The Muse's nice, the Furies cruel be,  
I like not Limbo, nor black Acheron,   

spiteful Errinis frights me with her looks,  
My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell,  
I quake to look on Hecate's charming books,  
I still fear bugbears in Apollo's Cell.  
I pass not for Minerva nor Astraea,  
But ever call upon divine Idea.   

Amour. 19  
If those ten Regions registered by Fame,  
By their ten Sibyls have the world controlled,  
Who prophesied of Christ or ere he came,  
And of his blessed birth before foretold.   

That man-god now of whom they did divine,  
This earth of those sweet Prophets hath bereft,  
And since the world to judgement doth decline,  
In steed of ten, one Sibil to us left.   

This, pure Idea, virtues right Idea,  
She of whom Merlin long time did foretell,  
Excelling her of Delphos or Cumaea,  
Whose life doth save a thousand souls from hell:  
That life (I mean) which doth Religion teach,  
And by example, true repentance preach.   

Amour. 20.  
Reading sometime, my sorrows to beguile,  
I find old Poets hills and floods admire.  
One, he doth wonder monster-breeding Nile,  
Another, marvels Sulphur Aetna's fire.   

Now broad-brymd Indus, then of Pindus' height,  
Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old,  
The Delian Cynthus, than Olympus' weight,  
Slow Arrer, frantic Gallus, Cydnus cold.   

Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,  
Some whirlpool Po, and sliding Hypasis,  
Some old Parnassus, where the Muses dwell,  
Some Helicon, and some fair Simois,  
A fools think I, had you Idea seen,  
Poor Brooks and Banks had no such wonders been.   

Amour. 21.  
Letters and lines we see are soon defaced,  
Mettles do waste, and fret with cankers rust,  
The Diamond shall once consume to dust,  
And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced.   

Paper and ink, can paint but naked words,  
To write with blood, of force offends the sight,  
And if with tears, I find them all too light:  
And sighs and signs a silly hope affords.   

O sweetest shadow, how thou servest my turn,  
Which still shalt be as long as there is Sun,  
Nor whilst the world is, never shall be done,  
Whilst Moon shall shine by night, or any fire shall burn.  
That every thing whence shadow doth proceed,  
May in his shadow my loves story read.   

Amour. 22.  
My heart imprisoned in a hopeless I'll,  
Peopled with Armies of pale jealous eyes,  
The shores beset with thousand secret spies,  
Must pass by air, or else die in exile.   

He framed him wings with feathers of his thought,  
Which by their nature learned to mount the sky,  
And with the same he practised to fly,  
Till he himself this eagle's art had taught.   

Thus soaring still, nor looking once below,  
So near thine eyes celestial sun aspired,  
That with the rays his wasting pigeons fired.  
Thus was the wanton cause of his own woe.  
down fell he in thy Beauty's O●●an drenched,  
Yet there he burns, in fire that's never quenched.   

Amour. 23  
Wonder of Heaven, glass of divinity,  
Rare beauty, Nature's joy, perfections Mother,  
The work of that united Trinity,  
Wherein each fairest part excelleth other.   

loves Mithridate, the purest of perfection,  
Celestial Image, Loadstone of desire,  
The soul's delight, the senses true direction,  
Sun of the world, thou heart reviving fire.   

Why shouldst thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,  
Which scorn the honour that is done to thee,  
Or make my pen her name imortalize,  
Who in her pride sdaynes once to look on me.  
It is thy heaven within her face to dwell,  
And in thy heaven, there only is my hell.   

Amour. 24.  
Our floods-Queene Thames, for ships & Swans is crowned,  
And stately Severne, for her shores is praised,  
The crystal Trent, for Fords & fish renowned,  
And Auons fame, to Albion's Clives is raised.   

Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,  
York, many wonders of her Ouse can tell,  
The Peake her Dove, whose banks so fertile be,  
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excel.   

Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame,  
Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds fair flood,  
Our Western parts extol their Wilies fame,  
And old Legea brags of Danish blood:  
Arden's sweet Anchor let thy glory be,  
That fair Idea she doth live by thee.   

Amour. 25.  
The glorious sun went blushing to his bed,  
When my soul's sun from her fair Cabinet,  
Her golden beams had now discovered,  
Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.   

Some mused to see the earth envy the air,  
Which from her lips exhaled refined sweet,  
A world to see, yet how he joyed to hear  
The dainty grass make music with her feet.   

But my most marvel was when from the skies,  
So Comet-like each star advanced her light,  
As though the heaven had now awaked her eyes,  
And summoned Angels to this blessed sight.  
No cloud was seen, but crystalline the air,  
Laughing for joy upon my lovely fair,   

Amour. 26.  
Cupid, dumb Idol, peevish Saint of love,  
No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idol be,  
No God art thou, a Goddess she doth prove,  
Of all thine honour she hath rob thee.   

Thy Bow half broke, is pieced with old desire,  
Her Bow is beauty, with ten thousand strings,  
Of purest gold, tempered with virtues fire:  
The least able to kill an host of Kings.   

Thy shafts be spent, and she (to war appointed)  
Hides in those crystal quivers of her eyes,  
More Arrows with hart-piercing metal pointed,  
Then there be stars at midnight in the skies.  
With these, she steals men's hearts for her relief,  
Yet happy he that's robbed of such a thief.   

Amour. 27  
My Love makes hot the fire whose heat is spent,  
The water, moisture from my tears deriveth:  
And my strong sighs, the airs weak force reviveth  
This love, tears, sighs, maintain each one his element   

The fire, unto my love, compare a painted fire,  
The water, to my tears, as drops to Oceans be,  
The air, unto my sighs, as Eagle to the fire,  
The passions of despair, but joys to my desire.   

Only my love is in the fire engraved,  
Only my tears by Oceans may be guessed,  
Only my sighs are by the air expressed,  
Yet fire, water, air, of nature not deprived.  
Whilst fire, water, air, twixt heaven & earth shall be,  
My love, my tears, my sighs, extinguished cannot be.   

Amour. 28.  
Some wits there be, which like my method well,  
And say my verse runs in a lofty vain,  
Some say I have a passing pleasing strain,  
Some say that in my humour I excel.   

Some, who reach not the height of my conceit,  
They say, (as Poets do) I use to fayne,  
And in bare words paint out my passions pain.  
Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeat.   

I pass not I how men affected be,  
Nor who commend or discommend my verse,  
It pleaseth me if I my plaints rehearse,  
And in my lines if she my love may see.  
I prove my verse authentic still in this,  
Who writes my Mistress praise, can never write amiss.   

Amour. 29.  
O eyes, behold your happy Hesperus,  
That lucky Lodestar of eternal light,  
Left as that sun alone to comfort us,  
When our world's sun is vanished out of sight.   

O star of stars, fair Planet mildly moving,  
O Lamp of virtue, sun-bright, ever shining,  
O mine eyes Comet, so admired by loving,  
O clearest day-star, never more declining.   

O our world's wonder, crown of heaven above,  
Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee,  
Loved more than life, yet only art his love,  
Whose glorious hand immortal hath enrolled thee.  
O blessed fair, now vail those heavenly eyes,  
That I may bless me at thy sweet arise.   

Amour. 30.  
Three sorts of Serpents do resemble thee,  
That dangerous eye-killing Cockatrice,  
Th'enchanting Siren, which doth so entice,  
The weeping Crocodile: these vile pernicious three.   

The Basilisk his nature takes from thee,  
Who for my life in secret wait dost lie,  
And to my heart send'st poison from thine eye,  
Thus do I feel the pain, the cause, yet cannot see.   

Faire-mayd no more, but Mayr-maid be thy name,  
Who with thy sweet alluring harmony  
Hast played the thief, and stolen my heart from me.  
And like a Tyrant makest my grief thy game.  
Thou Crocodile, who when thou hast me slain,  
Lamentest my death, with tears of thy disdain.   

Amour. 31.  
Sitting alone, love bids me go and write,  
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,  
Boasting that she doth still direct the way,  
Else senseless love could never once indite.   

Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen,  
And scorning Reasons maimed Argument,  
Strait taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,  
Where she with Love conversing hath not been.   

Reason reproached with this coy disdain,  
Dispighteth Love, and laugheth at her folly,  
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholly,  
Thought her in weight too light by many a grain  
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,  
And Love alone finds reason in my love.   

Amour. 32.  
Those tears which quench my hope, still kindle my desire,  
Those sighs which cool my heart, are coals unto my love.  
Disdain Ice to my life, is to my soul a fire,  
With tears, sighs, & disdain, this contrary I prove.   

Quenchless desire, makes hope burn, dries my tears,  
Love heats my heart, my hart-heat my sighs warmeth,  
With my soul's fire, my life disdain out-weares,  
Desire, my love, my soul, my hope, heart, & life charmeth.   

My hope becomes a friend to my desire,  
My heart embraceth Love, Love doth embrace my heart,  
My life a Phoenix is in my soul's fire,  
From thence (they vow) they never will departed.  
Desire, my love, my soul, my hope, my heart, my life,  
With tears, sighs, and disdain, shall have immortal strife.   

Amour. 33.  
Whilst thus mine eyes do surfeit with delight,  
My woeful heart imprisoned in my breast,  
Wishing to be transformed into my sight,  
To look on her by whom mine eyes are blest.   

But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze,  
Behold, their objects oversoon depart,  
And treading in this never-ending maze,  
Wish now to be transformed into my heart.   

My heart surcharged with thoughts, sighs in abundance raise,  
My eyes made dim with looks, pour down a flood of tears,  
And whilst my heart and eye, envy each others praise,  
My dying looks and thoughts are peized in equal fears.  
And thus whilst sighs and tears together do contend,  
Each one of these, doth aid unto the other lend.   

Amour. 34.  
My fair, look from those turrets of thine eyes,  
Into the Ocean of a troubled mind,  
Where my poor soul, the Bark of sorrow lies,  
Left to the mercy of the waves and wind.   

See where she floats, laden with purest love,  
Which those fair islands of thy looks afford,  
Desiring yet a thousand deaths to prove,  
Then so to cast her Ballase over board.   

See how her sails be rend, her tackle worn,  
Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost,  
Her Mariners do leave her all forforne,  
Yet how she bends towards that blessed Coast.  
Lo where she drowns, in storms of thy displeasure,  
Whose worthy prize should have enritcht thy treasure.   

Amour. 35.  
See chaste Diana, where my harmless heart,  
Roused from my breast, his sure and safest lair,  
Nor chaste by hound, nor forced by Hunter's art,  
Yet see how right he comes unto my fair.   

See how my Deer comes to thy Beauties stand,  
And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,  
Whilst from their rays by Cupid's skilful hand,  
Into his heart the piercing Arrow flies.   

See how he looks upon his bleeding wound,  
Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,  
And looking on thee, falls upon the ground,  
smile, as though he gloried in his death.  
And wallowing in his blood, some life yet laft,  
His stone-cold lips doth kiss the blessed shaft.   

Amour. 36.  
Sweet sleep so armed with Beauty's arrows darting,  
Sleep in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleep appeareth,  
Sleep lightning Beauty, Beauty sleeps darkness cleareth,  
Sleeps wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.   

Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleep guarding,  
Beauty in sleep, sleep in Beauty charmed,  
Sleeps aged coldness, with Beauty's fire warmed,  
Sleep with delight, Beauty with love rewarding.   

Seepe and Beauty, with equal forces striving,  
Beauty her strength unto sleeps weakness lending,  
Sleep with Beauty, Beauty with sleep contending,  
Yet others force, the others force reviving:  
And others foe, the others foe embrace,  
Mine eyes beheld this conflict in thy face.   

Amour. 37.  
I ever love, where never hope appears,  
Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,  
And my lives hope would die but for despair,  
My never certain joy, breeds ever-certaine fears.   

Vncertaine-dread, gives wings unto my hope,  
Yet my hopes wings are laden so with fear,  
As they cannot ascend to my hopes sphere,  
Yet fear gives them more than a heavenly scope:   

Yet this large room is bounded with despair,  
So my love is still fettered with vain hope,  
And liberty deprives him of his scope,  
And thus am I imprisoned in the air;  
Then sweet Despair, awhile hold up thy head,  
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.   

Amour. 38.  
If chaste and pure devotion of my youth,  
Or glory of my Aprill-springing years,  
Unfeigned love, in naked simple truth,  
A thousand vows, a thousand sighs and tears:   

Or if a world of faithful service done,  
Words, thoughts and deeds devoted to her honour,  
Or eyes that have beheld her as their sun,  
With admiration, ever looking on her.   

A life, that never joyed but in her love,  
A soul, that ever hath adored her name,  
A faith, that time nor fortune could not move,  
A Muse, that unto heaven hath raised her fame.  
Though these, nor these deserve to be embraced,  
Yet fair unkind, too good to be disgraced.   

Amour. 39  
Die, die, my soul, and never taste of joy,  
If sighs, nor tears, nor vows, nor prayers can move,  
If faith and zeal be but esteemed a toy,  
And kindness, be unkindness in my love.   

Then with unkindness, Love revenge thy wrong,  
O sweetest revenge that ere the heavens gave,  
And with the Swan record thy dying song,  
And praise her still to thy untimely grave.   

So in loves death shall loves perfection prove,  
That love divine which I have borne to you,  
By doom concealed to the heavens above,  
That yet the world unworthy never knew,  
Whose pure Idea never tongue expressed,  
I feel, you know, the heavens can tell the rest.   

Amour. 40.  
O thou unkindest fair, most fairest she,  
In thine eyes triumph murdering my poor heart,  
Now do I swear by heavens, before we part,  
My halfe-slaine heart shall take revenge on thee.   

Thy Mother did her life to Death resign,  
And thou an Angel art, and from above,  
Thy father was a man, that will I prove,  
Yet thou a Goddess art, and so divine.   

And thus if thou be not of humane kind,  
A Bastard on both sides needs must thou be,  
Our Laws allow no Land to basterdy:  
By nature's Laws we thee a Bastard find.  
Then hence to heaven unkind, for thy child's part,  
Go Bastard, for sure of thence thou art.   

Amour. 41.  
Rare offspring of my thoughts, my dearest Love,  
Begot by fancy, on sweet hope exhortive,  
In whom all pureness with perfection strove,  
Hurt in the Embryon, makes my joys abhortive.   

And you my sighs, Symtomas of my woe,  
The doleful Anthems of my endless care,  
Like idle Echoes ever answering: so,  
The mournful accents of my loves despair.   

And thou Conceit, the shadow of my bliss,  
Declining with the setting of my sun,  
Springing with that, and fading strait with this,  
Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun.  
Now was thy prime, and lo, now is thy wain,  
Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slain.   

Amour. 42  
Placed in the forlorn hope of all despair,  
Against the Fort where Beauty's Army lies,  
Assailed with death, yet armed with ghastly fear,  
Lo thus my love, my life, my fortune tries.   

Wounded with Arrows from thy lightning eyes,  
My tongue in pain, my heart's counsels bewraying,  
My rebel thought for me in Ambush lies,  
To my loves foe her Chieftain still betraying.   

Record my love in Ocean waves (unkind,)  
Cast my deserts into the open air,  
Commit my words unto the fleeting wind,  
Cancel my name, and blot it with despair,  
So shall I be, as I had never been,  
Nor my disgraces to the world be seen.   

Amour. 43.  
Why do I speak of joy, or write of love,  
When my heart is the very Den of horror,  
And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,  
With all his torments and infernal terror.   

Mine eyes want tears thus to bewail my woe,  
My brain is dry with weeping all too long,  
My sighs be spent with grief and sighing so,  
And I want words for to express my wrong   

But still distracted in loves Lunacy,  
And Bedlam like thus raving in my grief,  
Now rail upon her hair, now on her eye,  
Now call her Goddess, than I call her thief,  
Now I deny her, than I do confess her,  
Now do I curse her, than again I bless her.   

Amour. 44.  
My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat,  
My words the hammers, fashioning my desires,  
My breast the forge, including all the heat,  
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire.   

My sighs, the bellows which the flame increaseth,  
Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning,  
Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth,  
In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning.   

Mine eyes with tears against the fire striving,  
With scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth:  
But with those drops the coals again reviving,  
Still more and more unto my torment burneth.  
With Sisyphus thus do I role the stone,  
And turn the wheel with damned Ixion.   

Amour. 45  
Black pytchy Night, companion of my woe,  
The Inn of care, the Nurse of dreary sorrow,  
Why lengthnest thou thy darkest hours so,  
Still to prolong my long time lookt-for morrow?   

Thou Sable shadow, Image of despair  
Portrait of hell, the airs black mourning weed,  
Recorder of revenge, remembrancer of care,  
The shadow and the vail of every sinful deed.   

Death like to thee, so live thou still in death,  
The grave of joy, prison of days delight,  
Let heavens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,  
Nor Moon nor stars lend thee their shining light.  
For thou alone renew'st that old desire,  
Which still torments me in days burning fire.   

Amour. 46.  
Sweet secrecy, what tongue can tell thy worth?  
What mortal pen sufficiently can praise thee?  
What curious Pencil serves to limb thee forth?  
What Muse hath power, above thy height to raise thee?   

Strong lock of kindness, Closet of loves store,  
Heart's Mithridate, the soul's preservative,  
O virtue, which all virtues do adore,  
Chief good, from whom all good things we derive.   

O rare effect, true bond of friendship's measure,  
Conceit of Angels, which all wisdom teachest,  
O richest Casket of all heavenly treasure,  
In secret silence, which such wonders preachest,  
O purest mirror, wherein men may see  
The lively Image of Divinity.   

Amour. 47.  
The golden Sun upon his fiery wheels,  
The horned Ram doth in his course awake:  
And of just length our night and day doth make,  
Flinging the Fishes backward with his heels.   

Then to the Tropic takes his full Career,  
Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat,  
Baiting the Lion in his furious heat,  
Till Virgin's smiles do sound his sweet reteere.   

But my fair Planet, who directs me still,  
Unkindly, such distemperature doth bring,  
Makes Summer Winter, Autumn in the Spring,  
Crossing sweet nature by unruly will.  
Such is the sun, who guides my youthful season,  
Whose thwarting course, deprives the world of reason.   

Amour. 48.  
Who list to praise the days delicious light,  
Let him compare it to her heavenly eye:  
The sunbeams to that lustre of her sight,  
So may the learned like the simile.   

The morning's Crimson, to her lips alike,  
The sweet of Eden, to her breaths perfume,  
The fair Elizia, to her fairer cheek,  
Unto her veins, the only Phoenix plume.   

The Angel's tresses, to her tressed hair,  
The Galixia, to her more than white:  
Praising the fairest, compare it to my fair,  
Still naming her, in naming all delight.  
So may he grace all these in her alone,  
Superlative in all comparison.   

Amour. 49.  
Define my love, and tell the joys of heaven,  
Express my woes, and show the pains of hell,  
Declare what fate unlucky stars have given,  
And ask a world upon my life to dwell.   

Make known that faith, unkindness could not move,  
Compare my worth with others base desert,  
Let virtue be the tuch-stone of my love,  
So may the heavens read wonders in my heart.   

Behold the Clouds which have eclipsed my sun,  
And view the crosses which my course doth let,  
Till me, if ever since the world begun,  
So fair a Morning had so foul a set?  
And by all means, let black unkindness prove,  
The patience of so rare divine a love.   

Amour. 50.  
When first I ended, than I first began,  
The more I travel, further from my rest,  
Where most I lost, there most of all I won,  
Pined with hunger, rising from a feast.   

Me thinks I flee, yet want I legs to go,  
Wise in conceit, in act a very sot,  
Ravished with joy, amidst a hell of woe,  
What most I seem, that surest am I not.   

I build my hopes, a world above the sky,  
Yet with the Mole, I creep into the earth,  
In plenty, am I starved with penury,  
And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth.  
I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,  
Burned in a Sea of Ice, & drowned amidst a fire.   

Amour. 51.  
Go you my lines, Ambassadors of love,  
With my heart's tribute to her conquering eyes,  
From whence, if you one tear of pity move  
For all my woes, that only shall suffice.   

When you Minerva in the sun behold,  
At her perfection stand you then and gaze,  
Where, in the compass of a marigold,  
Meridianis sits within a maze.   

And let Invention of her beauty vaunt,  
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamela's love,  
And tell the Gods, Mars is predominant.  
Seated with Sol, and wears Minerva's glove.  
And tell the world, that in the world there is  
A heaven on earth, on earth no heaven but this.   
FINIS.   

THE EIGHTH EGLOG.  
Good Gorbo of the golden world,  
and Satur's reign doth tell,  
And afterward doth make report,  
of bonny Dowsabell.  

Motto.  
Shepherd why creep we in this lowly vain,  
as though our muse no store at all affords,  
Whilst others vaunt it with the frolic swain,  
and strut the stage with reperfumed words.   

See how these younkers rave it out in rhyme,  
who make a traffic of their rarest wits,  
And in Bellona's buskin tread it fine,  
like Bacchus' priests raging in frantic fits.   

Those myrtle Groves decayed, done grow again,  
their roots refreshed with Heliconas' spring,  
Whose pleasant shade invites the homely swain,  
to sit him down and hear the Muses sing.   

Then if thy Muse hath spent her wont zeal,  
with ivy twist thy temples shall be crowned,  
Or if she dares hoist up top-gallant sail,  
Amongst the rest, then may she be renowned.   

Gorbo.  
My boy, these younkers reachen after fame,  
and so done press into the learned troop,  
With filled quill to glorify their name,  
which otherwise were penned in shameful coupe.   

But this high object hath abjected me,  
and I must pipe amongst the lowly sort,  
Those little heard-groomes who admired to see,  
when I by Moonshine made the fairies sport.   

Who dares describe the toils of Hercules,  
and puts his hand to fames eternal pen,  
Must invocate the soul of Hercules,  
attended with the troops of conquered men.   

Who writes of thrice renowned Theseus,  
a monster-tamers rare description,  
Trophies the jaws of ugly Cerberus,  
and paints out Styx, and fiery Acheron.   

My Muse may not affect night-charming spells,  
whose force effects th' Olympic vault to quake,  
Nor call those grisly Goblins from their Cells,  
the ever-damned fry of Limbo lake.   

And who erects the brave Pyramids,  
of monarchs or renowned warriors,  
Need bathe his quill for such attempts as these,  
in flowing streams of learned Maros showers   

For when the great world's conqueror began,  
to prove his helmet and his habergeon,  
The sweat that from the Poets-God Orpheus ran,  
foretold his Prophets had to play upon.   

When Pens and Lances saw the Olympiad prize,  
those chariot triumphs with the Laurel crown,  
Then 'gan the worthies glory first to rise,  
and plumes were veiled to the purple gown.   

The gravest Censor, sagest Senator,  
with wings of justice and Religion,  
Mounted the top of Nimrods' stately Tower,  
soaring unto that high celestial throne:   

Where blessed Angels in their heavenly queares,  
chant Anthems with shrill siren harmony,  
Tuned to the sound of those aye-crouding spheres,  
Which herien their maker's eternity.   

Those who foretell the times of unborn men,  
and future things in foretime augured,  
Have slumbered in that spell-gods darkest den,  
which first inspired his prophesiing head.   

soothsaying Sibels sleepen long agone,  
we have their reed, but few have cond their Art,  
Welch-wisard Merlin, cleaveth to a stone,  
no Oracle more wonders may impart.   

The Infant age could deftly carol love,  
till greedy thirst of that ambitious honour,  
Drew Poets pen, from his sweet lass' glove,  
to chant of slaughtering broils & bloody horror.   

Then Jove's love-theft was privily descried,  
how he played false play in amphitrio's bed,  
And how Apollo in the mount of Ide,  
gave Oenone physic for her maidenhead.   

The tender grass was then the softest bed,  
the pleasantest shades were deemed the stateliest hals,  
No belly-god with Bacchus banqueted,  
nor painted rags then covered rotten walls.   

Then simple love with simple virtue weighed,  
flowers the favours which true faith revayled,  
Kindness with kindness was again repaid,  
with sweetest kisses covenants were sealed.   

Then beauties self with herself beautified,  
scorned paintings pergit, and the borrowed hair,  
Nor monstrous forms deformities did hide,  
nor foul was varnished with compounded fair.   

The purest fleece than covered purest skin,  
for pride as then with Lucifer remained:  
Deformed fashions now were to begin,  
nor clothes were yet with poisoned liquor stained.   

But when the bowels of the earth were sought,  
and men her golden entrails did espy,  
This mischief then into the world was brought,  
this framed the mint which coined our misery.   

Then lofty Pines were by ambition hewn,  
and men sea-monsters swam the brackish flood,  
In wainscot tubs, to seek out world's unknown,  
for certain ill to leave assured good.   

The starteling steed is managed from the field,  
and serves a subject to the rider's laws,  
He whom the churlish bit did never wield,  
now feels the curb control his angry jaws.   

The hammering Vulcan spent his wasting fire,  
till he the use of tempered metals found,  
His anvil wrought the steeled coats attire,  
and forged tools to carve the foeman's wound.   

The City builder then entrenched his towers,  
and walled his wealth within the fenced town,  
Which afterward in bloody stormy stours,  
kindled that flame which burned his Bulwarks down.   

And thus began th' Exordium of our woes,  
the fatal dumb show of our misery:  
Here sprang the tree on which our mischief grows,  
the dreary subject of world's tragedy.   

Motto.  
Well, shepherd well, the golden age is gone,  
wishes may not revoke that which is past:  
It were no wit to make two griefs of one,  
our proverb saith, Nothing can always last.   

Listen to me my lovely shepherds joy,  
and thou shalt hear with mirth and much glee,  
A pretty Tale, which when I was a boy,  
my toothless Grandam oft hath told to me.   

Corbo.  
Shepheard say on, so may we pass the time,  
There is no doubt it is some worthy rhyme.   

Motto.  
far in the country of Arden,  
There word a knight hight Cassemen,  
as bold as Isenbras:  
Fell was he and eager bent,  
In battle and in Tournament,  
as was the good sir Topas.  
He had as antic stories tell,  
A daughter cleped Dowsabell,  
a maiden fair and free:  
And for she was her father's heir,  
Full well she was ycond the leyre,  
of much courtesy.  
The silk well couth she twist and twine,  
And make the fine Marchpine,  
and with the needle work,  
And she couth help the priest to say  
His Matins on a holiday,  
and sing a Psalm in Kirke.  
She ware a frock of frolic green,  
Might well be seem a maiden Queen,  
which seemly was to see.  
A hood to that so neat and fine,  
In colour like the colombine,  
y wrought full featuously.  
Her feature all as fresh above,  
As is the grass that grows by Dove,  
as lieth as lass of Kent:  
Her skin as soft as Lemster wool,  
As white as snow on peakish hull,  
or Swan that swims in Trent.  
This maiden in a morn betime,  
Went forth when May was in her prime,  
to get sweet Ce●ywall,  
The honeysuckle, the Harlocke,  
The Lily and the Lady-smocke,  
to deck her summer hall.  
Thus as she wandered here and there,  
Y picking of the bloomed Breere,  
she chanced to espy  
A shepherd sitting on a bank,  
Like Chanteclere he crowed crank,  
and piped with merry glee:  
He leard his sheep as he him list,  
When he would whistle in his fist,  
to feed about him round:  
Whilst he full many a carol sung,  
Until the fields and meadows rung,  
and that the woods did sound:  
In favour this same shepherds swain,  
was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,  
which held proud Kings in awe:  
But meek he was as Lamb mought be,  
Y like that gentle Abel he,  
whom his lewd brother slaw.  
This shepherd ware a sheep grey cloak,  
which was of the finest look,  
that could be cut with shear,  
His mittens were of Bauzens skin,  
His cockers were of Cordiwin,  
his hood of Meniveere.  
His all and lingell in a thong,  
His tarbox on his broad belt hung,  
his breech of Coyntrie blew:  
Full crisp and curled were his locks,  
His brows as white as Albion rocks,  
so like a lover true.  
And piping still he spent the day,  
So merry as the Popingay:  
which liked Dowsabell,  
That would she ought or would she nought,  
This lad would never from her thought:  
she in love-longing fell,  
At length she tucked up her frock,  
White as the Lily was her smock,  
she drew the shepherd nigh,  
But then the shepherd piped a good,  
That all his sheep forsook their food,  
to hear his melody.  
Thy sheep quoth she cannot be lean,  
That have a jolly shepherds swain,  
the which can pipe so well.  
Yea but (saith he) their shepherd may,  
If piping thus he pine away,  
in love of Dowsabell.  
Of love fond boy take thou no keep,  
Quoth she, look well unto thy sheep,  
lest they should hap to stray.  
Quoth he, so had I done full well,  
Had I not seen fair Dowsabell,  
come forth to gather may.  
With that she 'gan to vail her head,  
Her cheeks were like the Roses red,  
but not a word she said.  
With that the shepherd 'gan to frown,  
He threw his pretty pipes adown,  
and on the ground him laid.  
Saith she, I may not stay till night,  
And leave my summer hall undight,  
and all for long of thee.  
My Coat saith he, nor yet my fold,  
Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold,  
except thou favour me.  
Saith she yet liefer I were dead,  
Then I should lose my maidenhead,  
and all for love of men:  
Saith he yet are you too unkind,  
If in your heart you cannot find,  
to love us now and then:  
And I to thee will be as kind,  
As Colin was to Rosalinde,  
of courtesy the flower:  
Then will I be as true quoth she,  
As ever maiden yet might be,  
unto her Paramour:  
With that she bent her snow-white knee,  
down by the shepherd kneeled she,  
and him she sweetly kissed.  
With that the shepherd whooped for joy,  
Quoth he, there's never shepherds boy,  
that ever was so blessed.   

Gorbo.  
Now by my sheephook here's a tale alone,  
Learn me the same and I will give thee hire,  
This were as good as curds for our jone,  
When at a night we sitten by the fire.   

Motto.  
Why gentle hodge I will not stick for that,  
when we two meeten here another day,  
But see whilst we have set us down to chat,  
yond tikes of mine begin to steal away.   

And if thou wilt but come unto our green,  
on Lammas day when as we have our feast,  
Thou shalt sit next unto our summer Queen,  
and thou shalt be the only welcome guest.    

THE NINTH EGLOG.  
When coal-black night with sable vail  
eclipsed the gladsome light,  
Rowland in darksome shade alone,  
bemoanes his woeful plight.  

WHat time the weather-beaten flocks,  
forsook the fields to shroud them in the fold,  
The groves despoiled of their fair summer locks,  
the leafless branches nipped with frosty cold,  
The drooping trees their gayness all agone,  
In mossy mantles do express their moan.   

When Phoebus from his Lemen lovely bower,  
throughout the sphere had jerked his angry jades,  
His Car now passed the heavens hie welked Tower,  
'gan drag adown the occidental slades,  
In silent shade of desert all alone,  
Thus to the night, Rowland bewrays his moan.   

Oh blessed stars which lend the darkness light,  
the glorious painting of that circled throne,  
You eyes of heaven, you lanterns of the night,  
to you bright stars, to you I make my moan,  
Or end my days, or ease me of my grief,  
The earth is frail, and yields me no relief.   

And thou fair Phebe, clearer to my sight,  
than Titan is when brightest he hath shone,  
Why shouldst thou now shut up thy blessed light,  
and sdayne to look on thy Endymion?  
Perhaps the heavens me thus despite have done,  
Because I durst compare thee with their sun.   

If dreary sighs the tempests of my breast,  
or streams of tears from floods of weeping eyes,  
If downcast looks with darksome clouds oppressed,  
or words which with sad accents fall and rise,  
If these, nor her, nor you, to pity move,  
There's neither help in you, nor hope in love.   

Oh fayr'st that lives, yet most unkindest maid,  
o whilom thou the joy of all my flock,  
Why have thine eyes these eyes of mine betrayed,  
Unto thy heart more hard than flinty rock,  
And lastly thus deprived me of their sight,  
From whom my love derives both life and light.   

Those dapper ditties penned unto her praise,  
and those sweet strains of tuneful pastoral,  
She scorneth as the Lourdayns clownish lays,  
and recketh as the rustic madrigal,  
Her lips profane Ideas sacred name,  
And sdayne to read the annals of her fame.   

Those gorgeous garlands and those goodly flowers,  
wherewith I crowned her tresses in the prime,  
She most abhors, and shuns those pleasant bowers,  
made to disport her in the summer time:  
She hates the sports and pastimes I invent,  
And as the toad, flies all my merriment.   

With holy verses heryed I her glove,  
and dewed her cheeks with fountains of my tears,  
And carold her full many a lay of love,  
twisting sweet Roses in her golden hairs.  
Her wandering sheep full safely have I kept,  
And watched her flock full oft when she hath slept.   

Oenone never upon Ida hill,  
so oft hath called on Alexander's name,  
As hath poor Rowland with an Angel's quill,  
erected trophies of Ideas fame:  
Yet that false shepherd Oenone fled from thee,  
I follow her that ever flies from me.   

there's not a grove that wonders not my woe,  
there's not a river weeps not at my tale:  
I hear the echoes (wandering too and fro)  
resound my grief in every hill and dale,  
The beasts in field, with many a woeful groan,  
The birds in air help to express my moan.   

Where been those lines? the heralds of my heart,  
my plaints, my tears, my vows, my sighs, my prayers?  
o what availeth faith, or what my Arts?  
o love, o hope, quite turned into despairs:  
She stops her ears as Adder to the charms,  
And lets me lie and languish in my harms.   

All is agone, such is my endless grief,  
And my mishaps amended nought with moan,  
I see the heavens will yield me no relief:  
what helpeth care, when cure is past and gone,  
And tears I see, do me avail no good,  
But as great showers increase the rising flood.   

With folded arms, thus hanging down his head,  
he gave a groan as though his heart had broke,  
Then looking pale and wan as he were dead,  
he fetched a sigh, but never a word he spoke:  
For now his heart waxed cold as any stone,  
Was never man alive so woe begun.   

With that fair Cynthia stoups her glittering veil,  
and dives adown into the Ocean flood,  
The eastern brow which erst was wan and pale,  
now in the dawning blusheth red as blood:  
The whistling Lark ymounted on her wings,  
To the grey morrow, her good morrow sings.   

When this poor shepherd Rowland of the Rock,  
whose fainting legs his body scarce upheld,  
Each shepherd now returning to his flock,  
alone poor Rowland fled the pleasant field,  
And in his Coat got to a vechie bed:  
Was never man alive so hard bestead.    

Imprinted at London for Thomas Woodcock, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the black Bear. 1593.