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LICIA, or POEMES OF LOVE, IN HO­nour of the admirable and singular vertues of his Lady, to the imitation of the best Latin Poets, and others.

Whereunto is added the Rising to the Crowne of RICHARD the third.

Auxit musarum numerum Sappho ad­dit a musis.
Faelix si saevus, sic voluisset Amor.

Ad Amorem.

SI Coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si verò peperit Venus benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat,
Si Sancta Ambrosia est Cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, dies (que) mecum?
Quid Victum face supplicem (que) aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
Overè rabidum genus faerarum:
Odomo stige patria (que) digne:
Iam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?

Ad Lectorem.

NON Convitia, nec latrationes,
Nec Ronchos timeo, Calumniasvè,
Nec ullos obelos severiores.
Non quodjudicio meo Poëta
Sim tantus, nihil ut queat reprehendi:
Sed quodjudicio meo Poëta
Sim tam rediculus, parùm (que) doctus,
Vt nullum fore judicem eruditum,
Meos carpere qui velit labores:
Nam quis Aethiopem velit lavare?

To the reader.

COurteous Reader) for my owne fault I referre thee to my Preface; but for the Printers, I crave pardon. The excuse is just, if thou knew the cause. I desire thee therefore to correct the greater, thus; the lesse, of thy selfe; and to pardon all.

Thue, to the Read. pag. 3. lin. 20: Thus.
Gracelesse, pag. 1. lin. 3. Gracefull.
You, pag. 3. lin. 6. Such.
O. pag. 8. lin. 14. Sonne.
Hands, pag. 4. lin. 7. 0.
My, pag. 17. line 12. Thy.
Make, pag. 36. lin. 12. 0.
Singers, pag. 58. lin. 20. fingers.
Fciend, pag. 69. lin. 19. friend.

TO THE WOR­thie, Kinde, Wise, and Vertuous Ladie, the Ladie Mollineux, wife to the Right Worshipfull Syr Richard Mollineux Knight.

HOwsoever in the settled opinions of some wise heads this trifling labor may easily incurre the suspicion of two evils, either to be of an idle subject, and so fri­volous: or vainly handled, and so odi­ous. Yet my resolute purpose was to proceed so farre, as the indifferent Rea­der might thinke this small paines to be rather an effect then a cause of idlenesse; and howsoever Love in this age hath behaved himselfe in that loose manner, as it is counted a disgrace to give him but a kind looke; yet I take the pas­sion in it selfe to be of that honour and credite, as it is the perfect resemblance of the greatest happinesse, and rightlie valued at his just price, (in a minde that is syncerely & tru­ly amorous) an affection of greatest vertue, and able of him selfe to aeternize the meanest vassall. Concerning the handling of it, (especially in this age) men may wonder, if a Scholler, how I come by so much leasure: if otherwise, why a writer. Indeede to say trueth, though I can not just­ly challenge the first name, yet I wish none to be writers, save onely such as knowe learning. And whereas my thoughtes and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt in causes of greater weight, yet the present jarre of this dis­agreeing age drive me into a fitte so melancholie, as I onely had leasure to growe passionate. And I see not why upon [Page] our dissentions. I may not sit downe idle, forsake my study, and goe sing of love, as well as our Brownistes forsake the Church, and write of malice.

And that this is a matter not so unfitte for a man, either that respecteth him selfe, or is a scholler. Peruse but the wri­tings of former times, and you shall see not onely others in other countryes, as Italie, and France, men of learning and great partes to have written Poems and Sonnets of Love, but even amongst us, men of best nobilitie, and chiefest fa­milies, to be the greatest Schollers and most renowmed in this kind. But two reasons hath made it a thing foolishly odious in this age: the one, that so many base companions are the greatest writers: the other, that our English Gene­vian puritie hath quite debarred us of honest recreation▪ and yet the great pillar (as they make him of that cause) hath shewed us as much witte and learning in this kinde, as any other before or since. Furthermore for all students I will say thus much, that the base conceit, which men generally have of their wants, is such, as I scarce terme him a scholler, that hath not all the accomplyments of a Gentleman, nor sufficiently wise that will not take oportunitie in some sort to shew it. For I can say thus much, that the Vniversitie wherein I lived, (and so I thinke the other) hath so many wise, excellent, sufficient men, as setting their learning aside, wherein they are most excellent, yet in all habilliments of a Gentleman they are equall to any besides. This woulde that worthie Sidney oft confesse, and Haringtons Ariosto (which Madame was respected so much by you) sheweth that his abode was in Kinges Colledge. Yet nowe it is growen to this passe, that learning is lightly respected, up­on a perswasion, that it is to be found every where a thing untrue and unpossible.

[Page] Now in that I have written Love sonnets, if any man measure my affection by my style, let him say, I am in Love; no greate matter, for if our purest divines have not bene so, why are so manie married? I mislike not that, nor I would not have them mislyke this. For a man may be in loue and not marrie, and yet vvise; but hee hee cannot marrie, and not be in love, but be a mere foole. Nowe, for the manner; we will dispute that in some o­ther place; yet take this by the waie, though I am so libe­rall to graunt thus much, a man may write of love, and not bee in love, as well as of husbandrie, and not goe to plough: or of witches and be none: or of holinesse and be flat prophane. But (wise and kinde Ladie) not to trou­ble your eares with this idle discourse let this suffice I fonnd favours undeserved in such manner as my rude a­bilitie wautes meanes to make recompence, and there­fore in the meane time I request you to accept this: If I had not so woondred at your admirable and rare ver­tues; that my hearte was surcharged with the excee­ding measure of your woorthinesse, I had not written: you are happie everie way, and so reputed: live so, and I wish so you may live long: excuse me, favour me, and if I live, for I am loth to admire without thankefulnesse, ere long it shall be knowne what favours I received from wise Sir Richard, to whome in all kinde affectes I reste bound.

For the Reader, if he looke for my letters to crave his favour, he is farre deceived: for if he mislike anie thing, I am sorie he tooke the paines to reade, but if he doe, let him dispraise, I much care not: for praise is not but as men please: and it is no chiefe felicitie, for I have hearde some [Page] men and of late for Sermons at Paules crosse and for other paines so commended by all (excepting some fewe Cy­nickes, that commend none that do well) that you would have thought England would haue striven for their spe­die preferment, but lyke a woonder it lasted but nine dayes, and all is quiet and forgotten: the best is they are yong men and may live to be preferred at another time: so what am I worse if men mislike and vse tearmes? I can say as much by them. For our great men I am sure, they want leasure to reade, and if they had, yet for the most part, the worst speake worst. Well, let the Printer looke he grow not a begger by such bargaynes, the Reader that he loose not his labour, and for mine that is past, and who so wise­lie after an afternoones sleepe gapes, and saith, Oh howe yong men spend their time idlie: first, let him spende his tyme better than to sleepe: Seeondlie, he knowes not my age: I feared a hot ague, and with Tasso I was content to let my wit blood. But leaving these to their dogged hu­mour, and wishing your Lady-ship all happinesse, I humbly take my leave. From my chamber. Sept. 4. 1593.

To the Reader.

I Had thought (curteous and gentle Reader) not to have troubled thy pati­ence vvith these lines; but that in the neglect thereof I shoulde either scorne thee as careless of thine opini­on (a thing savouring of a proud hu­mour) or dispaire to obtaine thy favor, vvhich I am loth to conceive of thy good nature. If I were knowne I vvould intreat in the best manner, and speake for him, vvhome thou knewest: but beeing not knowne, thou speakest not against me, and therefore I much care not; for this kinde of poetrie vvherein I vvrote, I did it onelie to trie my humour: and for the matter of love, it may bee I am so devoted to some one, into vvhose hands these may light by chance, that she may say, vvhich thou nowe saiest (that surelie he is in love) vvhich if she doe, then have I the full recompence of my labour, and the Po­ems have dealt sufficientlie, for the discharge of their owne duetie. This age is learnedlie vvise, and faultles in this kind of making their vvittes knowne: thinking so baselie of our bare English (vvherein thousandes have traveilled vvith such ill lucke) that they deeme them­selves barbarous, and the Iland barren unlesse they have [Page] borrowed from Italie, Spaine, and France their best and choicest conceites; for my owne parte, I am of this mind that our nation is so exqaisite (neither vvoulde I over­weininglie seeme to flatter our home-spunne stuffe, or di­minish the credite of our brave traveilers) that neither Italie, Spaine, nor France can goe beiondvs for exact invention, for if aniething be odious amongst vs, it is the exile of our olde maners: and some base-borne phra­ses stuft up vvith such newe tearmes as a man may soo­ner feele vs to slatter by our incrouching eloquence than suspect it from the eare. And for the matter of love, vvhere everie man takes upon him to court exactlie, I could iustlie grace (if it be a grace to be excellent in that kinde) the Innes of Court, and some Gentlemen like stu­dents in both Vniversities, vvhose learning and bring­ing up together, vvith their fine natures makes so sweet a harmonie, as vvithout partialitie, the most iniurious vvill preferre them before all others: and therefore they onelie are fittest to vvrite of Love. For others for the moste parte, are men of meane reach|, vvhose imbased mindes praie uppon everie badde dish: men unfitte to knowe vvhat love meanes; deluded fondlie vvith their owne conceit, misdeeming so divine a fancie, taking it to bee the contentment of themselves, the shame of o­thers: the vvrong of vertue: and the refiner of the tongue, boasting of some fewe favours. These and such like er­rours (errours hatefull to an upright minde) common­lie by learnlesse heades are reputed for loves kingdome. But vaine men naturallie led, deluded themselves, de­ceive others. For Love is a Goddesse (pardon me though I speake like a Poet) not respecting the contentment of [Page] him that loves but the vertues of the beloved, satisfied vvith vvoondering, fedde vvith admiration: respe­cting nothing but his Ladies vvoorthinesse: made as happie by love as by all favours chaste by honour, farre from violence: respecting but one, and that one in such kindnesse, honestie, trueth, constancie, and honoar, as vvere all the vvorld offered to make a change, yet the boote vvere too small, and therefore bootles. This is love, and farre more than this, vvhich I knowe a vulgare head, a base minde, an ordinarie conceit, a common person will not, nor cannot have: thus doc I commende that love vvherewith in these poemes I have honoured the voorthie LICIA: But the love vvhere with Ve­nus sonne hath injuriouslie made spoile of thousandes, is a cruell tyrant: occasion of sighes: oracle of lies: enemie of pittie: vvay of errour▪ shape of inconstancie: temple of treason: faith vvithout assurance: monarch of tears: murtherer of ease: prison of heartes: monster of na­ture: poisoned honney: impndant courtizan: furious ba­stard: and in one vvord, not Love. Thue (Reader) take heede thou erre not, aesteeme Love as thou ought. If thou muse vvhat my LICIA is, take her to be some Diana, at the least chaste, or some Minerva, no Venus, fairer farre; it may be shee is Learnings image, or some heavenlie vvoonder, vvhich the precisest may not mis­like: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Disci­pline. It may be, I meane that kinde courtesie vvhich I found at the Patronesse of these Poems; it may bee some Colledge; it may bee my conceit, and portende nothing: vvhat soever it be, if thou like it, take it, and thanke the vvorthie Ladie MOLLINEVX, for whose [Page] sake thou hast it; vvorthie indeed, and so not onlie re­puted by me in private affection of thankefulnesse, but so equallie to be esteemed by all that knowe her: For if I had not received of her and good Sir RICHARD, of kind and vvise M. LEE, of curteous M. HOVGH­TON, all matchlesse, matched in one kindred, those unrequitable favours, I had not thus idlely toyed. If thou mislike it, yet she or they, or both, or divine LICIA shall patronize it, or if none, I vvill and can doe it my selfe: yet I vvish thy favour: do but say thou art content, and I rest thine: if not farewel till we both meete. Septemb. 8. 1593.

TO LICIA THE WISE, KINDE, Vertuous, and fayre.

Bright matchles starre, the honour of the skie,
From whose cleare shine, heavens vawt hath all his light,
I send these Poems to your gracelesse eye:
Doe you but take them, and they have their right.
I build besides a Temple to your name,
Wherein my thoughtes shall daily sing your praise:
And will erect an aulter for the same,
Which shall your vertues, and your honour raise.
But heaven the Temple of your honour is,
Whose brasen toppes your worthie selfe made proude:
The ground an aulter, base for such a blisse
With pitie torne, because I sigh'd so loude.
And since my skill no worship can impart,
Make you an incense of my loving heart.

Sonnet. I.

Sadde all alone, not long I musing satte,
But that my thoughtes compell'd me to aspire,
A Laurell garland in my hande I gatte:
So the Muses I approch'd the nyer.
My sute was this, a Poet to become,
To drinke with them, and from the heavens be fedde:
Phaebus denyed, and sware there was no roome,
Such to be Poets as fonde fancie ledde:
With that I mourn'd; and sat me downe to weepe,
Venus she smil'd, and smyling to me saide,
Come drinke with me, and sitt thee still and sleepe:
This voyce I heard: and Venus I obayde.
That poyson (sweete), hath done me all this wrong,
For nowe of love, must needes be all my song.

Sonnet. II.

Wearie was love, and sought to take his rest,
He made his choice, uppon a virgins lappe:
And slylie crept, from thence unto her breast,
Where still he meant, to sport him in his happe,
The virgin frown'd, like Phoebus in a cloude,
Go packe sir boy, here is no roome for y [...] ▪
My breast no wanton foolish boyes must shroude;
This saide, my Love did giue the wagge a tuch,
Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake,
Hastes to be gone, for feare what may ensewe,
So love, my love, was forst for to forsake,
And for more speede, without his arrowes flewe.
Pardon (he saide) for why you seem'd to me,
My mother Venus, in her pride to be.

Sonnet. III.

The heavens beheld the beautie of my Queene.
And all amaz'd, to wonder thus began:
Why dotes not Iove, as erst we all have seene,
And shapes him selfe like to a seemely man?
Meane are the matches, which he sought before,
Like bloomelesse buddes, too base to make compate,
And she alone hath treasur'd beauties store:
In whome all giftes and princely graces are.
Cupid reyly'd: I posted with the Sunne,
To viewe the maydes that lived in those dayes,
And none there was, that might not well be wonne:
But she, most hard, most cold, made of delayes.
Heavens were deceiv'd, and wrong they doe esteeme,
She hath no heat, although she living seeme.

Sonet. IIII.

Love, and my love, did range the forrest wilde,
Mounted alyke, upon swift coursers both:
Love her encountred, though he was a childe,
Let's strive (saith he) whereat my love vvas vvroth,
And scorn'd the boy, and checkt him with a smile,
I mounted am, and armed with my speare,
Thou art too weake, thy selfe doe not beguile,
I could thee conquere, if I naked were:
With this love wept, and then my love reply'd:
Kisse me (sweet boy) so: weepe (my boy) no more:
Thus did my love, and thus her force she try'd,
Love was made yee, that fier was before.
A kisse of hers, as I poore soule doe proove,
Can make the hottest freese, and coldest love.

Sonnet. V.

Love with her haire, my love by force hath ty'd,
To serve her lippes, her eies, her voice, her hand,
I smil'd for joy, when I the boye espy'd,
To lie inchain'd, and live at her commaund.
She if she looke, or kisse, or sing, or smile,
Cupid withall, doth smile, doth sing, doth kisse,
Lippes, handes, voice, eies, all hearts that may beguile,
Bicause she scornes, all hearts but onlie this:
Venus for this in pride began to frowne:
That Cupid borne a god, inthrald should be:
She in disdaine, her prettie sonne threwe downe,
And in his place, with love she chained me.
So now (sweet love) though I my selfe be thrale,
Not her a goddesse, but thy selfe I call.

Sonnet. VI.

My love amaz'd did blush her selfe to see,
Pictur'd by arte, all naked as she was:
How could the Painter, knowe so much by me,
Or Art effect, what he hath brought to passe?
It is not lyke, he naked me hath seene,
Or stoode so nigh, for to observe so much,
No, sweete, his eyes so nere have never bene,
Nor could his handes, by arte have cunning such:
I showed my heart, wherein you printed were,
You, naked you, as here you painted are,
In that (My Love) your picture I must weare,
And show't to all, unlesse you have more care:
Then take my heart, and place it with your owne,
So shall you naked never more be knowne.

Sonnet. VII.

Death in a rage, assaulted once my heart,
With love of her, my love that doeth denie.
I scorn'd his force, and wisht him to depart,
I heartlesse was, and therefore could not die:
I live in her, in her I plac'd my life,
She guydes my soule, and her I honour must,
Nor is this life, but yet a living strife,
A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just:
Cupid inrag'd, did flie to make me love,
My heart lay garded with those burning eies,
The sparkes whereof denyed him to remoove:
So conquerd now, he like a captive lies,
Thus two at once by love were both undone:
My heart not lov'd, and armlesse Venus

Sonet. VIII.

Harde are the rockes, the marble, and the steele,
The auncient oake, with wind, and weather tost,
But you my love, farre harder doe I feele,
Then flinte, or these, or is the winters frost.
My teares too weake, your heart they can not moove,
My sighes, that rocke, like wind it cannot rent,
Too Tyger-like you sweare, you cannot love:
But teares, and sighes, you fruitlesse backe have sent.
The frost too hard, not melted with my flame,
I Cynders am, and yet you feele no heate:
Surpasse not these (sweet love) for verie shame,
But let my teares, my vowes, my sighes, entreat,
Then shall I say, as I by triall finde:
These all are hard, but you (my love) are kind.

Sonnet. IX.

Love was layd downe, all wearie fast asleepe,
Whereas my love his armour tooke away,
The boye awak'd, and straight began to weepe,
But stood amaz'd, and knew not what to say:
Weepe not, my boy, said Venus to her sonne,
Thy weapons, non can weild, but thou alone,
Lycia the faire, this harme to thee hath done,
I sawe her here, and presentlie was gone,
She will restore them, for she hath no need,
To take thy weapons, where thy valour lies,
For men to wound, the Fates have her decreed,
With favour, handes, with beautie, and with eies,
No, Venus no: she scornes them (credite me)
But robb'd thy sonne, that none might care for thee.

Sonnet. X.

A paynter drew, the image of the boye,
Swift love, with winges all naked, and yet blind:
With bowe and arrowes, bent for to destroye,
I blam'd his skill, and fault I thus did fynde:
A needlesse taske, I see thy cunning take,
Misled by love, thy fancie thee betrayde,
Love is no boye, nor blinde, as men him make,
Nor weapons weares, whereof to be affrayde:
But if thou love, wilt paint with greatest skill,
A Love, a mayde, a goddesse, and a Queene:
Woonder, and viewe at Lycias picture still,
For other love, the world hath never seene,
For she alone, all hope, all comfort gives:
Mens hearts, soules all, led by her favour lives.

Sonnet. XI.

In Ida vale three Queenes the shepheard sawe,
Queenes of esteeme, divine, they were all three:
A sight of worth, but I a wonder shawe,
There vertues all in one alone to be.
Lycia the fayre, surpassing Venus pride,
(The matchlesse Queene commaunder of the goddes,
When drawen with doves, she in her pompe doeth ride)
Hath farre more beautie, and more grace by oddes.
Iuno Ioves wife, unmeete to make compare,
I graunt a goddesse, but not halfe so mylde:
Minerva wife, a vertue, but not rare.
Yet these are meane, if that my love but smyl'de.
She them surpasseth, when their prides are full:
As farre as they surpasse the meanest trull.

Sonnet. XIII.

I wish sometimes, although a wortlesse thing,
Spurd by ambition, glad for to aspyre,
My selfe a Monarch, or some mightie King:
And then my thoughtes doe wish for to be hyer.
But when I view what windes the Cedars tosse,
What stormes men seele that covet for renowne,
I blame my selfe that I have wisht my losse,
And scorne a kindgome, though it give a crowne.
A'Licia thou, the wonder of my thought,
My heartes content, procurer of my blisse,
For whome a crowne, I doe esteme as nought,
And Asias wealth, too meane to buy a kisse,
Kisse me sweete love, this favour doe for me:
Then Crownes and Kingdomes shall I scrone for thee.

Sonnet. XIII.

Inamour'd Iove, commaunding did intreat,
Cupid to wound my love which he deny'd,
And swore he could not, for she wanted heate.
And would not love, as he full oft had try'd.
Iove in a rage, impatient this to heare,
Reply'd vvith threats: Ile make you to obey:
Whereat the boye did flie away for feare.
To Lycias eyes, where safe intrench'd, he lay:
Then Iove, he scorn'd, and darde him to his face,
For novv more safe than in the heavens he dwell'd,
Nor could Ioves wrath, doe vvrong to such a place
Where grace and honour, have their kingdome helde.
Thus in the pride, and beautie of her eyes:
The seelie boye, the greatest god defies,

Sonnet. XIIII.

My love lay sleeping, where birdes musicke made,
Shutting her eies, disdainfull of the light,
The heat was great, but greater vvas the shade:
Which her defended from his burning sight:
This Cupid savv, and came a kisse to take:
Sucking svveet Nectar from her sugred breath:
She felt the touch, and blusht, and did avvake,
Seeing t'was love. which she did thinke was death:
She cut his vvinges, and caused him to stay,
Making a vovve, hee should not thence depart,
Vnlesse to her, the vvanton boy could pay,
The truest, kindest and most loving heart:
His feathers still, she used for a fanne:
Till by exchange, my heart his feathers vvan.

Sonnet. XV.

I stood amaz'd, and sawe my Licia shine,
Fairer then Phoebus, in his brightest pride,
Set foorth in colours, by a hand divine,
Where naught was wanting, but a soule to guide.
It was a picture, that I could descrye:
Yet made with arte, so as it seem'd to live,
Surpassing faire, and yet it had no eye:
Whereof my senses, could no reason give.
With that the Painter bidde me not to muse,
Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame.
For if she saw, in faith, it could not chuse:
But that the worke, had wholly beene a flame.
Then burne me (sweete) with brightnesse of your eyes,
That Phaenix like, from thence I may arise.

Sonnet. XVI.

Graunt fayrest kind, a kisse unto thy friend,
A blush replyde, and yet a kisse I had:
It is not heaven, that can such nectar send,
Whereat my senses, all amaz'd, were glad.
This done, she fled, as one that was afrayde,
And I desyr'd to kisse, by kissing more,
My love she frown'd, and I my kissing stayde,
Yet wisht to kisse her, as I did before:
Then as the vine, the propping elme doeth claspe,
Lothe to depart, till both together dye:
So folde me (sweete) untill my latest gaspe,
That in my armes, to death, I kist, may lye.
Thus whilest I live, for kisses I must call,
Still kisse me, (sweete) or kisse me not at all.

Sonnet. XVII.

As are the sandes (faire Licia) on the shore,
Or colourd floures, garlands of the spring,
Or as the frosts not seene, nor felt before,
Or as the fruites that Autume foorth doth bring,
As twinckling starres, the tinsell of the night,
Or as the fish that gallope in the seas,
As aires each part that still escapes our sight:
So are my sighes, controllers of my ease.
Yet these are such, as needes must have an end,
For things finite, none els hath nature done:
Onlie the sighes, vvhich from my heart I send,
Will never cease, but where they first begunne.
Accept them (sweet) as incense due to thee:
For you immottall made them so to be.

Sonnet. XVIII

I sweare (faire Licia) still for to be thine,
By heart, by eies, by what I held most deare,
Thou checkt mine oath, and said: these were not mine,
And that I had no right by them to sweare.
Then by my sighes, my passions, and my teares,
My vowes, my prayers, my sorrowe, and my love,
My gtiefe, my joy, my hope, and hopeles feares
My heart is thine, and never shall remoove.
These are not thine, though sent unto thy viewe,
All els I graunt, by right they are thine owne,
Let these suffice, that what I sweare is true,
And more than this, if that it could be known.
So shall all these, though troubles ease my griefe:
If that they serve, to worke in thee beliefe,

Sonnet. XIX.

That tyme (faire Licia) when I stole a kisse,
From of those lippes, where Cupid lovelie laide,
I quakt for colde, and found the cause was this,
My life which lov'd, for love behind me staid:
I sent my heart, my life for to recall:
But that was held, not able to returne,
And both detain'd as captives were in thrall,
And judg'd by her, that both by sighes should burne:
(Faire) burne them both, for that they were so bolde,
But let the altar be within thy heart:
And I shall live, because my lyfe you holde,
You that give lyfe, to everie living part,
A flame I tooke, when as I stole the kisse:
Take you my lyfe, yet can I live with this.

Sonnet. XX.

First did I feare, when first my love began,
Possest in fittes, by watchfull jealousie,
I sought to keepe, what I by favour wanne,
And brookt no partner in my love to be.
But Tyrant sicknesse, fedde upon my love,
And spred his ensignes, dy'd with colour white,
Then was suspition, glad for to remoove:
And loving much did feare to loose her quite.
Erect (faire sweet) the collours thou didst weare,
Dislodge thy griefes, the shortners of content:
For now of lyfe, not love, is all my feare,
Least lyfe, and love be both together spent.
Live but (faire love) and banish thy disease:
And love (kind heart) both when, and whom thou please.

Sonnet. XXI.

Lycia my love was sitting in a grove,
Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,
But straight she spy'd, where two together strove,
Ech one complaining of the others wrongs.
Cupid did crie, lamenting of the harme:
Ioves messenger, thou wrong'st me too too farre:
Vse thou thy rodde, relye upon thy charme:
Thinke not by speach, my force thou canst debatre.
A rodde (syrb [...]y) were fitter for a childe,
My weapons oft, and tongue, and minde you tooke?
And in my wrong at my distresse thou smil'de,
And scorn'd to grace me with a loving looke.
Speake you (sweet love) for you did all the wrong,
That broke his arrowes, and did binde his tong.

Sonnet. XXII

I might have dyed, before my lyfe begunne,
When as my father for his countries good,
The Persians favour and the Sophy vvonne:
But yet with daunger, of his dearest blood.
Thy father (sweet) whome daunger did beset,
Escaped all, and for no other end:
But onely this, that you he might beget:
Whom heavens decreed, into the world to send.
Then father, thanke thy daughter for thy lvfe,
And Neptune praise, that yeelded so to thee,
To calme the tempest, when the stonnes were ryfe,
And that thy daughter should a Venus be.
I call thee Ve [...]e (sweet) but be not wroth,
Thou art more chast, yet seas did favour both.

Sonnet. XXIII.

My love was maskt, and armed with a fanne,
To see the Sunne so carelesse of his light,
Which stood and gaz'd, and gazing, waxed wanne,
To see a starre, himselfe that was more bright.
Some did surmize, she hidde her from the sunne:
Of whome, in pride, she scorn'd for to be kist:
Or fear'd the harme, by him to others done,
But these the reason of this woonder mist,
Nor durst the Sunne, if that her face were bare,
In greatest pride, presume to take a kisse:
But she more kinde, did shew she had more care,
Then with her eyes, eclypse him of his blisse,
Vnmaske you (sweet) and spare not, dimme the sunne:
Your light's ynough, although that his were done.

Sonnet. XXIIII.

When as my love, lay sicklie in her bedde,
Pale death did poste, in hope to have a praie,
But she so spotlesse made him, that he fledde,
Vnmeet to die (he cry'd) and could not staie.
Backe he retyr'd, and thus the heavens he told,
All thinges that are, are subject unto me,
Both townes, and men, and what the world doth hold,
But let faire Licia still immortall be.
The heauens did graunt: a goddesse she was made,
Immortall, faire, unfit to suffer chaung,
So now she lives, and never more shall fade,
In earth a goddesse, what can be more strange?
Then will I hope, a goddesse and so neare,
She cannot chuse my sighes, and praiers but heare.

Sonnet. XXV.

Seven are the lights, that wander in the skies,
And at these seven, I wonder in my love,
To see the, Moone, how pale she doeth arise,
Standing amaz'd, as though she durst not move:
So is my sweet, much paler than the snowe,
Constant her lookes, those lookes that cannot change,
Mercurie the next, a god sweet tong'd we know,
But her sweet voice, doth woonders speake more strange:
The rising Sunne doeth boast him of his pride,
And yet my love is farre more faire than he.
The warlike Mars, can weildles weapons guide,
But yet that god, is farre more weake than she,
The lovelie Venus, seemeth to be faire,
But at her best, my love is farre more bright▪
Saturne for age, with groans doth dimme the aire;
Whereas my love, with smiles doth give it light.
Gaze at her browes, where heaven ingrafted is:
Then sigh, and sweare, there is no heaven but this.

Sonnet. XXVI.

I live (sweete love) whereas the gentle winde,
Murmures with sport, in midst of thickest bowes,
Where loving Wood-bine, doth the Harbour binde,
And chirping birdes doe eccho foorth my vowes:
Where strongest elme, can scarce support the vine,
And sweetest flowres enameld have the ground,
Where Muses dwell, and yet hereat repine:
That on the earth so rare a place was found.
But windes delight, I wish to be content:
I praise the Wood-bine, but I take no joye:
I moane the birdes, that musicke thus have spent:
As for the rest, they breede but mine annoye.
Live thou (fayre Licia) in this place alone:
Then shall I joye, though all of these were gone.

Sonnet. XXVII.

The Chrystal streames, wherein my love did swimme,
Melted in teares, as partners of my woe,
Her shine was such, as did the fountaine dimme;
The pearlike fountaine, whiter than the snowe,
Then lyke perfume, resolved with a heate,
The fountaine smoak'd, as if it thought to burne:
A woonder strange, to see the colde so great,
And yet the fountaine, into smoake to turne.
I searcht the cause, and found it to be this,
She toucht the water, and it burnt with love,
Now by her meanes, it purchast hath that blisse,
Which all diseases, quicklie can remoove.
Then if by you, these streames thus blessed be:
(Sweet) graunt me love, and be not woorse to me.

Sonnet. XXVIII.

In tyme the strong and statelie torrets fall,
In tyme the Rose, and silver Lillies die,
In tyme the Monarchs captives are and thrall,
In tyme the sea, and rivers are made drie:
The hardest flint, in tyme doth melt asunder,
Still living fame, in tyme doth fade away,
The mountaines proud, we see in tyme come under,
And earth for age, we see in tyme decay:
The sunne in tyme, forgets for to retire,
From out the east, where he was woont to rise,
The basest thoughtes, we see in time aspire,
And greedie minds, in tyme do wealth dispise,
Thus all (sweet faire) in tyme must have an end:
Except thy beautie, vertues, and thy friend.

Sonnet. XXIX.

Why dy'd I not when as I last did sleepe?
(O sleepe too short that shadowed foorth my deare)
Heavens heare my prayers, nor thus me waking keepe:
For this were heaven, if thus I sleeping weare.
For in that darke there shone a Princely light:
Two milke-white hilles, both full of Nectar sweete:
Her Ebon thighes, the wonder of my sight,
Where all my senses with their objectes meete:
I passe those sportes, in secret that are best,
Wherein my thoughtes did seeme alive to be;
We both did strive, and wearie both did rest:
I kist her still, and still she kissed me.
Heavens let me sleepe, and shewes my senses feede:
Or let me wake, and happie be indeede.

Sonnet. XXI.

When as my Lycia sayled in the seas,
Viewing with pride, god Neptunes stately crowne,
A calme she made, and brought the merchant ease,
The strome she stayed, and checkt him with a frowne.
Love at the stearne, sate smiling, and did sing:
To see howe seas, had learnd for to obey:
And balles of fire, into the waves did fling.
And still the boy, full wanton thus did say:
Both poles we burnt, whereon the world doeth turne,
The rownd of heaven, from earth unto the skies:
And nowe the seas we both intend to burne:
I with my bowe, and Licia with her eyes.
Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move,
I conquer'd, yeeld; and doe confesse I love.

Sonnet. XXXI.

When as her lute is tuned to her voyce,
The aire growes proude, for honour of that sound:
And rockes doe leape, to shewe howe they rejoyce,
That in the earth, such Musicke should be found.
When as her haire, more worth, more pale, then golde,
Like silver threed, lies waffting in the ayre:
Diana like she lookes, but yet more bolde:
Cruell in chase, more chaste, and yet more fayre.
When as she smyles, the cloudes for envie breakes,
She Iove in pride encounters with a checke:
The Sunne doeth shine for joye when as she speakes:
Thus heaven, and earth doe homage at her becke.
Yet all these graces blottes, not graces are:
Yf you my love, of love doe doe take no care.

Sonnet XXXII.

Yeares, months, daies, houres, in sighes I sadlie spend,
I blacke the night, wherein I sleeplesse tosse:
I love my griefs, yet wish them at an end,
Thus tymes expence, encreaseth but my losse.
I musing stand, and woonder at my love:
That in so faire, should be a heart of steele:
And then I thinke, my fancie to remove:
But then more painfull, I my passions feele.
Thus must I love (sweet faire) untill I die,
And your unkindnesse, doth my love encrease;
I conquerd am, I can it not denie:
My lyse must end, yet shall my love not cease.
Then heavens, make Licia faire, most kind to me:
Or with my life, my loue may finisht be.
[...]

Sonnet. XXXV.

When as I wish, faire Licia for a kisse:
From those sweet lippes, where Rose and Lillies strive,
Straight doe mine eies, repine at such a blisse,
And seeke my lippes, thereof for to deprive,
When as I seeke, to glut mine eies, by sight:
My lippes repine and call mine eyes away:
Thus both contend, to have each others right:
And both conspire, to worke my full decay.
O force admyt'd, of beautie in her pride:
In whose each part, such strange effects there be,
That all my forces, in themselves devide:
And make my senses, plainlie disagree.
If all were mine, this envie would be gone:
Then graunt me all (faire sweet) or grant me none.

Sonnet. XXXVI.

Heare how my sighes, are ecchoed of the wind,
See how my teares, are pittied by the raine:
Feele what a flame, possessed hath my mind,
Taste but the griefe, which I possesse in vaine.
Then if my sighes, the blustering windes surpasse:
And watrie teares, the droppes of raine exceed,
And if no flame, like mine, nor is, nor was:
Nor griefe like that, wheron my soule doth feed:
Relent (faire Licia) when my sighes doe blowe,
Yeeld at my teares, that flint-like, droppes consume:
Accept the flame, that doth my incense showe,
Allowe the griefe, that is my hearts perfume.
Thus sighes, and teares, flame, griefe, shall plead for me,
So shall I pray, and you a goddesse be.

Sonnet. XXXVIII.

I speake (faire Licia) what my torments be:
But then my speach, too partiall doe I finde:
For hardlie words, can with those thoughts agree:
Those thoughtes that swarme, in such a troubled mind.
Then doe I vowe, my tongue shall never speake:
Nor tell my griefe, that in my heart doth lie:
But cannon-like, I then surchardg'd, doe breake,
And so my silence, worse than speach I trie.
Thus speach, or none, they both doe breed my care.
I live dismayd, and kill my heart with griefe:
In all respectes, my case alyke doth fare:
To him that wants, and dare not aske reliefe.
Then you (faire Licia) soveraigne of my heart:
Read to your selfe, my anguish, and my [...]art.

Sonnet. XXXVIII.

Sweet, I protest, and seale it with an oath:
I never saw, that so my thoughtes did please:
And yet content displeas'd I see them wroth:
To love so much, and cannot have their case.
I tolde my thoughts, my soveraigne made a pause,
Dispos'd to graunt, but willing to delay:
They then repin'd, for that they knewe no cause,
And swore they wisht, she flatlie would say nay.
Thus hath my love, my thoughts with treason fild:
And gainst my soveraigne, taught them to repine:
So thus my treason, all my thoughts hath kill'd,
And made faire Licia, say she is not mine.
But thoughts too rash, my heart doth now repent:
And as you please, they sweare, they are content.
[...]
[...]

Sonnet. XXXIX

Faire matchlesse Nymph, respect but what I crave,
My thoughts are true, and honour is my love:
I fainting die, whome yet a smile might save:
You gave the wound, and can the hurt remove.
Those eyes, like starres, that twinkle in the night,
And cheeks like rubies pale, in lilies dy'd,
Those Ebon hands hands, that darting have such might,
That in my soule, my loue and live devide.
Accept the passions, of a man possest:
Let Love be lov'd, and graunt me leave to live:
Disperse those clouds, that darkened have my rest:
And let your heaven, a sun-like smile but give.
Then shall I praise, that heaven for such a sunne,
That saved my life, when as my griefe begun.

Sonnet. XL.

My griefe begunne (faire Saint) when first I saw,
Love in those eyes, sit ruling, with disdaine:
Whose sweet commandes, did keepe a world in awe:
And caus'd them serve, your favour to obtaine.
I stood as one enchaunted with a frowne,
Yet smilde to see, all creatures serue those eyes:
Where each with sighes, paid tribute to that crowne:
And thought them graced, by your dumme replyes.
But I, ambitious, could not be content:
Till that my service, more than sighes made knowne:
And for that end, my heart to you I sent:
To say, and sweare, that (faire) it is your owne.
Then greater graces (Licia) doe impart:
Not dumme replies, unto a speaking heart.

A SONNET MADE VPON THE TWO Twinnes, daughters of the Ladie Mollineux, both passing like, and exceeding faire.

Poets did faine, that heavens a Venus had:
Matchlesse her selfe, and Cupid was her sonne,
Men sew'd to these, and of their smiles were glad,
By whome so manie famous were undone.
Now Cupid mournes, that he hath lost his might:
And that these two, so comelie are to see:
And Venus frowns, because they have her right.
Yet both so like, that both shall blamelesse be.
With heavens two twinnes, for godhead these may strive
And rule a world, with least part of a frowne:
Fairer then these, two twinnes are not alive:
Both conquering Queenes, & both deserve a crowne.
My thoughts presage, which tyme to come shall trie:
That thousands conquerd, for their love shall die.

Sonnet. XLI.

If (aged Charon), when my life shall end,
I passe thy ferrye, and my wafftage pay,
Thy oares shall fayle thy boate, and maste shall rend,
And through the deepe, shall be a drye foote-way.
For why my heart with sighs doth breath such flame,
That ayre and water both incensed be.
The boundlesse Ocean from whose mouth they came,
For from my heare not heaven it selfe is free.
Then since to me thy losse can be no gaine:
Avoyd thy harme and flye what I foretell.
Make thou my love with me for to be slaine,
That I with her, and both with thee may dwel.
Thy fact thus (Charon) both of us shall blesse
Thou save thy boat, and I my love possesse.

Sonnet. XLII.

For if alone thou thinke to waft my love,
Her cold is such as can the sea commaund.
And frolen Ice shall let thy boate to move,
Nor can thy forces rowe it from the land.
But if thou friendly both at once shalt take,
Thy selfe mayst rest for why my sighes will blowe.
Our colde and heate so sweete a thawe shall make,
As that thy boate without thy helpe shall rowe.
Then will I sitte and glut me on those eyes,
Where with my life, my eyes could never fill.
Thus from thy boate, that comfort shall arise,
The want whereof my life and hope did kill.
Together plac'd so thou her skorne shalt crosse,
Where if we part, thy boate must suffer losse.

Sonnet. XLIII.

Are those two starres, her eyes, my lifes light gone?
By which my soule was freed from all darke.
And am I left distres'd, to live alone?
Where none my teares and mournefull tale shall marke.
Ah Sunne, why shine thy lookes, thy lookes like gold.
When horseman brave thou risest in the East.
Ah Cynthia pale, to whome my griefes I told,
Why doe you both rejoyce both man and beast?
And I alone, alone that darke possesse
By Licias absence brighter then the Sunne,
Whose smyling light did ease my sadde distresse
And broke the clowdes when teares like rayne begun.
Heavens graunt that light and so me waking keepe:
Or shut my eyes, and rocke me fast a-sleepe.

Sonnet. XLIIII.

Cruell fayre Love, I justly do complaine,
Of too much rigour, and thy heart unkind.
That for mine eyes, thou hast my bodie staine,
And would not graunt, that I should favour find.
I look'd (fayre Love) and you my love lookt fayre,
I sigh'd for love, and you for sport did smyle.
Your smyles were such as did perfume the ayre,
And this perfumed did my heart beguyle,
Thus I confesse, the fault was in mine eyes,
Begun with sighes, and ended with a flame:
I for your love, did all the world despise,
And in these poems, honour'd have your name.
Then let your love so with my fault dispense,
That all my parts feele not mine eyes offense.

Sonnet. XLV.

There shone a Comet, and it was full west.
my thoughts presaged, what it did portend:
I found it threatned, to my heart unrest,
And might in tyme, my joyes and comfort end.
I further sought, and found it was a Sunne:
Which day, nor night, did never use to set:
It constant stood, when heavens did restlesse run,
And did their vertues, and their forces let.
The world did muse, and wonder what it meant,
A Sunne to shine, and in the west to rise:
To search the trueth, I strength and spirits spent,
At length I found, it was my Licias eyes:
Now never after, soule shall live in darke,
That hath the hap, this westerne Sunne to marke.

Sonnet. XLVI.

If he be dead, in whome no hart remaines,
Or livelesse be, in whome no lyse is found:
If he doe pyne that never comfort gaines,
And be distrest, that hath his deadlie wound.
Then must I dye whose heart els where is clad,
And livelesse passe the greedie wormes to feed:
Then must I pine, that never comfort had,
And be distrest, whose wound with teares doth bleed,
Which if I doe, why doe I not waxe cold?
Why rest I not lyke one that wants a hart?
Why moove I still, lyke him that lyfe doth hold?
And sense enjoy both of my joy and sinart.
Lyke Nyobe Queene, which made a stone, did weepe,
Licia, my heart dead and alive doth keepe.

Sonnet. XLVII.

Lyke Memnons rocke toucht, with the rising Sunne,
Which yeelds a sownd, and ecchoes foorth a voice:
But when its' drownde, in westerne seas is dunne,
And drousie lyke, leaves off to make a noice.
So I (my love) inlightned with your shyne,
A Poets skill within my soule I shroud,
Not rude lyke that, which finer wittes declyne,
But such as Muses to the best allowde.
But when your figure, and your shape is gone,
I speechlesse am, lyke as I was before:
Or if I write, my verse is fill'd with moane,
and blurd with teares, by falling in such store.
Then muse not (Licia) if my Muse be slacke,
For when I wrote, I did thy beautie lacke.

Sonnet. XLVIII.

I saw (sweet Licia) when the spydar ranne,
Within your house, to weave a woorthlesse web:
You present were, and feard her with your fanne,
So that amazed, speedilie she fled.
She in your house such sweete perfumes did smell,
And heard the Muses, with their notes refin'd:
Thus fill'd with envie, could no longer dwell,
But straight return'd, and at your house repin'd,
Then tell me (spidar) why of late I sawe
Thee loose thy poison, and thy bowels gone,
Did these enchaunt, and keepe thy limmes in awe,
And made thy forces, to be small or none?
No. no, thou didst by chaunce my Licia fee,
Who for her looke, Minerva seem'd to thee.

Sonnet. XLIX.

If that I dye (fayre Lycia) with disdaine,
Or hartlesse live, surprised with thy wrong,
Then heavens and earth shall accent both my paine,
And curse the time so cruell, and so long.
If you be kinde (my Queene) as you are fayre,
And ayde my thoughtes, that still for conquest strive.
Then will I sing, and never more dispayre,
And praise your kindnesse, whylst I am alive.
Till then I pay the tribute of my teares,
To moove thy mercie and thy constant trueth.
Respect (fayre love) howe these with sorrowe weares
The truest heart: unlesse it finde some ruthe.
Then grace me (sweet) and with thy favour rayse me,
So shall I live, and all the world shall praise thee.

Sonnet. L.

A Licia sigh, and say thou art my owne,
Nay be my owne, as you full oft have sayd.
So shall your trueth unto the world be knowne,
And I resolv'd, where now I am afrayd.
And if my tongue aeternize can your prayse,
Or silly speech increase your worthy fame.
If ought I can, to heaven your worth can rayse,
The age to come, shall wonder at the same.
In this respect, your love (sweete love) I told,
My faith and trueth I vow'd should be for ever.
You were the cause, if that I was too bold,
Then pardon this my fault, or love me never.
But if you frowne, I wish that none beleeve me,
For slayne with sighes, Ile dye, before I greeve thee.

Sonnet. LI.

When first the Sunne, whome all my senses serve,
Began to shine upon this earthly round,
The heav'ns for her, all graces did reserve,
That Pandor-like, with all she might abound.
Apollo plac'd his brightnesse in her eyes,
His skill presaging, and his musicke sweete.
Mars gave his force, all force she now defyes.
Venus her smyles, where with she Mars did meete.
Python a voyce, Dyana made her chaste,
Ceres gave plentie: Cupid lent his bowe:
Thetis his feete: there Pallas wisdome plac't.
With these she Queene-like kept a world in awe.
Yet all these honours deemed are but pelfe.
For she is much more worthie of her selfe.

Sonnet. LII.

O sugred talke, where with my thoughtes doe live:
O browes loves Trophee, and my senses shine:
O charming smyles, that death or life can give:
O heavenly kisses from a mouth devine:
O wreaths too strong, and tramels made of hayre:
O pearles inclosed in an Ebon pale,
O Rose and Lillyes in a field most fayre,
Where modest whyte, doth make the red seeme pale.
O voyce whose accents live within my heart,
O heavenly hand that more then Atlas holds,
O sighes perfum'd, that can release my smart.
O happy they, whome in her armes she folds.
Nowe if you aske where dwelleth all this blisse,
Seeke out my love, and she will shew you this.

AN ODE.

LOVE I repent me that I thought,
My sighes, and languish, dearely bought.
For sighes and languish both did prove,
That he that languisht, sight for love.
Cruell rigour foe to state,
Lookes disdainfull, fraught with hate.
I did blame, but had no cause,
(Love hath eyes, but hath no lawes)
She was sadde, and could not chuse,
To see me sigh, and sitt, and muse.
We both did love, and both did doubt,
Least any should our love finde out.
Our heartes did speake by signes most hidden.
This meanes was left, all els forbidden.
I did frowne, her love to trye,
She did sigh, and straight did crye.
Both of us did signes beleeve,
Yet either grieved friend to greeve.
I did looke, and then did smyle,
She left sighing all that whyle.
Both were glad to see that change;
Things in love that are not strange.
Suspicion foolish foe to reason,
Caus'd me seeke, to finde some treason.
I did court another Dame,
(False in love it is a shame)
She was sorrie this to vewe,
Thinking faith was prov'd untrewe.
[Page 55] Then she swore, she would not love,
One whome false, she once did prove:
I did vowe I never ment,
From promise matle, for to relent.
The more I said, the worse she thought,
My othes and vowes were dem'd as nought,
(False) (she sayde) howe can it be,
To court another, yet love me.
Crownes and Love no partners brooke,
If she be lyk'd, I am forsooke.
Farewell false, and love her still,
Your chaunce was good, but mine was ill.
No harme to you, but this I crave,
That your newe love, may you desave.
And jeast with you, as you have donne,
For light's the love, that's quickely wonne.
Kinde, and fayre-sweete, once beleeve me,
Ieast I did, but not to greeve thee.
Court I did, but did not love,
All my speach was you to prove.
Wordes and sighes, and what I spent,
(In shewe to her) to you were ment,
Fond I was your love to crosse,
(Ieasting love oft brings this losse.)
Forget this fault, and love your frend,
Which vowes his trueth unto the end,
Content (she sayd) if this you keepe,
Thus both did kisse, and both did weepe.
For women, long they can not chyde,
As I by proofe in this have tryde.

A dialogue betwixt two Sea-nymphes, DORIS and GALATEA, concerning [...] briefely translated out of Lucian.

THE Sea Nymphes late did play them on the shore,
And smyl'd to see such sport was new begunne:
A strife in love, the like not heard before,
Two Nymphes contend, which had the conquest wonne.
Doris the fayre, with Galate did chyd.
She lyk't her choyce, and to her taunts replyd.
Doris.
Thy love (fayre Nymph) that courts thee on this plaine,
As shepheards say, and all the world can tell.
Is that foule rude Sicilian Cyclop-swayne,
A shame (sweete Nymph) that he with thee should mell.
Galatea.
Smyle not (fayre Doris) though he foule doe seeme,
Let passe thy wordes that savour of disgrace,
He's worth my love and so I him esteeme.
Renownd by birth and comon of Neptunes race.
Neptune that doth the glassye Ocean tame,
Neptune, by birth from mighty Iove which came.
Doris.
I grauntan honour to be Neptunes chyld,
A grace to be so neere with Iove allyde.
But yet (sweete Nymph) with this be not beguyld,
Where natures graces are by lookes descryde.
[Page 57] So foule, so rough, so ugglye like a Clowne,
And worse then this, a Monster with one eye.
Foule is not graced, though it weare a Crowne.
But fayre is Bewtie, none can that denye.
Galatea.
Nor is he foule, or shapelesse as you say,
Or worse, for that he clownish seem's to be,
Rough, Satyr-like, the better he will play,
And manly lookes the fitter are for me.
His frowning smyles are graced by his beard,
His eye-light Sunne-like, shrowded is in one.
This me contents, and others makes afeard,
He sees ynough, and therefore wanteth none.
With [...] eye.
Doris.
Nay then I see (sweete Nimph) thou art in love,
And loving, doates; and doating, doest commend.
Foule to be fayre, this oft doe lovers proove,
I wish him fayrer, or thy love an end.
Galatea.
Doris, I love not, yet I hardly beare,
Disgracefull tearms, which you have spoke in scorne.
You are not lov'd: and that's the cause I feare:
For why, my love, of Iove him selfe was borne.
Feeding his sheepe of late, amidst this plaine,
When as we Nymphes did sport us on this shore,
He skorn'd you all, my love for to obtaine.
That greev'd your hearts: I knew as much before.
Nay smyle not Nymphes, the trueth I onely tell,
[...], that others should excell.
Doris.
[Page 58]
Shoud I envie that blinde did you that spite?
Or that your shape doeth pleease so foule a groome?
The shepheard thought of milke, you look'd so white,
The downe did erre, and foolish was his doome,
Your looke was pale, and so his stomach fed,
But farre from faire, where white doth want his red.
Galatea.
Though pale my looke, yet he my love did crave,
And lovelie you, unlyk'd, unlov'd I view:
It's better farre one base, than none to have,
Your faire is foule, to whome there's none will sew:
My love doth tune his love unto his harpe,
His shape is rude, but yet his witt is sharpe.
Doris.
Leave off (sweet Nymph) to grace a woorthlesse clowne.
He itch'd with love, and then did sing or say,
The noise was such, as all the Nymphes did frowne,
And well suspected, that some Asse did bray.
The woods did chyde, to heare this uglie sound,
The prating Eccho scorn'd for to repeate,
This grislie voice did feare the hollow ground,
Whilst artlesse fingers did his harpstrings beat.
Two Bear-whelps in his armes this monster bore,
With these new puppies did this wanton play,
Their skinnes was rough, but yet your loves was more:
He fouler was and farre more fierce than they,
I cannot chuse ( [...]
[...]
Galatia
[Page 59]
Scorne not my Iove it can be knowne,
That you have one that's better of your owne.
Doris
I have no love [...] if I had [...]
Yet [...] have [...], by [...] as well might speed▪
But him to love, the shame of all the coast,
So uglie foule, as yet, I have no need.
Now thus we learne what [...] love can doe,
To thinke him [...], that's and [...] to.
To heare this talke I sate [...] an oake,
And mark'd their wordes to pend them as they spoke.

AD LECTOREM DISTICHON cujusdam de Amore.

Lasci viquaeres fuerit cur carminis autor:
Carmine laselvus, mente pudicus erat.

A LOVERS MAZE.

TReweare my thoughts, my thoughts that are untrue,
Blinde are my eies, my eyes that are not blinde▪
New is my love, my love that is not nowe,
Kind is that faire, that faire that is not kinde,
Thus eyes, and thoughts, that fairest faire, my love,
Blind, and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.
True are my thoughts: because they never flitte.
Vntrew my thoughtes: because they me betraide.
Blinde are my eyes: because in cloudes I sitte,
Not blinde my eyes: because I lookes obeyed.
Thus eyes, and thoughtes, my dearest faire may vewe:
In sight, in love, nor blinde, nor yet untrew.
Newe is my love: because it never dies,
Olde is my love: because it ever lives.
Kinde is that faire: because it hate denyes,
Vnkinde that faire: because no hope it gives.
Thus new my love, and still that faire unkinde:
Renewes my love, and I no favour finde.
Sweete are my dreames, my dreames that are not sweet,
Long are the nightes, the nightes that are not long:
Meete are the panges, these panges that are unmeet:
Wrong'd is my heart, my heart that hath no wrong:
Thus dreames, and night my heart, my pangs, and all,
In taste, in length, conspire to worke my fall.
Sweet are my dreames: because my love they showe.
Vnsweet my dreames: because but dreames they are.
Long are the nights: because no helpe I know,
Short are the nights because the end my care,
Thus dreames, and nightes, wherein my love takes spor▪
Are sweet, unsweet, are long, and yet too short.
Meet are my panges: because I was too bolde.
Vnmeet my panges; because I lov'd so well.
Wrong'd was my heart: because my griefe it tolde:
Not wrongd: for why? my griefe it could not tell.
Thus you my love, unkindlie cause this smart.
That will not love, to case my panges and heart.
Proud is her looke: her looke that is not proude,
Done are my dayes, my dayes that are not done,
Lowd are my sighes, my sighes that are not lowd,
Begun my death, my death not yet begunne.
Thus looks, and dayes, and sighs, and death might move:
So kind, so faire, to give consent to love.
Proud is her looke: because she scornes to see.
Not proud her looke: for none dare say so much.
Done are my dayes: because they haplesse be.
Not done my dayes: because I wish them such.
Thus lookes, and dayes, increase this loving strife,
Not proude, nor done, nor dead, nor giving life.
Loud are my sighes: because they pearce the skie.
Not loud my sighes: because they are not heard.
My death begunne: because I heartlesse crie.
But not begunne: because I am debard.
Thus sighes, and death, my heart no comfort give:
Both lyfe denie, and both do make me live.
Bold are her smiles, her smiles that are not bold
Wise are her wordes, those words that are not wise,
Cold are her lippes, those lippes that are not colde,
Ise are those hands, those handes that are not ise.
Thus smiles, and wordes, her lippes, her hands, and she,
Bold wise, cold ise, loves cruell torments be.
Bold are her smiles: because they anger slay.
Not bold her smiles: because they blush so oft.
Wise are her wordes; because they woonders say.
Not wise her wordes: because they are not soft.
Thus smiles, and wordes, so cruell and so bold:
So blushing wise, my thoughtes in prison hold.
Colde are her lippes, because they breath no heate.
Not colde her lippes: because my heart they burne.
Ise are her handes: because the snow's so great.
Not Ise her handes, that all to ashes turne.
Thus lippes and handes, cold Ise my sorrowe bred,
Hands warme-white-snow, and lippes, cold cherrie red.
Small was her wast, the wast that was not small:
Gold was her haire, the haire that was not gold,
Tall was her shape, the shape that was not tall▪
Folding the armes, the armes that did not folde:
Thus haire, and shape, those folding armes and wast:
Did make me love, and loving made me waste.
Small was her wast, because I could it spanne,
Not small her wast: because she wasted all.
Gold was her haire: because a crowne it wanne,
Not gold her haire: because it was more pale.
Thus smallest waste, the greatest wast doth make:
And finest haire, most fast a lover take.
Tall was her shape: because she toucht the skie,
Not tall her shape: because she comelie was,
Folding her armes: because she hearts could tie.
Not folded armes: because all bands they passe.
Thus shape, and armes, with love my heart did plie,
That hers I am, and must be till I die.
Sad was her joy, her joy that was not sadde,
Short was her staie, her staie that was not short:
Glad was her speach, her speach that was not glad:
Sporting those toyes, those toyes that were not sport:
Thus was my heart, with joy, speach, toyes, and stay,
Possest with love, and so stollen quite avvay.
Sadde was her joy: because she did suspect.
Not sad her joy: because her joy she had.
Short was her staie: because to smal effect.
Long was her stay: because I was so sadde.
Thus joy, and staie, both crost a lovers sporte,
The one was sadde, the other too too short.
Glad was her speach: because shee spake her mind.
Not glad her speach: because affraid to speake.
Sporting her toyes: because my love was kinde.
Not toyes in sport: because my heart they breake.
Thus speach, and toyes, my love began in jest:
(Sweet) yeeld to love, and make thy servant blest.
Tread you the Maze (sweet love) that I have run:
Marke but the steppes, which I imprinted have:
End but your love, whereas my thoughtes begun,
So shall I joye, and you a servant have.
If not (sweet loue) then this my sute denie:
So shall you live, and so your servant die.

AN ELEGIE.

Downe in a bed, and on a bed of doune,
Love, she, and I to sleepe together lay:
She lyke a wanton kist me with a frowne,
Sleepe, sleepe, she saide, but meant to steale away:
I could not choose, but kisse, but wake but smile.
To see how she, thought us two, to beguile.
She faind a sleepe, I wakt her with a kisse:
A kisse to me she gave, to make me sleepe:
If I did wrong (sweete love) my fault was this,
In that I did not you, thus waking keepe,
Then kisse me (sweet) that so I sleepe may take,
Or let me kisse, to keepe you still awake.
The night drew on, and needs she must be gone:
She waked love, and bid him learne to waite:
She sigh'd, she said, to leave me there alone,
And bid love stay, but practise no deceit.
Love wept for griefe, and sighing made great mone.
And could not sleepe, nor staie, if she were gone.
Then staie (sweet love) a kisse with that I gave,
She could not staie: but gave my kisse againe:
A kisse was all that I could gett or crave,
And with a kisse, she bound me to remaine.
A Licia still, I in my dreames did crie,
Come (Licia) come, or els my heart will die.

ELEGIE. II.

1
Distance of place, my love and me did part:
Yet both did sweare, we never would remove;
In signe thereof, I bid her take my heart:
Which did, and doth, and can not chuse but love.
Thus did we part, in hope to meete againe:
Where both did vow, most constant to remaine.
2
A She there was that past betwixt us both,
By whome ech knew how others cause did fare.
For men to trust, men in their love are loth:
Thus had we both of love, a lovers care.
"Haply he seekes his sorrowes to renue,
"That for his love doth make another sue.
3
By her a kisse, a kisse to me she sent,
A kisse for price more worth then purest gold.
She gave it her, to me the kisse was ment,
A she to kisse, what harme if she were bold?
Happy those lippes, that had so sweete a kisse;
For heaven it selfe scarce yeeldes so sweete a blisse.
4
This modest she, blushing for shame of this,
Or loth to part from that she lik't so well,
Did play false play, and gave me not the kisse;
Yet my loves kindnesse could not chuse to tell.
Then blame me not, that kissing sigh'd, and swore,
I kist but her, whome you had kist before.
5
Sweete, love me more, and blame me not (sweet love)
I kist those lippes, yet harmlesle I doe vowe,
Scarse would my lippes, from off those lippes remoove,
For still me thought (sweet fayre) I kissed you.
And thus kinde love, the summe of all my blisse,
Was both begunne, and ended in a kisse.
6
Then send me moe, but send them by your frend,
Kisse none but her, nor her, nor none at all.
Beware by whome such treasures you doe send,
I must them loose, except I for them call.
Yet love me (deare) and still still kissing be,
Both like and love, but none (sweete love) but me.

ELEGIE. III.

1
If sadde complaint would shewe a lovers payne,
Or teares expresle the torments of my hart,
If melting sighes would ruth and pitty gaine,
Or true Laments but case a lovers smart,
2
Then should my plaints the thunders noyse surmount,
And teares like seas should flowe from out my eyes,
Then sighes like ayre should farre exceede all count,
And true laments with sorrow dimme the skyes.
3
But plaintes, and teares, laments, and sighes I spend.
Yet greater torments doe my heart destroy,
I could all these from out my heart still send,
If after these I might my love enjoy.
4
But heavens conspyre, and heavens I must obey,
That seeking love I still must want my ease.
"For greatest joyes are temperd with delay,
"Things soone obtain'd do least of all us please.
5
My thoughtes repyne, and thinke the time too long,
My love impatient, wisheth to obtaine,
I blame the heavens, that do me all this wrong,
To make me lov'd, and will not ease my payne.
6
No payne like this, to love and not enjoye,
No griefe like this, to mourne, and not be heard.
No time so long, as that which breed's annoy,
No hell like this, to love and be deferd.
7
But heaven shall stand, and earth inconstant flye,
The Sunne shall freese, and Ice inconstant burne,
The mountaines flowe, and all the earth be drye,
Ear time shall force my loving thoughtes to turne.
8
Doe you resolve (sweete love) to doe the same,
Say that you doe, and seale it with a kisse.
Then shall our truthes the heav'ns unkindnesse blame,
That can not hurt, yet shewes their spyte in this.
9
The sillye prentice bound for many yeeres,
Doeth hope that time his service will release.
The towne besieg'd that lives in midst of feares,
Doeth hope in time the cruell warres will cease.
10
The toyling plough-man sings in hope to reape
The tossed barke expecteth for a shore;
The boy at schoole to be at play doeth leape,
And straight forget's the feare he had before.
11
If these by hope doe joye in their distresse,
And constant are, in hope to conquer tyme.
Then let not hope in us (sweete friend) be lesse,
And cause our love to wither in the Pryme.
Let us conspyre, and time will have an end,
So both of us in time shall have a frend.
FINIS.
…

THE RISING TO THE CROWNE of RICHARD the third.

VVritten by him selfe.

THE RISING TO the Crovvne of RICHARD the third. Written by him selfe.

THE Stage is set, for Stately matter fitte,
Three partes are past, which Prince-like acted were,
To play the fourth, requires a Kingly witte,
Els shall my muse, their muses not come nere.
Sorrow sit downe, and helpe my muse to sing,
For weepe he may not, that was cal'da King.
Shores wife, a subject, though a Princesse mate,
Had little cause her fortune to lament.
Her birth was meane, and yet she liv'd with State,
The King was dead before her honour went.
Shores wife might fall, and none can justly wonder,
To see her fall, that useth to lye under.
Rosamond was fayre, and farre more fayre then she,
Her fall was great, and but a womans fall.
Tryfles are these, compare them but with me,
My fortunes farre, were higher then they all.
I left this land, possest with Civill strife,
And lost a Crowne, mine honour, and my life.
Elstred I pitie, for she was a Queene,
But for my selfe, to sigh I sorrow want,
Her fall was great, but greater falles have beene,
"Some falles they have, that use the Court to haunt.
A toye did happen, and this Queene dismayd,
But yet I see not why she was afrayd.
Fortune and I, (for so the match began)
Two games we play'd at tennyse for a Crowne.
I play'd right well, and so the first I wan:
She skorn'd the losse, whereat she straight did frowne.
We play'd againe, and then I caught my fall,
England the Court, and Richard was the ball.
Nor weepe I nowe, as children that have lost,
But smyle to see the Poets of this age:
Like silly boates in shallow rivers tost,
Loosing their paynes, and lacking still their wage.
To write of women, and of womens falles,
Who are too light, for to be fortunes balles.
A King I was, and Richard was my name,
Borne to a Crowne, when first my life began.
My thoughtes ambitious, venterd for the same,
And from my nephewes I the kingdom wan,
Nor doe I thinke that this my honour stayn'd,
A Crowne I sought, and I a kingdome gayn'd.
Tyme-tyrant fate did fitte me for a Crowne,
My fathers fall did teach me to aspire:
He meant by force his brother to put downe,
That so himselfe might hap to rise the higher.
And what he lost by fortune, I have wonne,
A Duke the father, yet a king the sonne.
My father Richard, duke of Yorke was call'd,
Three sonnes he had, all matchlesse at that tyme,
I Richard yongest to them both was thrall'd,
Yet two of us unto the crowne did clyme.
Edward and I this realme as kinges did holde,
But George of Clarence, could not, though he would.
Sad Muse set downe in tearmes not heard before.
My sable fortune, and my mournfull tale:
Say what thou canst, and wish thou could say more,
My blisse was great, but greater was my bale.
I rose with speed, and so did fall as fast,
Great was my glorie, but it would not last,
My brother George did plot for to be king,
Sparkes of ambition did possesse us all:
His thoughtes were wise, but did no profite bring,
I fear'd his rising, and did make him fall.
My reaching braine, did dout what might ensew,
I scorn'd his lyfe, and so he found it trew.
My brother George, men say, was slaine by me,
A brothers part, to give his brother wine,
And for a crowne I would his butcher be,
(For crownes with blood the brighter they will shine)]
To gaine a kingdome still it me behoov'd:
That all my lettes full soundlie were remoov'd.
Henrie the sixt depriued of his crowne,
Fame doeth report I put him to the death,
Thus fottune smyl'd, though after she did frowne,
A daggers stab men say, did stop his breath.
I carelesse was both how, and who were slaine,
So that thereby a kingdome I could gaine.
Clusters of grapes full rypened with the heat,
Nor smaller timber builded up on height,
Fall not so fast as persons that are great:
Loosing their honours, bruised with their weight.
But fewer means, the faster I did rise,
And to be king, I fortune did dispise.
My thoughts ambitious spread, began to flie,
And I a Crowne did followe with full wing,
My hope was small, but yet I meant to trie,
I had no right, yet long'd to be a king.
Feare or suspect amaz'd me not at all,
If I were crost, the worst was but to fall.
The Lyon fearce dispoyled of his praie,
Runnes not with speed so fast as did my thought:
My doubtfull minde, forbad me long to stay:
For why a kingdome was the thing I sought.
Now was the tyme when this was to be done,
Or blame my thoughts, because they it begun.
My brother dy'd, and left two Sonnes behind,
Both under age, unfitte to guyde the land,
This right fell out according to my minde.
For now these two were ruled with my hand.
Englands great Lord the subjects did me call.
And I was made protectour over all.
But as the Wolfe defends the harmelesse sheepe,
Whose bloodie mouth can hardlie bee content,
Vntill he spoile what he was set to keepe,
And sillie beast be all to peeces rent.
So still a crowne did hammer in my head,
Full of mistrust, till both these two were dead.
The elder sonne with speed to London came,
And walles forsooke where he had liv'd before:
London the place of greatest strength and fame,
The I lands treasure and the English store.
For him Lord Rivers was appoynted guyde,
The Kings owne uncle by the mothers fide.
Rivers was vvyse, but him I could not brooke,
I well foresawe what harme there might ensew:
This to prevent with speed I counsell tooke,
And as I thought, so did I finde it trewe.
For if that Rivers should obtaine his minde,
my hearts desire, then hardlie could I finde.
Rivers and Graie of treason I accus'd,
And tolde the Prince, what both they did intend:
My tale was false, and I the king abus'd:
Thus both their lives unjustlie did I end.
The King was yong, the greater was their griefe,
And needs my words, did urge him to beleefe.
Not long this past, but hasting to the Queene,
A post wast sent to showe what did befall;
And who the actors of this fact had bene:
That Lord protector was the cause of all.
The Queen amaz'd, did woonder at this newes,
And skarse did think it, yet she could not choose.
Possest with feare, foure daughters and her sonne,
She thence convayd into a sacred place:
Supposing' true, the harme but now begun,
And that I thought to murther all her race.
She Yorks Archbishop did entreat for aide,
Who in the Abbay not farre distant laide.
The Bishop came, and mourning found the Queene,
Who did lament the fortune of her sonne:
The realmes distresse, the lyke before not seene.
Her owne misfortune, and the state undone.
Thus sigh'd the Queene, and wisht her state were lesse,
And prayde that heavens would give the king successe.
My Lord (she said) my thoughts presage some ill,
And mournfull sorrowe seazeth on my heart:
This suddaine newes with griefe my soule doth fill,
And I for feare doe quake in everie part.
In this distresse we cannot hope to live,
Except this sacred place some safetie give.
He then reply'd: dread Soveraigne, doe not faint,
A causelesse feare in wisdome do withstand:
Yeeld not to soone, with griefe to make complaint,
When no such cause approaching is at hand.
"For feeble minds through weaknes coyne new feares,
"When stronger hearts true griefe more wisely bears.
Aud if they crowne, some other, not your sonne,
A thing unlyke (yet feare what may befall)
Then shall the same, unto this child be done,
Whom brothers right by dew a king shall call:
But tyrants force, will hardly be so bold:
During the tyme, the other is in hold.
Then more advis'd, he told her what he thought,
She and her sonne some causes had to feare,
And Englands seale he therefore with him brought,
Which by his place he customd was to beare.
Thus he resolv'd to leave the Seale behind,
Till wiser thoughts straight altered had his mind.
The Bishop home returned in all haste,
And sadly sate, suspecting what might fall.
But then my comming made them all agast,
And for the Bishop I did straightway call.
I knew his deede, and blam'd him to his face,
And for the Seale, another had his place.
Thus tyrant hate possest me for a Crowne,
My minde the Anvill of a thousand harmes.
I rais'd my friendes, my foes I cast them downe.
This made the subjectes flocke to me in swarmes.
My will was strong, I made it for a Lawe,
"For basest mindes are ruled best by awe.
I cal'd the Counsell, and did straight perswade,
From mothers side to fetch the other Sonne.
My drift was further then they well could wade,
I gave them reasons why it must be donne.
The King a play-mate wanted for his yeeres,
And could not well be fitted with his Peeres.
The Cardnall went on message to the Queene,
And us'd perswasions for her other chyld,
He plainely sayd, her feare had causelesse bene,
Nor neede she dout by me to be beguyld,
I was Protector chosen by consent,
With counsell grave all treason to prevent.
And I protest (quoth Cardnall) on my life,
(For so indeede the Cardnall did suppose,)
Your Sonne with safetie shall cut off this strife,
And you, nor place, nor land, nor Sonne shall loose.
Dread soveraigne graunt, and let your Sonne be free.
If he have harme, then set the fault on me.
The Queene was mov'd, and quaking did reply,
A mothers love doeth breede a mothers feare,
And loth I am those mischiefes for to try,
With doutfull hazard of a thing so deare.
I dout (my Lord) the neerest of his blood,
In true intent scarce wisheth any good.
The lawes doe make my Sonne his mothers ward,
Religion bids I should not slacke my care,
And nature bindes mine owne for to regard,
These and his health (my Lord) good reasons are,
To make my feare, no smaller then it is,
Whylst feare perswades what harme may come of this.
Yet take my sonne, and with my sonne take all▪
Come kisse me (sonne) thy mothers last fare-well;
Thy yeeres (sweete boy) suspect not what may fall,
Nor can my tongue for teares thy fortune tell.
But hardly crownes their kindred will discerne,
As you (sweete child) I feare yer long shall learne.
God blesse thee (sonne) and I my sonne thee blesse,
Thy mothers comfort, and thy brothers life.
Nay weepe not (sonne) God send thee good successe,
And safe defend thee from that tyrants knife.
(Cardnal) farewell, be carefull of my sonne,
For once I vow'd, this never to have done.
I and the counsell in Starre-chamber weare,
To whome the Cardnall did in haste resort;
Who brought the child, which ended all my feare,
The mothers care he briefely did report.
I kist the child, and tooke it in my arme,
Thus none did thinke I meant it any harme.
Then as the Wolfe halfe famisht for his pray,
Or hungrie Lyon that a lambe hath got;
My thirsty minde, I ment his blood should stay,
And yet the wisest not perceive my plot.
To'the Towre in haste I sent him to his brother,
And there with speed, I both at once did smother.
Nowe two there was, but living in my way,
Buckingham and Hastings both to crosse my mind,
The one was headed straight without delay,
The other, favours did unto me bind.
To match our children, I did him perswade,
And Earle of Herford he him selfe be made.
Nowe as the Sea before a storme doeth swell,
Or sumes arise before we see the flame:
So whispering Brute began my drifts to tell,
And all Imparted unto babbling fame.
I dem'd it danger, speech for to despice,
For after this I knew a storme would rise.
Londons Lord Major, I used for my turne,
And caus'd him speake what treason had bene done,
I by these meanes the peoples hearts did turne,
And made them eye me as the rising Sunne.
Thus whilest I ment the Iland to bring under,
The peoples heads on newes I set to wonder.
Then at the crosse I caus'd a Doctor preach,
To tell the subjectes what I wisht them know;
The man was cunning, and had skill to teach,
Out of my braine I made his Sermon flow.
Thus every where I did such notice give,
As all did crie, Heavens let King Richard live.
So did I live, and called was a king,
Friendes swarm'd as fast, as Bees vnto the hive,
"Thus basest means the highest fortunes bring
The crowne obtaind, did cause my thoughts revive.
I scorn'd my friends, and those did most despyse.
That vvere the means, by vvhich I did aryse.
Blood and revenge did hammer in my head,
Vnquiet thoughts did gallop in my braine:
I had no rest till all my friends vvere dead,
Whose helpe I usde the kingdome to obtaine.
My dearest friend, I thought not safe to trust,
Nor skarse my selfe, but that perforce I must.
Nor speake I novv, as if I did repent,
Vnlesse for this a crovvne I bought so cheap.
For meaner things men vvittes and lives have spent,
Which blood have sovvne, and crovvns could never reap
Live Richard long, the honour of thy name,
And scorne all such, as doe thy fortune blame.
Thus have I told, hovv I a crovvne did vvin,
Which novv torments me, that I cannot sleep
Where I doe end, my sorrovv did begin,
Because I got vvhich long I could not keep.
My verse is harsh, yet (reader) doe not frovvne,
I vvore no garland but a golden Crovvne.
FINIS.

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