A POETICAL RAPSODIE, Containing: Diuerse Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, Madrigals, Epigrams, Pastorals, Eglogues, with other poems, both in Rime and measu­red verse.

For varietie and pleasure, the like neuer yet published.

The Bee and Spider by a diuerse power,
Sucke Hony and Poyson from the selfe same flower.

Nevvly corrected and augmented.

[figure]

LONDON, Printed by William Stansby for Roger I [...]ckson dwelling in Fleetstreet neere the great Conduit. 1611.

To the most Noble, Hono­rable, and worthy Lord▪ William Earle of Pembroke, Lord Herbert of Cardiffe, Marmion, and Saint Quintine.

GReat Earle, whose braue Heroike minde is higher
And nobler, then thy noble high Degree:
Whose outwarashape, though it most louely be
Doth in faire Robes a fairer Soule attier:
Who rich in fading wealth, endlesse Treasure
Of Vertue, Valour, Learning, richer art,
Whose present greatnesse, men esteeme but part
Of what by line of future Hope they measure.
Thou worthy Sonne vnto a peer elesse mother,
Or Nephew to great Sidney of renowne,
Who hast deseru'd thy Coronet, to crowne
With Lawrell crowne, a crowne excelling th'other
I consecrate these Rimes to thy great Name,
Which if thou like, they seeke no other fame.
FRA. DAVISON.

To the Reader.

BEING induced by some priuate reasons, and by the instant entreaty of speciall friends, to suffer some of my worthlesse poems to be publi­shed, I desired to make some writ­ten by my deere friends Anonymoi, and my deerer Brother, to beare them company: Both without their consent, the latter being in the low-Country warres, and the rest vtterly ignorant thereof. My friends names I concealed; mine owne and my brothers, I willed the Printer to suppresse, as well as I had concealed the other, which he ha­uing put in without my priuity, we must now vnder­go a sharper censure perhaps then our namelesse workes should haue done, and I especially. For if their Poems be liked, the praise is due to their in­uention: if disliked, the blame both by them, and all men, will be deriued vpon mee, for publishing that which they meant to suppresse.

If thou thinke we affect fame by these kinds of writings, though I thinke them no disparagement euen to the best iudgements, yet I answere in all our behalfes, with the princely shepheard Dorus▪

Our hearts do seeke another estimation.

If thou condemne Poetry in generall, and affirme that it doth intoxicate the braine, and make men vt­terly vnfit, eyther for more serious studies, or for any actiue course of life, I onely say, Iubeo te stultum esse libenter. Since experience proues by examples of many, both dead and liuing, that diuers delighted, [Page] and excelling herein, being Princes or States-men, haue gouerned and counselled as wisely, being soul­diers, haue commanded armies as fortunately, being Lawyers, haue pleaded as iudicially and eloquently, being Diuines, haue written & taught as profound­ly, and being of any other profession, haue dischar­gèd it as sufficiently as any other men whatsoeuer: If liking other kinds, thou mislike the Lyricall, because the chiefest subiect thereof is Loue; I reply, that louc being vertuously intended, and worthily placed, is the whetstone of wit, and spurre to all generous ac­tions: and many excellent spirits with great fame of wit, and no staine of iudgement, haue written ex­cellently in this kind, and specially the euer-praise­worthly Sidney: So as if thou will needs make a fault, for mine owne part,

Hand timeo, [...]i iam neque [...] defendere crimen Cum tanto commune viro.

If any except against the mixing (both at the be­ginning & end of this booke) of diuerse things writ­ten by great & learned personages, with our meane and worthlesse scriblings, I vtterly disclaime it, as being done by the Printer, eyther to grace the fore­front with Sir Philip Sidneys, and others names, or to make the booke grow to a competent volume.

For these Poems in particular, I could alledge these excuses, that those vnder the name of Anonymos were written (as appeareth by diuers things to Sir Philip Sidney liuing, and of him dead) almost twenty yeares since, when Poetry was farre from that per­fection, to which it hath now attained; that my bro­ther is by profession a Souldier, and was not 18 years old when he writ these toyes: that mine owne were made most of them sixe or seuen yeares since, at idle [Page] times as I iourneyed vp and downe during my tra­uails. But to leaue their works to iustifie themselues, or the Authors to iustifie their works, and to speake of mine owne; thy mislikes I contemne, thy praises (which I neither deserue, nor expect) I esteeme not, as hoping (God vvilling) ere long, to regaine thy good opinion, if lost; or more deseruedly to conti­nue it, if alreadie obtained, by some grauer worke. Farewell.

FRA. DAVISON.

An alphabeticall Table, of all the Son­nets, Odes, Poems, Madrigals, Epigrams, Elegies, Pastorals, Eglogues, Dialogues, Hymmes, and Epitaphes, with all other the principall matters contained in this present Volume.

A
  • A Contention betwixt a Wife, a Widow, and a Maid. 7
  • A Fiction how Cupid made a Nimph wound her selfe. 21
  • A liuing death, see Poem. 1
  • Absence. 190. 191
  • Absence and time, see Ode. 11
  • Affection, see Poeme. 25
  • Aiax who killed himselfe, see in­scription. 1
  • Allegory of his loue to a ship, see Sonnet. 3
  • Allusion to Theseus voyage a­gainst the Minotaure, see Sonnet. 4
  • Anacreons Odes. 159.
  • An answere to what loue is. 90
  • An i [...]uectiue against loue, see Sonnet. 5
  • Anatomie of loue, see Poem. 33
  • Astreas praise with silence, see Dialogue. 7
B
  • Bacheler 2
  • Beautie causeth loue, see Son­net. 15
  • Beggars life praised. 161
  • Belides his torments. 53
  • Blankes. 7.
  • Bodkin. 6
  • Bracelets. 6
  • Breake heauie heart, see Poe. 4
  • Brutus his inhabiting of this Ile, see Poeme. 30
C
  • Cato Vtican, who slew himselfe, see inscription. 5 [...]
  • Chaine. 6
  • Childs Epitaphs, see Epitaph. 1
  • Christian Stoicke, see Poem. 34
  • Climenestra to Orestes, In­scription. 57
  • Commendation of bea [...]ie, &c. see Ode. 13
  • Commendation of verses, see Sonnet. 44
  • Comparison betwixt the strength of beast, see Ode. 1
  • Comparison of loue in Beggars and Kings. 160
  • Comparison to a candle-flie, see Madrigall. 6
  • Comparison with perfect loue, see Poeme. 23
  • Complaint of loue very wittily. 30 & 56
  • Conceit, see Poeme. 25
  • Contention betwixt a Wife, a Wi­dow and a Maid. 7
  • Contention of loue and reason, see Sonnet. 8
  • Contrarieties of loue, see Po­eme. 24
  • Corinaes singing, see Poeme. 26
  • Counterfait answer, see Ode. 26
  • Country Gentleman. 2
  • Courtier. 1
  • Courtiers rule, see Epi. 1
  • Courtly life dispraised, see Pa­storall. 3
  • [Page]Coyfe and Crosse-cloath. 6
  • Crambo the l [...]wzie shifter, see E­pigram. 5
  • Cuccolds Epigram, see Epigrā. 3
  • Cuddies Embleme. 40
  • Cuddies Pastorall Eglogue, see Eglogue. 6
  • Cupids dialogue with a louer, see Dialogue. 2
  • Cupid made a Nimph to wound her selfe, see Eglogue. 5
  • Cupids mariage with dissimula­tion, see Ode. 6
  • Cupid proued a Fence [...], see Ma­drigall. 7
  • Cupid shootes light, but wounds sore, see Poeme. 6
  • Curtizans Epigram, see Epigrā 4
  • Cushinet. 7
  • Cynthia Queene of Fortune. 3. & 196.
D
  • Deadly sweetnesse, see Poeme. 7
  • Death in loue, see Poeme. 8
  • Death liuing, see Poeme. 1
  • Description of loue, see Sonnet. 2
  • Desire. 202
  • Desire and hope, see Ode. 7
  • Desire hath conquered reuenge, see Sonnet. 9
  • Desires gouernment, see Poem. 9
  • Dialogues.
    • 1. Betweene a louer and his La­die. 23
    • 2. Betweene a louer & Cupid. 50
    • 3. Betweene a Louer, Death, and Cupid. 49
    • 4. Betweene a louers flaming heart, and his Ladies frozen breast. 59
    • 5. Betweene the louer and his heart. 49 & 123
    • 6. Betweene the soule and the bo­die. 188
    • 7. In praise of Astrea, 26
  • Didoes inscription, see Inscrip­tion. 4
  • Discommodities of loue, see Son­net. 20
  • Disdaine at variance with de­sire, see Ode: [...]
  • Disdaines Altar & Sacrifice▪ 177
  • Disdainfull loue, see Ode. 2
  • Dispraise of a courtly life, see Pa­storall. 3
  • Dispraise of louers folly, 145
  • Diuine. 1
  • Dozen of points. 5
  • Dyall. 7
E
  • Eglogues.
    • 1. Betweene a Shepheard and a Heardman. 47
    • 2. Betweene Eubulus and A­strea. 59
    • 3. Betweene Strephon and Ura­rania, with her answere. 57
    • 4. Concerning old age. 83
    • 5. How Cupid made a Nymph wound her selfe. 24
    • 6. Of Cuddy. 3 [...]
    • 7. Vpon the death of sir Philip Sidney. 41
  • Elegies.
    • 1. Letters in verse. 99
    • 2. Of discontent. 91
    • 3. Of his verse. 21 [...]
    • 4. Of womens inconstancy. 203
    • [Page]5. To his Lady who vowed virgi­nitie 106
    • 6. Why he obtaines not his Ladies fauour. 93
  • Epigrams
    • 1. A rul [...] for Courtiers. 66
    • 2. For a looking glasse 5
    • 3. On a limping Cuccold. 67
    • 4. On a painted Curtezan. 66
    • 5. On Crambo a low [...]ie shifter. 67
    • 6. To A. S. 46
    • 7. To all poore schollers. 64
    • 8. To his friends. 65
    • 9. To Sir Phi. Sidney. 162
    • 10. Translations [...] of Martiall. 63
    • 11. Ad p [...]ssimos Coniuges. 65
    • 12. In Asinium. 60
    • 13. In Aulam. 65
    • 14. In Aul [...]m. 67
    • 15. In Quintu [...]. ibid.
    • 19. In Saba [...]. ibid.
  • Epitaphes.
    • 1. Vpon the death of a child. 96
    • 2. Vpon the heart of King H. of France and Poland. 202
  • Execration of his passed Loue, see Sonnet. 10
F
  • Fabricius Curio his vertues, see Inscription. 5
  • Face see Poeme 11. and repor­ting Sonnet.
  • Faire face and hard heart, see Poeme▪ 11
  • Falling band. 6
  • Fanne. ibid.
  • Farewell to his vnconstant Mi­stresse, see Ode. 10
  • Fiction how a Nimph was woun­ded by Cupid, see Egl. 5
  • Fortunes wheeles. 5
G
  • Garden, see Poeme. 40
  • Garters. 6
  • Girdle. 5
  • Glasse. ibid.
  • Gloues. ibid.
  • Guift, see Poeme 28
H
  • Hand, see Madrigall. 14
  • Hand kerchiefe. 5
  • Hexameters to sir P. Sid. 162
  • His heart arraigned of theft and acquitted, see Poeme 13
  • Hopelesse desire soone withers and dies, see Poeme. 14
  • Horace imitated. 59
  • Himnes.
    • 1. In praise of Musicke 167
    • 2. In praise of Neptune. 183
I
  • In praise of a beggers life, see beg­gers life. 161
  • In praise of her eyes, see Sonnet. 17
  • In praise of Musicke. see Him. 1
  • In praise of Neptune see Him. 2
  • In praise of sir P. Sidney, see Epi­gram. 9
  • In praise of the two Countesses of Cumberland and Warwicke, see Sonnet. 41
  • In praise of the Sun, see Poeme. 15
  • Inscriptions.
    • 1. Of Aiax who kild himselfe, 58
    • 2. Of Cato Vtican who slew him­selfe. 59
    • 3. Of Clytemnestra and her Sonne Orestes. 57
    • 4. Of Dido. 97
    • 5. Of Fabritius Curio. 58
    • [Page]6. Of [...]mulus who was nursed by a she w [...]lse 58
    • 7. Of Thisbe. 57
  • Inuectiue against his Lady, see Poeme. 113
  • Inuectiue against Loue, see Po­eme. 11
  • Inuectiue againe women, see Po­eme. 16
  • Inuerted rimes of Loue. 28
  • Ixion his torments. 115
K
  • Kerchiefe, see Hand-Kerchiefe K. H. 3. Epitaph, see Epitaph. 2
  • Kniues. 5
L
  • Lace 5
  • Ladies eyes serue Cupid for darts and fire, see P [...]. 19
  • Lawyer. 1
  • Lenn [...]y in riming Phale [...]taks. 128
  • Looking glasse. 5
  • Lottery presented before the late Queene. 3
  • Lots 5
  • Loue Eclipsed, see Son. 2
  • Loue enters by fame, see Son. 46
  • Loue is deadly sweetenesse, see Poeme. 7
  • Loue like childrens Phisicke, see Son. 7
  • Loue punishable with loue, see Son net. 19
  • Loue the onely price of loue, see Poeme. 20
  • Louers complaint, see Ode. 14
  • Loues allegory to a ship, see Son. 54
  • Loues anatomy, 197
  • Loues contention, see Son. 8
  • Laues contrarieties, see Po. 21
  • Loues description, see Son. 2
  • Loues discommodities, see Son. 20
  • Loues dispraise and louers folly. see Ode. 145
  • Loues hyperbol [...]s, see S [...]. 11
  • Loues inuectiue, see Sonnet and Poeme. 17
  • Loues naturall comparisons, see Poeme. 23
  • Loues properties, see Po. 22
  • Lye wherein is glaunced at some generall vices in sundry states of men. 15
M
  • Madrigall.
    • 1. Allusion vpon the confusion of [...]ahell. [...]4
    • 2. Answere to the question what loue was. 90
    • 3. Cupid proued a [...]. 89
    • 4. For a kisse. 57
    • 5. For the hearts diuision. 111
    • 6. He compares hims [...] to a can­dle flie. 89
    • 7. Her outward gesture decei­uing his inward hope. 127
    • 8. Her praise is in her want. ibid.
    • 9. Of a Ladies dreaming that she saw her louer dead. 365
    • 10. Of his loues attire 21
    • 11. Of loue 149
    • 12. Taken out of a Greeke Epi­gram. 44
    • 13. Of Cupid. 125
    • 14. To her hand vpon giuing a Gloue. [...]
    • 15. Verball loue. 698
    • 16. Upon a kisse receiued. 75
    • 19. Vpon departure from his loue. 85
    • 18. Upon her beauty and incon­stancie. 92
    • [Page]19. Vpon her commending of his verses. 96
    • 20. Vpon her hiding her face from him. 92
    • 21. Vpon her long absence. 91
    • 22. Vpon his Mistresse sicknesse and his owne death. 94
    • 23. Upon his timorous silence in her presence. 91
    • 24. Vpon seeing his face in her eye. 92
  • Maide. 3. & 8
  • Maried man. 3
  • Mariners song and speech. 4
  • Maske. 5
  • Meditation vpon the frailtie of this life, see Poeme. 2
  • Merchant. 2
  • Musicks praise, see Hymne. 1
N
  • Necklace. 7
  • Neptunes praise, see Hymne. 2
  • Nutmeg. 7
O
  • Odes.
    • 1. A comparison. 157
    • 2. A defiance to disdainefull loue. 153
    • 3. A Dialogue betweene him and his heart. 103
    • 4. A Prosopopoeia wherein his heart speakes to his Ladies breast. 86
    • 5. Being in Italy desires her to write vnto him. 82
    • 6. Cupids mariage with dissimu­lation. 144
    • 7. Desire and hope. 126
    • 8. Disdaine at variance with de­sire. 139
    • 9. Dispraise of loue and louers folly. 145
    • 10. His farewell to his vncon­stant Mistresse. 85
    • 11. His Lady condemned of ig­norance or crueltie. 100
    • 12. His restlesse estate. 76
    • 13. In commendatiō of her beau­tie. 88
    • 14. Louers complaint. 133
    • 15. Of absence and time. 205
    • 16. Of Cynthia. 212
    • 17. Petition for leaue to die. 132
    • 18. That all creatures haue abi­ding in heauen, hell, or in one of the foure Elements, but Man in all of them. 90
    • 19. That onely her beauty and voice please him. 71
    • 20. The more fauour he obtaines the more he desires. 121
    • 21. The tomb of dead desire. 154
    • 22. To her eyes. 138
    • 23. To his heart. 151
    • 24. To his Muse. 147
    • 25. Unhappy eyes. 135
    • 26. Vpon a countersaite answere. 86
    • 27. Vpon her absence. 130
    • 28. Vpon protestation of kinde affection. 78
    • 29. Vpon visiting his Lady by Moone-light. 130
    • 30. Where his Ladie-keepes his heart. 120
  • Of absence and time, see Ode. 15
  • Of Cupid, see Eglogue. 5
  • Of Cynthia, see Ode. 16
  • Of loue matters out of Anacreon: see Anacreon
P
  • Paire of Bracelets. 6
  • Paire of garters. 5
  • Paire of gloues. 5
  • [Page]Paire of sizzers. 6
  • Paire of writing tables. 6
  • Palenesse, see Poeme. 43
  • Passionate Pris. see Poeme. 35
  • Pastorals.
    • 1. Eglogue of Eubulus and A­strea. 59
    • 2. Gratulatory made by Sir Phi­lip Sidney. 17
    • 3. In dispraise of a courtly life. 19
    • 4. Of Cuddy. 68
  • Petition to haue her leaue to die, see Ode. 15
  • Petrarcks description of loue, see Sonnet. 2
  • Petrarcks Sonnet, pace non trouo. &c. see Sonnet. 22
  • Phaleuciacks of loue. 141. & 146
  • Phaleuciacks of Wisd. 173
  • Phisitian. 2
  • Picture, see Son. 25
  • Plaine ring. 5
  • Pockes, see Poeme. 46
  • Poemes.
    • 1. A liuing death. 170
    • 2. A meditation vpon the frailty of this life. 187
    • 3. An inuectiue against loue. 156
    • 4. Breake heauy heart. 169
    • 5. Care will not let him liue, nor hope let him die. 163
    • 6. Cupid shootes light, but w [...]und sore. 155
    • 7. Deadly sweetnesse. 142
    • 8. Death in loue. 168
    • 9. Desires gouernment. 169
    • 10. Dispraise of loue, and louers folly. 165
    • 11. Faire face, & hard heart. 157
    • 12. Her outward Iesture decei­uing inward hope. 145
    • 13. His heart arraigned of theft, and acquited. 140
    • 14. Hopelesse desire soone withers and dies. 171
    • 15. In praise of the Sun. 166
    • 16. Inuectiue against his lady. 174
    • 17. Inuectiue against loue. 169
    • 18. Inuectiue against women. 209
    • 19. Ladies eyes, wherefore they serue. 143
    • 20. Loue the onely price of loue. 139
    • 21. Loues contrarieties. 170
    • 22. Loues properties. 170
    • 23. Naturall comparisons with Perfect loue. 191
    • 24. Of bearance & silence. 209
    • 25. Of conceit, affection and de­sire. 201
    • 26. Of Corrinnaes singing. 199
    • 27. Of his Mistresse face. 198
    • 28. Of loue gift. 213
    • 29. Of silence. 209
    • 30. Of the first inhabiting this Ile by Brute & the Troians. 160
    • 31. That he is vnchangeable. 147
    • 32. That loue is vnlike in beg­gars and in kings. 182
    • 33. The Anatomie of loue, per ignotum. 214.
    • 34. The Christian Stoicke 71
    • 35. The effects of absence and presence. 151
    • 36. The passionate prisoner. 171
    • 37. The true loue knot. 206
    • 38. To her eyes. 138
    • 39. To his eyes. 148
    • 40. To his Ladies Garden. 203
    • 41. To time. 186
    • 42. Vpon beginning without ma­king an end. 113
    • 43. Vpon her absence. 150
    • 44. Upon her palenesse. 199
    • [Page]45. Upon his L [...] ▪ buying of Lut [...] strings. 142
    • 46. Upon his ladies sicknesse of the small Pocks. 189
    • 47. Vpon seeing his face in her eye. 92
  • Posie of a Ring. 5
  • Prayer Booke. 6
  • Praise of Beggers life, see Beg­gers life.
  • Praise of her eyes, see Son. 17
  • Praise of Musicke, see Hymne. 1
  • Praise of sir Philip Sidney, see Epigram. 9
  • Praise of the two Countesses of Cumberland and Warwicke, see Son. 41
  • Prosopop [...]ia 86
  • Purse. 5
  • Quatraine. 94
R
  • Reporting sonnet of praise. 200
  • Ring plaine 5
  • Rings posie. 182
  • Romulus, who was nursed by a shee wolfe, see Inscrip. 4
  • Round-lay very pretty in inuer­ted Rimes 28
S
  • Samuel Daniel, Prince of English Poets. 95
  • Sapphicks vpon the passion of Christ 166
  • Scarffe 6
  • Sicknesse, see Poeme 29
  • Sickenesse and recouery, see Sonnet. 23
  • Silence, see Poeme▪ 29
  • Sisyphus his Torment 115
  • Sizzers 6
  • Snufkin ibid.
  • Song in praise of a Beggers life. 162
  • Sonnets.
    • 1. A Pr [...]sepopoeia betweene him and his Lady. 86
    • 2. A true description of loue. 197
    • 3. Allegory of his loue to a ship. 11
    • 4. Allusion to Theseus bis voy [...]g 10 against the Minotaure. 167
    • 5. An inuectiue against loue. 1 [...]9
    • 6. Comparison of his heart to a tempest-beaten sh [...]. 105
    • 7. Compared by childrens Phi­sicke. 207
    • 8. Contention of Loue and rea­son. 101
    • 9. Desire hath conquered re­uenge. 128
    • 10. Execration of his passed loue. 116
    • 11. He cals his senses as witnes­ses of her vertues. 99
    • 12. Hee demaunds pardon for looking, louing, & writing. 98
    • 13. He desires leaue to write to his loue. 108
    • 14. He paints out his tormēts. 115
    • 15. Her beauty makes him liue euen in despaire. 104
    • 16. His sighes and teares are boot­lesse. 104
    • 17. In praise of her eyes. 99
    • 18. In protestation of loue. 58
    • 19. Loue punishable with loue. 98
    • 20. Loues discommodities, 115
    • 21. Loues Hyperboles 113
    • 22. Of Fran. Petrarcha. 114
    • 23. Of her sicknesse and recoue­ry. 180
    • 24. Of his Ladies Picture. 697
    • 26. Of his Ladies weeping, 102
    • 27. Of his owne and his Mi [...]es sicknesse. [...]79
    • 28. Of [...]gring loue. 112
    • [Page]29. Of re [...]iting the heart being (by poeticall fiction) once se­uered. 209
    • 30. Of the Moone. 118
    • 31 Of the Sunne 117
    • 32. Of the impossibilitie to dis­semble loue. 70
    • 33. Of vnfained loue. 38
    • 34. That he cannot leaue to loue, though commaunded. 108
    • 35. That loue made him a Po­et. ibid.
    • 36. That she hath greater power­oner his happines and life, then either fortune, fate or stars. 101
    • 37. That time cannot end or di­minish Loue. 112
    • 38. To Mistresse Diana. 62
    • 39. To Pitty. 71
    • 40. To proue loue. 38
    • 41. To the two Countesses of Cum berland and Warwicke. 196
    • 42. Vpon a gold Rings poesie. 182
    • 43. Vpon acknowledgement of de­sert, reiecting affection, with the Answeres. 84
    • 44. Vpon her commending his verses. 89
    • 45. Vpon her looking out of a Window. 181
    • 46. Vpon loues entring by fame. 190
    • 47. Vpon loues entring by his Eares. 178
    • 48. Upon presenting of a new yeares-gift. 94
    • 49. Vpon the louers absence from his Ladie. 91
    • 50. Upon the 7 deadly sins. 195
    • 51. Vherein the Louer begges but his Ladies heart. 190
    • 52. Why her lips yeelde him no [...] of comfort. 120
  • Souldier. 1
  • Sphec [...] of Graie [...] Inne Maske presented before the Q. 71
  • Stomacher. 6
  • Strephons Palinode. 27
T
  • That time cannot ende or dimi­nish loue. 112
  • Ten Sonnets to Philomel. 178
  • The bellish torments of Tantalus Titius, Ixion, Sisyphus, and the Belides. 115
  • The Lie, see Lie, 15
  • The Lots, see lots. 5
  • The Maske, see Maske. 71
  • The meane estate is best. 20
  • The tombe of dead desire see Ode. 154
  • Thisbe, see inscription. 1
  • Time, see Ode. 15
  • To her eyes, see Poeme 38
  • To his eyes, see Poeme. 39
  • To his heart, see Ode. 23
  • To his Ladies garden, see Po­eme. 40
  • To his Muse, see Ode. 24
  • Tongue, see reporting Sonnet.
  • To time, see Poeme. 4
  • True louers knot. 191
V
  • Verball loue,
  • Vrania her Answere. [...]
W
  • Widdow. [...]
  • Wife.
  • [Page]Wisedome, see Phaleuc. 2
  • Wit, see reporting Sonnet.
  • Womans waight in Latine and English. 132
  • Womens hearts & inconstancie, see Elegie, 4
  • Womens inconstancy, see Ma­drigall. 18
  • Womens Innectine, see Poeme. 18
  • Wonders of the world neuer yet descried. 1
D. P.

YET OTHER TWELVE WON­ders of the World, neuer before published, By IOHN DAVIS.

I. The Courtier.
LOng haue I liu'd in Court, yet learn'd not all this while
To sel poore sutors, smoke: nor where I hate to smile:
Superiors to adore, inferiors to despise,
To flie from such as fall, to follow such as rise,
To cloake a poore desire vnder a rich array,
Not to aspire by vice, though twere the quicker way.
II. The Diuine.
My calling is Diuine, and I from God am sent,
I will no chop-church be, nor pay my patron rent,
Nor yeeld to sacriledge, but like the kind true mother,
Rather will loose all the child, then part it with another.
Much wealth I will not seeke, nor worldly masters serue,
So to grow rich & fat, while my poore flock doth sterue
III. The Souldier.
My occupation is the noble trade of Kings,
The tryall that decides the highest right of things:
Though MARS my Master be, I doe not VENVS loue,
Nor honour BACCHVS oft, nor often sweare by [...]OVE:
Of speaking of my selfe, I all occasion shunne,
And rather loue to doe, then boast what I haue done.
IIII. The Lawyer.
The Law my calling is, my robe, my tongue, my pen,
Wealth and opinion gaine, and make me Iudge of men,
The knowne dishonest cause, I neuer did defend,
Nor spun out sutes in length, but wisht and sought an end:
Nor counsaile did bewray, nor of both parties take,
Nor euer tooke I see for which I neuer spake.
V. The Phisitian.
I study to vphold the slipperie state of man,
Who dies, when we haue done the best and all we can.
From practise and from bookes I draw my learned skil,
Not from the known receipt of Pothecaries bill.
The earth my faults doth hide, the world my cures doth see.
What youth and time effects, is oft ascrib'de to me.
VI. The Merchant.
My trade doth euery thing, to euery land supply,
Discouer vnknown coasts, strange Countries doth ally:
I neuer did forestall, I neuer did ingrosse,
Nor custome did withdraw, though I return'd with losse.
I thriue by faire exchange, by selling and by buying,
And not by Iewish vse, reprisall, fraude, or lying.
VII. The Country-Gentleman.
Though strange outlādish spirits praise towns, & country scorn
The coūtry is my home, I dwel where I was born:
There profit and commaund, with pleasure I partake,
Yet do not Haukes, and dogs, my sole companions make.
I rule, but not oppresse, end quarrels, not maintaine,
See towns, but dwel not there t'abridg my charg or train
VIII. The Bacheler.
How many things as yet are deere alike to me,
The field, the horse, the dog, loue armes or libertie.
I haue no wife as yet, whom I may call mine owne,
I haue no children yet, that by my name are knowne.
Yet if I married were, I would not wish to thriue,
If that I could not tame the veriest shrew aliue.
IX. The married man.
I onely am the man among all married men,
That doe not wish the Priest, to be vnlinkt agen:
And thogh my shoo did wring, I wold not make my mone
Nor think my neighbors chance more happy then mine own
Yet court I not my wife, but yeeld obseruance due,
Being neither fond, nor crosse, nor iealous, nor vntrue.
X. The Wife.
The first of all our Sex came from the side of man,
I thither am returnd, from whence our sex began.
I doe not visit oft, nor many, when I doe:
I tell my minde to few, and that in counsaile too.
I seeme not sicke in health, nor sullen but in sorrow,
I care for somewhat else, then w [...]at to weare to morrow.
XI. The Widowe.
My husbād knew, how much his death wold grieue me,
And therfore left me wealth to comfort and releeue me.
Though I no more will haue, I must not loue disdaine,
PENELOPE her selfe did sutors entertaine.
And yet to draw on such, as are of best esteeme,
Nor yonger then I am, nor richer will I seeme.
XII. The Maide.
I marriage would forsweare, but that I heare men tell,
That she that dies a maide, must lead an Ape in hell.
Therefore if fortune come, I will not mocke and play,
Nor driue the bargaine on, till it be driuen away.
Titles and lands I like, yet rather fancie can,
A man that wanteth gold, then gold that wants a man.

A Lottery presented before the late Queenes Maiestie at the Lord Chancellors house. 1601.

A Marriner with a box vnder his arme, containing all the se [...]erall things following, supposed to come from the Carricke, came into the Presence singing this Song.

CYNTHIA Queene of Seas and lands,
That fortune euery where commands,
Sent forth Fortune to the Sea,
To try her fortune euery way.
There did I fortune meet, which makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.
[Page 4]All the Nymphes of THETIS traine,
Did CYNTHIAES fortune entertaine:
Many a iewell, many a iem,
Was to her fortune brought by them.
Her fortune sped so well, as makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.
Fortune that it might be seene,
That she did serue a royall Queene,
A franke and royall hand did beare,
And cast her fauors euery where.
Some toies fel to my share, which makes me now to sing
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

And the Song ended, he vttered this short speech.

GOd saue you faire Ladies all: and for my part, if e­uer I be brought to answere my sinnes, God for­giue me my sharking, and lay vsurie to my charge. I am a Marriner, and am now come from the sea, where I had the fortune to light vpon these few trifles. I must confesse I came but lightly by them, but I no sooner had them, but I made a vow that as they came to my hands by fortune, so I would not part with them but by fortune. To that end I haue euer since carried these Lots about me, that if I met with fit company I might deuide my booty among them. And now (I thanke my good for­tune) I am lighted into the best company of the world, a company of the fairest Ladies that euer I saw. Come Ladies trie your fortunes, and if any light vpon an vn­fortunate blanke, let her thinke that fortune doth but mocke her in these trifles, and meanes to pleasure her in greater matters.

THE LOTS.

1. Fortunes wheeles.
FOrtune must now no more on triumph ride,
The wheeles are yours that did her Chariots guide.
2. A Purse.
You thriue, or would, or may, your Lots a Purse,
Fill it with gold, and you are nere the worse.
3. A Maske.
Want you a Maske, here fortune giues you one,
Yet nature giues the Rose, and Lilly none.
4. A Looking Glasse.
Blinde fortune doth not see how faire you be,
But giues a glasse that you your selfe may see.
5. A Hand-kerchiefe.
Whether you seeme to weepe, or weepe indeede,
This hand-kerchiefe will stand you well in steed.
6. A plaine Ring.
Fortune doth send you, hap it well or ill,
This plaine gold Ring, to wed you to your will.
7. A Ring with this Poesie, As faithfull as I finde.
Your hand by Fortune on this Ring doth light,
And yet the words do hit your humour right.
8. A paire of Gloues.
Fortune these gloues to you in challenge sends,
For that you loue not fooles that are her friends.
9. A dozen of Points.
You are in euery point a louer true,
And therefore fortune giues the points to you.
10. A Lace.
Giue her the Lace that loues to be straight lac'd,
So fortunes little gift, is aptly plac'd.
11. A paire of Kniues.
Fortune doth giue this paire of kniues to you,
To cut the thred of loue if [...] be not true.
12. A Girdle.
By fortunes Girdle you may happy bee,
But they that are lesse happy are more free.
13. A paire of writing Tables.
These Tables may containe your thoughts in part,
But write not all thats written in your heart.
14. A paire of Garters.
Though you haue fortunes Garters, you must be
More staide and constant in steps then she.
15. A Coyfe and Crosse cloath.
Frowne in good earnest, or be sicke in iest,
This Coife and Crosse-cloth will become you best.
16. A Scarfe.
Take you this Scarfe, bind CVPID hand and foote,
So loue must aske you leaue before he shoot.
17. A falling Band.
Fortune would haue you rise, yet guides your hand,
From others Lots to take the falling band.
18. A Stomacher.
This Stomacher is full of windows wrought,
Yet none through them can see into your thought.
19. A paire of Sizzers.
These Sizzers doe your huswifery bewray;
You loue to worke, though you were borne to play.
20. A Chaine.
Because you scorne loues Captiue to remaine,
Fortune hath sworne to leade you in a Chaine.
21. A Praier Booke.
Your fortune may proue good another day,
Till fortune come, take you a booke to pray.
22. A Snuftkin.
Tis Summer yet, a Snuftkin is your Lot,
But t'will be winter one day, doubt you not.
23. A Fanne.
You loue to see, and yet to be vnseene,
Take you this fan to be your beauties skreene.
24. A paire of Bracelets.
Lady your hands are fallen into a snare,
For CVPIDS manacles these bracelets are.
25. A Bodkin.
Euen with this Bodkin you may liue vnharmed,
Your beauty is with vertue so well armed.
26. A Necklace.
Fortune giues your faire neck this lace to weare,
God grant a heauier yoke it neuer beare.
27. A Cushinet.
To her that little cares what Lot she winnes,
Chance giues a little cushinet to sticke pinnes.
28. A Dyall.
The dyal's yours, watch time lest it be lost,
Yet they most lose it that do watch it most.
29. A Nutmeg with a blanke parchment in it.
This Nutmeg holds a blanke, but chance doth hide i [...]:
Write your owne wish, and Fortune will prouide i [...].
30. Blanke.
Wot you not why fortune giues you no prize,
Good faith she saw you not, she wants her eyes.
30. Blanke
You are so daintie to be pleas'd, God wot,
Chance knowes not what to giue you for a Lot.
32. Blanke.
Tis pittie such a hand should draw in vaine,
Though it gaine nought, yet shall it pittie gaine.
33. Blanke.
Nothing's your Lot, that's more then can be told,
For nothing is more precious then gold.
34. Blanke.
You faine would haue, but what, you cannot tell:
In giuing nothing fortune serues you well.
FINIS.
I. D.

A contention betwixt a Wife, a Widdow and a Maide.

Wife.
WIddow well met, whither goe you to day?
Will you not to this solemne offering go,
You know it is ASTREAS holy day:
The Saint to whom all hearts deuotion owe.
Widow.
[Page 8]
Marry what else? I purpos'd so to doe,
Doe you not marke how all the wiues are fine,
And how they haue sent presents ready too,
To make their offering at ASTREAS sh [...]ine?
See then the shrine and tapers burning bright,
Come friend and let vs first our selues aduance,
We know our place, and if we haue our right,
To all the parish we must leade the dance.
But soft what means this bold presūptuous maid staide,
To goe before without respect of vs?
Your forwardnesse (proude maide) must now be
Where learnd you to neglect your betters thus?
Maide.
Elder you are, but not my betters here,
This place to maides a priuiledge must giue:
The Goddesse being a maid holds maidens deare
And grants to them her owne prerogatiue.
Besides, on all true virgins at their birth,
Nature hath sent a crowne of excellence,
That all the wiues and widdowes of the earth,
Should giue them place and doe them reuerence.
Wife.
If to be borne amaid be such a grace,
So was I borne and grac't by nature to,
But seeking more perfection to embrace
I did become a wife as others doe.
Widow.
And if the maide and wife such honour haue,
I haue beene both, and hold a third degree,
Most maides are Wards, and euery wife a slaue,
I haue my liuery sued, and I am free.
Maide.
That is the fault that you haue maidens beene,
And were not constant to continue so:
The fall of Angels did increase their sinne,
In that they did so pure a state forgoe.
But Wife and Widdow if your wits can make,
Your state and persons of more worth then mine:
Aduantage to this place I will not take:
I will both place and priuiledge resigne.
Wife.

Why marriage is an honourable state,

Widow.

And widowhood is a reuerend degree:

Maide.
But maidenhead that will admit no mate,
Like maiestie it selfe must sacred be.
Wife.

The wife is mistresse of her family,

Widow.

Much more the widdow, for she rules alone:

Maide.
But mistresse of mine owne desires am I,
When you rule others wils and not you owne.
Wife.

Onely the wife enioyes the vertuous pleasure,

Widow.

The widdow can abstaine from pleasures known:

Maide.
But th'vncorrupted maide preserues such measure
As being by pleasures wooed she cares for none.
Wife.

The wife is like a faire supported vine,

Widow.
So was the widdow, but now stands alone:
For being growne strong, she needs not to incline
Maide.

Maides like the earth, supported are of none.

Wife.

The wife is as a Diamond richly set,

Maide.

The maide vnset doth yet more rich appeare,

Widow.
The widdow a Iewell in the Cabinet,
Which though not worne is stil esteemd as deare.
Wife.

The wife doth loue, and is belou'd agai [...]e,

Widow.

The widdow is awakt out of that dreame,

Maide.
The maides white minde had neuer such a staine,
No passion troubles her cleare vertues streame.
Yet if I would be lou'd, lou'd would I be,
Like her whose vertue in the bay is seene:
Loue to wife fades with satietie,
Where loue neuer enioyed is euer greene.
Widow.
[Page 10]

Then whats a virgin but a fruitlesse bay?

Maide.
And whats a widdow but a rose-lesse bryer?
And what are wiues, butwoodbinds which decay
The stately Oakes, by which themselues aspire?
Widow.
And what is marriage but a teadious yoake?
And what virginitie but sweet selfe-loue?
Wife.
And whats a widdow but an axell broke?
Whose▪ one part failing neither part can moue?
Widow.

Wiues are as birds in golden cages kept,

Wife.

Yet in those cages chearefully they sing:

Widow.
Widdowes are birds out of those cages lept,
Whose ioyfull notes makes all the forrest ring.
Maide.
But maides are birds amidst the woods secure,
Which neuer hād could touch, nor net could take
Nor whistle could deceiue, nor baite allure,
But free vnto themselues doe musicke make.
Wife.

The wife is as the turtle with her mate,

Widow.
The widdow as the widdow doue alone▪
Whose truth shines most in her forsaken state,
Maide.

The maide a Phoenix, and is still but one.

Wife

The wife's a soule vnto her body tyed,

Widow

The widdow a soule departed into blisse:

Maide
The maide an Angell which was stellified,
And now t'as faire a house descended is.
Wife

Wiues are faire houses kept and furnisht well,

Widow

Widdows old castles voide, but full of state:

Maide
But maides are temples where the Gods do dwel,
To whom alone themselues they dedicate.
But marriage is a prison during life,
Where one way out, but many entries be:
Wife.
The Nun is kept in cloyster, not the wife,
Wedlock alone doth make the virgin free.
Maide
[Page 11]

The maide is euer fresh, like morne in May,

Wife
The wife with all her beames is beautified,
Like to high noone the glory of the day,
Widow

The widdow like a milde sweete euentide.

Wife

An office well supplide is like the wife.

Widow

The widdow like a gainefull office voide:

Maide
But maides are like contentment in this life,
Which all the world haue sought, but none enioid,
Widow
Goe wife to Dunmow, and demaund your flitch.
Goe gentle maide, goe leade the Apes in hell.
Wife
Goe widdow make some yonger brother rich,
And then take thought and die, and all is well.
Widow
Alas poore maid, that hast no helpe nor stay:
Alas poore wife, that nothing dost possesse:
Maide
Alas poore widdow, charitie doth say,
Pittie the widdow and the fatherlesse.
Widow

But happy widdowes haue the world at will,

Wife

But happier wiues, whose ioyes are euer double:

Maide
But happiest maids whose hearts are calme & stil,
Whō fear, nor hope, nor loue nor hate doth troble.
Wife
Euery true wife hath an indented heart,
Wherein the couenants of loue are writ,
Whereof her husband keepes the counterpart,
And reads his comforts and his ioyes in it,
Widow
But euery widdowes heart is like a booke,
Where her ioyes past imprinted doe remaine,
But when her iudgements eye therein doth looke▪
She doth not wish they were to come againe.
Maide
But the maides heart a faire white table is,
Spotlesse and pure, where no impressions be,
But the immortall Caracters of blisse,
Which onely God doth write, and Angels see.
Wife
[Page 12]

But wiues haue children, what a ioy is this?

Widow

Widdows haue children too, but maids haue none

Maide
No more haue Angels, yet they haue more blisse,
Then euer yet to mortall man was knowne.
Wife

The wife is like a faire manured field:

Widow.

The widow once was such, but now doth rest,

Maide
The maide, like Paradice, vndrest, vntil'd,
Beares crops of natiue vertue in her breast.
Wife

Who would not die a wife as Lucrece died?

Widow

Or liue a Widdow as Penelope?

Maide
Or be a maide, and so be stellified,
As all the vertues and the graces be.
Wife
Wiues are warme Climates well inhabited:
But maids are frozen Zones where none may dwel
Maide
But fairest people in the North are bred,
Where Africa breeds Monsters blacke as hell.
Wife

I haue my husbands honour and his place,

Widow

My husbands fortunes all suruiue to me.

Maide
The moone doth borrow light, you borrow grace
When maides by their owne vertues graced be.
White is my colour, and no hew but this
It will receiue, no tincture can it staine.
Wife
My white hath tooke one colour, but it is
An honourable purple dyed in graine.
Widow
But it hath beene my fortune to renue
My colour twice from that is was before,
But now my blacke will take no other hue,
And therefore now I meane to change no more.
Wife.

Wiues are faire Apples seru'd in golden dishes

Widow

widows good wine, which time maks better much

Maide
But Maides are grapes desired by many wishes,
But that they grow so high as none can touch.
Wife.
[Page 13]

I haue a daughter equals you my girle.

Maide
The Daughter doth excell the mother then,
As pearles are better then the mother of pearle,
Maids loose their value, whē they match with mē.
Widow.
The man with whō I matcht, his worth was such,
As now I scorne a maide should be my peare,
Maide.
But I will scorne the man you praise so much,
For maides are matchles, and no mate can beare.
Hence is it that the virgine neuer loues,
Because her like, she finds not any where:
For likenesse euermore affection moues,
Therefore the maide hath neither loue nor peare.
Wife

Yet many virgins married wiues would be,

Widow

And many a wife, would be a widdow faine.

Maid
There is no widdow but desires to see,
If so she might, her maiden daies againe.
Wife

There neuer was a wife that lik'd her lot:

Widow

Nor widdow but was clad in mourning weeds.

Maide
Do what you will, marry, or marry not,
Both this estate and that, repentance breedes.
Wife.
But she that this estate and that hath seene,
Doth find great ods betweene the wife and girle.
Maide
Indeede she doth, as much as is betweene
The melting hayle stone, and the solid pe [...]le.
Wife.

If I were widdow, my merry dayes were past,

Widow
Nay, then you first become sweet pleasures guest.
For mayden▪head is a continuall fast,
And marriage is a continuall feast.
Maide
Wedlocke indeede hath o [...]t compared bin,
To publicke [...]easts, were meete a publick rout;
Where they that are without would faine go in,
And they that are within would faine goe out.
Or to the Iewel which this vertue had,
That men were mad till they might it obtaine,
But when they had it they were twise as mad,
Till they were dispossest of it againe.
Wife
Maides cannot iudge, because they cannot tell,
What comforts and what ioyes in marrige bee:
Maide
Yes, yes, though blessed Saints in heauen do dwel,
They doe the soules in Purgatory see.
Widow
If euery wife doe liue in Purgatory,
Then sure it is that widdows liue in blisse:
And are translated to a state of glory,
But maides as yet haue not attaind to this.
Maide
Not maides? To spotlesse maides this gift is giuen,
To liue in incorruption from their birth:
And what is that but to inherit heauen,
Euen while they dwell vpon the spotted earth?
The perfectest of all created things;
The purest gold that suffers no allay:
The sweetest flower that on th'earths bosome springs,
The pearle vnbord, whose price no price can pay.
The Christall glasse that will no venome hold,
The mirror wherein Angels loue to looke:
DIANAES bathing fountaine, cleare and cold,
Beauties fresh Rose, and vertues liuing booke.
Of loue and fortune both the mistresse borne,
The souereigne spirit that wil be thrall to none:
The spotlesse garment that was neuer worne,
The Princely Eagle that still flies alone.
She sees the world, yet her cleare thoght doth take
No such deepe print as to be chang'd thereby,
As when we see the burning fire doth make,
No such impression as doth burne the eye.
Wife
[Page 15]
No more (sweet maide) our strife is at an end,
Cease now: I feare we shall transformed be
To chattering Pies▪ as they that did contend,
To match the Muses in their harmonie.
Widow
Then let vs yeeld the honour and the place,
And let vs both be sutors to the maide:
That since the Goddesse giues her speciall grace,
By her cleare hands the offring be conuaide,
Maide
Your speech I doubt hath some displeasure mou'd
Yet let me haue the offring, I will see:
I know she hath both wiues and widdows lou'd,
Though she would neither wife nor widdow be.
IOHN DAVIS.

THE LIE.

GOe soule the bodies guest
vpon a thankelesse arrant,
Feare not to touch the best
the truth shall be thy warrant:
Goe since I needs must die,
and giue the world the lie.
Say to the Court it glowes,
and shines like rotten wood,
Say to the Church it showes
whats good, and doth no good.
If Church and Court reply,
then giue them both the lie.
Tell Potentates they liue
acting by others action,
Not loued vnlesse they giue,
not strong but by affection.
If Potentates reply,
giue Potentate; the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
that mannage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
their practise onely hate:
And if they once reply,
then giue them all the lie.
Tell them that braue it most,
they beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
like nothing but commending.
And if they make replie,
then giue them all the lie.
Tell zeale it wants deuotion
tell loue it is but lust,
Tell time it meets but motion,
tell flesh it is but dust.
And wish them not replie
for thou must giue the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth,
tell honour how it alters.
Tell beauty how she blasteth
tell fauour how it falters
And as they shall reply,
giue euery one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
in tickle points of nycenesse,
Tell wisedome she en tangles
her selfe in ouer wisenesse.
And when they doe reply
straight giue them both the lie.
Tell Phisicke of her boldnes,
tell skill it is preuention:
Tell charity of coldnes,
tell law it is contention,
And as they doe reply
so giue them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindnesse,
tell nature of decay,
Tell friendship of vnkindnesse,
tell iustice of delay.
And if they will reply,
then giue them all the lie.
Tell Arts they haue no soundnesse,
but vary by esteeming,
Tell schooles they want profoundnes
and stand so much on seeming.
If Arts and schooles reply,
giue arts and schooles the lie.
Tell faith its fled the Citie,
tell how the country erreth,
Tell manhood shakes of pittie,
tell vertue least preferred.
And if they doe reply,
spare not to giue the lie.
So when thou hast as I,
commanded thee, done blabbing,
Because to giue the lie,
deserues no lesse then stabbing,
Stab at thee he that will,
no stab thy soule can kill.

Two Pastorels, made by Sir Phillip Sidney. Vpon his meeting with his two worthy Friends, and fellow Poets, Sir Ed­ward Dier, and M. Fulke Greuill.

IOyne mates in mirth to me,
Grant pleasure to our meeting:
Let Pan our good God see,
How gratefull is our greeting▪
Ioyne hearts and hands, so let it be,
Make but one minde in bodies three.
Ye Hymnes and singing skill
Of God APOLLOES giuing,
Be prest our reeds to fill,
With sound of musicke liuing.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
Sweet ORPHEVS Harpe, whose sound
The stedfast mountaines moued,
Let here thy skill abound,
To ioyne sweete friends beloued.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
My two and I be met,
A happy blessed Trinitie,
As three most ioyntly set,
In firmest band of vnity.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Welcome my two to me, E. D. F. G. P. S.
The number best beloued,
Within my heart you be
In friendship vnremooued.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Giue leaue your flocks to range,
Let vs the while be playing,
Within the Elmy grange,
Your flockes will not be straying.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Cause all the mirth you can,
Since I am now come hether,
Who neuer ioy but when
I am with you together.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Like louers doe their loue,
So ioy I, in you seeing:
Let nothing me remoue
From alwaies with you being.
Ioyne hands, &c.
And as the turtle Doue
To mate with whom he liueth,
Such comfort, feruent loue
Of you to my heart giueth.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Now ioyned be our hands,
Let them be ne're asunder,
But linkt in binding bands
By metamorphoz'd wonder.
So should our seuered bodies three
As one for euer ioyned be.
Sir PH. SIDNEY.

Dispraise of a Courtly life.

WAlking in bright PHO [...]BVS blaze,
Where with heate opprest I was,
I got to a shady wood,
Where greene leaues did newly bud
And of grasse was plenty dwelling,
Deckt with pide flowers sweetly smelling.
In this wood a man I met,
On lamenting wholy set:
Ruing change of wonted state,
Whence he was transformed late,
Once to Shepheards God retaining▪
Now in seruile Court remaining.
There he wandring malcontent,
Vp and downe perplexed went,
Daring not to tell to me,
Spake vnto a senselesse tree,
One amongst the rest electing
These same words, or this effecting.
My old mates I grieue to see,
Voyde of me in field to be,
Where we once our louely sheepe,
Louingly like friends did keepe,
Oft each others friendship prouing,
Neuer striuing, but in louing.
But may Loue abiding be
In poore shepheards base degree?
It belongs to such alone
To whom art of Loue is knowne:
Seely shepheards are not witting
What in art of Loue is fitting.
Nay, what need the art to those,
To whom we our loue disclose?
It is to be vsed then,
When we doe but flatter men:
Friendship true in heart assured,
Is by natures gifts procured.
Therefore shepheards wanting skil,
Can Loues duties best fulfill,
Since they know not how to faine,
Nor with Loue to cloake Disdaine:
Like the wiser sort, whose learning
Hides their inward will of harming.
Well was I, while vnder shade
Oaten Reeds me musick made,
Striuing with my mates in Song:
Mixing mirth our Songs among,
Greater was the shepheards treasure,
Then this false, fine, courtly pleasure.
Where, how many Creatures be,
So many puft in mind I see,
Like to Iunoes birds of pride,
Scarce each other can abide:
Friends like to black Swans apearing
Sooner these than those in hearing.
Therefore Pan, if thou mayest be
Made to listen vnto me,
Grant I say (if seely man
May make treaty to God Pan)
That I, without thy denying,
May be still to thee relying.
Only for my two loues sake, Sir Ed. D. & M. F. G
In whose loue I pleasure take,
Onely two do me delight
VVith their euer-pleasing sight,
Of all men to thee retaining.
Grant me with those two remaining.
So shall I to thee alwaies,
VVith my reeds sound mighty praise,
And first Lambe that shall befall,
Yearely decke thine Altar shall,
If it please thee to be reflected,
And I from thee not reiected.
So I left him in that place,
Taking pittie on his case,
Learning this among the rest
That the meane estate is best,
Better filled with contenting
Void of of wishing and repenting.
Sir Ph. Sidney.

A Fiction how Cupid made a Nymph wound her selfe with his Arrowes.

IT chanst of late a Shepherds swaine
That went to seeke a straied sheepe,
VVithin a thicket on the plaine,
Espide a dainty Nymph asleepe.
Her golden haire ore-spred her face,
Her carelesse armes abroad were cast,
Her quiuer had her pillowes place,
Her breast lay bare to euery blast.
The shepheard stood and gaz'd his fill,
Nought durst he doe, nought durst he say,
When chance, or else perhaps his will,
Did guide the God of loue that way.
The crafty boy that sees her sleepe,
Whom if she wak't he durst not see,
Behinde her closely seekes to creepe,
Before her nap should ended be.
There come, he steales her shaftes away,
And puts his owne into their place,
Ne dares he any longer stay,
But ere she wakes, hies thence apace.
Scarce was he gone, when she awakes,
And spies the shepheard standing by:
Her bended bow in hast she takes,
And at the simple swaine let flie.
Forth flew the shaft, and pierst his heart.
That to the ground he fell with paine:
Yet vp againe forth with he start,
And to the Nymph he ran amaine.
Amaz'de to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vaine:
The more his wounds, the more his [...]ght.
Loue yeeldeth strength in midst of paine.
Her angry eyes are great with teares,
She blames her hands, she blames her skill:
The bluntnesse of her shafts she feares,
And try them on her selfe she will.
Take heede sweet Nymph, trynot thy shaft,
Each little touch will pricke the hart:
Alas, thou knowst not CVPIDS craft,
Reuenge is ioy, the end is smart.
Yet try she will, and prick [...] some bare,
Her hands were glou'd, and next to hand
Was that faire breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepheard senselesse stand.
That brest she prickt, and throgh that brest▪
Loue finds an entry to her heart:
At feeling of this new-come guest,
Lord how the gentle Nymph doth start.
She runnes not now, she shootes no more,
Away she throwes both shaftes and bowe▪
She seekes for that she shun'd before,
She thinks the shepheards hast too slow.
Though mountains meet not, louers may,
So others doe, and so doe they:
The God of Loue sits on a tree,
And laughs that pleasant sight to see.

A Dialogue betweene two Shepheards, Thenot, and Piers, in praise of ASTREV.

Then.
I Sing diuine ASTREAS praise,
O muses helpe my wits to raise,
And heaue my verses higher.
Piers.
Thou needst the truth but plainely tell,
Which much I doubt thou canst not well,
Thou art so oft a lyer.
Then.
If in my song no more I show,
Then heauen and earth, and Sea do know,
Then truely I haue spoken.
Piers.
[Page 24]
Sufficeth not no more to name,
But being no lesse, the like, the same,
Else lawes of truth be broken.
Then.
Then say, she is so good, so faire,
VVith all the earth she may compare,
Nor Momus selfe denying:
Piers.
Compare may think where likenesse holds,
Nought like to her the earth enfolds,
I lookt to find you lying.
Then.
Astrea sees with wisedomes sight,
Astrea works by Vertues might,
And ioyntly both do stay in her.
Piers.
Nay take from them, her hand, her mind,
The one is lame, the other blind,
Shall still your lying staine her?
Then.
Soone as Astrea shewes her face,
Straight euery ill auoids the place,
And euery good aboundeth.
Piers.
Nay long before her face doth show,
The last doth come, the first doth go:
How lowd this lie resoundeth.
Then.
Astrea is our chiefest ioy,
Our chiefest guard against annoy,
Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.
Piers.
VVhere chiefest are, there others be,
To vs none else but onely she,
VVhen wilt thou speake in measure?
Then.
Astrea may be iustly said,
A field in flowry Roabe arraid,
In season freshly springing.
Piers.
That spring indures but shortest time,
This neuer leaues Astreas clime,
Thou liest, in stead of singing.
Then.
[Page 25]
As heauenly light that guides the day,
Right so doth shine each louely Ray,
that from Astrea flyeth.
Piers.
Nay, darkenesse oft that light in cloudes,
Astreas beames no darkenesse shrowdes:
How loudly Thenot lyeth?
Then.
Astrea rightly terme I may,
A manly Palme, a maiden bay,
Her verdure neuer dying.
Piers.
Palme oft is crooked, bay is low,
She still vpright, still high doth grow,
Good Thenot leaue thy lying.
Then.
Then Piers, of friendship tell me why,
My meaning true, my words should lie,
And striue in vaine to raise her?
Piers.
Words from conceit doe onely rise
Aboue conceit her honour flies:
But silence, naught can praise her.

A roundelay in inuerted Rimes, between the two friend­ly Riuals, Strephon and Klaius, in the presence of V­rania, Mistresse to them both.

Strephon.
O Whither shall I turne me,
From thine eyes sight,
Whose sparkling light
With quenchles flames present, and absent burne me?
For I burne when as I view them,
And I burne when I eschew them.
Klaius.
Since I cannot eschew them,
But that their light
Is in my sight,
Both when I view them not, and when I view them:
Ere their flames will cease to burne me,
From my selfe, my selfe must turne me.
Strephon.
[Page 26]
When none are present by you,
I feele their might
And your eyes bright
Appeare more glorious, others being nigh you.
So alone, or else compared,
Wretch, I am by them insnared.
Klaius.
Since that I am insnared
by your eyes bright,
And feele their might:
Whether alone they be, or else compared,
Wheresoeuer I am nigh you,
Loue I must, if I be by you.
Strephon.
When you looke kindly on me,
They loue incite,
And spite of spite
I loue them likewise, when you frowne vpon me.
So, how ere your lookes are framed,
By your lookes I am inflamed.
Klaius.
Since that I am inflamed,
Eu'n by their spite:
And they incite
Soul-warming flames when they are mildely framed,
How so ere you looke vpon me,
Loue I must, if you looke on me.
Strephon.
O when shall I them banish,
Since against right,
Nor day nor night,
Though absent from me, from me they doe vanish?
So no respite time doth grant me,
But incessantly they haunt me.
Klaius.
Since they (alas) doe haunt me
Both day and night,
And wonted right,
[Page 27]Obtain'd by absence, absence doth not grant me,
Night and day may sooner vanish,
Then from me I can them banish.
Strephon.
They, when the Day doth leaue me,
Lodge in my spirite:
And of their sight,
No sight by day discerned can bereaue me.
So, nor day ought else reuealeth,
Nor the night the same concealeth.
Klaius.
Since day, like night concealeth
Each other sight,
And to my spirit
Concealing darkenesse them like day reuealeth.
Time of time must quite bereaue me,
Ere your lookes sweet lookes, will leaue.
Walter Dauison.

Strephons Palinde.

Strephon, vpon some vnkindnes cōceiued, hauing made shew to leaue Vrania, and make loue to another Nimph, was at the next solemne assembly of shepheards, not on­ly frowned vpon by Vrania, but commanded with great bitternesse out of her presence: Whereupon, sorry for his offence, and desirous to regaine her grace whom he neuer had forsaken, but in shew, vpon his knees he in this song humbly craues pardon: and Vrania finding his true pe­nitence, and vnwilling to lose so worthy a seruant, re­ceiues him againe into greater grace and fauour then before.

SWeet, I doe not pardon crau [...],
Till I haue,
By desires this fault amended:
This, I onely this desire,
That your ire
May with penance be spended.
Not my will but fate did fetch
Me poore wretch,
Into this vnhappie error.
Which to plague no Tyrants minde
Paine can finde,
Like my hearts selfe guilty terror.
Then, O then! let that suffice
Your deare eyes
Need not, need not more afflict me,
Nor your sweet tongue dipt in gall,
Need at all
From your presence interdict me.
Vnto him that hell sustaines.
No new paines
Need be sought for his tormenting.
O my paines, hels paines surpasse:
Yet, alas!
You are still new paines inuenting.
By my loue, long, firme, and true,
Borne to you.
By these teares my griefe expressing,
By this Pipe which nights and dayes
sounds your praise
Pittie me, my fault confessing.
Or if I may not desire,
That their ire
May with penance, be suspended:
Yet let me full pardon craue,
When I haue,
With soone death my fault amended.

Vraniaes answere in inuerted Rimes, Staffe for Staffe.

SInce true penance hath suspended
Fained ire,
More Ile grant then you desire.
[Page 29]Faults confest are halfe amended,
And I haue,
In this halfe, all that I craue.
Therefore banish now the terror,
Which you find
In your guiltlesse grieued mind.
For though you haue made an error.
From me wretch
First beginning it did fetch.
Nere my sight Ile interdict thee
More at all.
Nere speake words more dipt in gall,
Nere, nere will I more afflict thee
With these Eyes,
What is past, shall now suffice.
Now new ioyes Ile be inuenting,
Which (alas)
May thy passed Woes surpasse.
Too long thou hast felt tormenting,
Too great paines
So great loue and faith sustaines.
Let these eyes (by thy confessing
Worthy praise)
Neuer see more nights nor dayes.
Let my woes be past expressing,
When to you
I cease to be kind and true.
Thus are both our states amended,
For you haue
Fuller pardon then you craue,
And my feare is quite suspended,
Since mine ire
Wrought th'effect I most desire.
Fra. Dauison.

I. EGLOGVE.

A Shepheard poore, Eubulus call'd he was
(Poore now alas, but erst had iolly beene)
One pleasant morne when as the Sunne did passe
The fiery hornes of raging Bull betweene,
His little Flocke into a meade did bring,
As soone as day-light did beginne to spring.
Fresh was the Meade, in Apri [...]s liuery dight,
Deckt with greene Trees, bedew'd with siluer Brookes,
But ah! all other was the shepheards plight,
All other were both sheepe and shepheards looks.
For both did shew by their dull heauie cheere
They tooke no pleasure of the pleasant yeare.
He weeping went, ay me that he should weepe!
They hung their heads, as they to weepe would learne,
His heauie heart did send forth sighing deepe,
They in their bleating voice did seeme to yearne.
He leane and pale, their fleece was rough and rent
They pinde with paine, and he with dolours spent.
His pleasant Pipe was broke, (alas the while)
And former merriment was banisht quite.
His shepheards Crooke that him vpheld ere-while,
He earst had throwne away with great despite.
Tho leaning gainst a shrub that him sustained,
To th'earth, sun, birds, trees, Eccho thus he plained.
Thou all-forth-bringing earth, though winter chill,
With blustring windes blow off thy mantle greene,
And with his Snow and hoary frostes doe spill,
Thy Flora-pleasing flowers, and kill them cleane.
Yet when fresh Spring returnes againe
To driue away the winters paine,
Thy Frost and Snow
Away doe goe.
Sweet Zephyres breath cold Boreas doth displace,
And fruitfull showers
Reuiue thy flowers,
And nought but ioy is seene in euery place.
But ah! how long, alas how long doth last
My endlesse winter without hope of Spring?
How haue my sighes, my blustring sighes defact
The flowers and buds which earst my earth did bring.
Alas the tops that did aspire,
Lie troaden now in filthy mire,
Alas! my head
Is all bespread
With too vntimely snow: and eke my hart
All sense hath lost,
Through hardned frost,
Of cold despaire, that long hath bred my smart.
What though some rising Torrents ouerflow
With nought-regarding streames thy pleasant greene.
And with their furiou s force doe lay full low,
Thy drowned flowers, how euer sweet they beene?
Soone fall those flouds, as soone they rose,
(For fury soone his force doth lose,
And then full eath
Apolloes breath,
The cold, yet drying North-winde, so doth warme,
That by and by
Thy meades be dry,
And grow more fruitfull by their former harme.
O would the teares that Torrent-like doe flow,
A downe my hollow cheekes with restlesse force,
Would once (O that they could once) calmer grow,
Would like to thine, once cease their ceasses course.
Thine last not long, mine still endure:
Thine cold, and so thy wealth procure:
Hot mine are still,
And so doe kill
Both flower and roote, with most vnkindly deaw:
What sunne or winde
Away can finde,
The roote once dead, the flowers to renew?
Thou, though the scorching heate of Summers Sun,
(While ill-breath'd Dog the raging Lyon chaseth)
Thy peckled flowers do make of colour dun,
And pride of all thy greeny hayre defaceth:
And in thy moysture wanting side,
Deepe wounds doe make, and gashes wide:
Yet as they weat,
By Phaebus heate,
To turne to wholesome drynesse is procured.
So Phaebus heate
By South-windes weate
As soone asswaged, and al thy wounds recured.
Such heate as Phaebus hath me almost slaine.
As Phaebus heate? ah no, farre worse then his.
It is Astreas burning-hot disdaine
That parched hath the roote of all my blisse:
That hath (alas) my youth defaced,
That in my face deepe wounds hath placed.
Ah that no heat
Can dry the weat
The flowing weate of my still weeping eyes!
Ah that no weat
Can quench the heate,
The burning heate within my heart that lies!
Thou dost, poore earth, beare many a bitter stound,
While greedy swaines forgetting former neede,
With crooked plowes thy tender backe do wound,
With harrowes biting teeth doe make thee bleede,
But earth (so may those greedy swaines
With pitteous eie behold thy paine)
O earth, tell mee,
When thou dost see,
Thy fruitfull backe with golden eares beset,
Doth not that ioy
Kill all annoy,
And make thee all thy former wounds forget?
And I, if once my tired heart might gaine
The haruest faire that to my faith is due:
If once I might Astreas grace regaine:
If once her heart would on my sorrows rue,
Alas, I could these plaints forgoe,
And quite forget my former wo.
But (O! to speake
My heart doth breake)
For all my seruice, faith, and patient mind,
A crop of griefe,
VVithout reliefe,
A crop of scorne, and of contempt I finde.
Soone as the shepheards Sarre abroad doth wend,
(Nights harbinger) to shut in brightsome day:
And gloomy night, on whom blacke cloudes attend,
Doth Tyrant-like through Skie vsurpe the sway,
Thou art (poore earth) of sunne depriued
VVhose beames to thee all ioy deriued.
But when Aurore
Doth ope her dore,
Her purple doore to let in Phoebus waine,
The night giues place
Vnto his race,
And then with ioy, thy Sunne returnes againe.
O would my Sunne would once returne againe!
Returne and driue away th'infernall night,
In which I die, since she did first refraine
Her heauenly beames which were mine onely light.
Iu [...]her alone all my light thin'd.
And since she shind not, I am blind.
Alas, on all,
Her beames doe fall.
Saue wretched me, whom she doth them deny.
Aud blessed day
She giues alway,
To all, but me, who still in darkenesse li [...].
In mourneful darkenesse I alone doe lie,
And wish, but scarcely hope, bright day to see,
For hop'd so long, and wisht so long haue I,
As hopes and wishes both abandon me.
My night hath lasted fifteene yeares,
And yet no glimpse of day appeares.
O doe not let,
Him that hath set
His ioy, his light, his life in your sweet grace,
Be vnrelieu'd,
And quite depriu'd
Of your deare sight, which may this night displace.
Phoebus, although with fiery-hoofed steedes,
Thou daily doe the steepy Welkin beate,
And from this painefull taske art neuer freede,
But dailye bound to lend the world thy heate:
Though thou in fiery Chariot ride,
And burning heate thereof abide,
Yet soone as night
Doth dim the light,
And hale her sable Cloake through vaulted skle,
Thy iournie's ceast,
And thou doest rest,
In cooling waues of Thetis soueraigntie.
Thrice happie Sun whose paines are eas'd by night,
O haplesse I, whose woes last night and day.
My paines by day doe make me wish for night,
My woes by night, doe make me cry for day.
By day I turmoile vp and downe,
By night in Seas of teares I drowne:
O painefull plight▪
O wretched night,
Which neuer findes a morne of ioyfull light:
O sad decay,
O wretched day,
That neuer feeles the ease of silent night▪
Ye chirping birds, whose notes might ioy my minde,
(If to my minde one drop of ioy could sinke)
Who erst through Winters rage were almost pin de,
And kept through barren frost from meat or drinke,
A blessed change ye now haue seene,
That changed hath your wofull teene,
By day you sing,
And make to ring
The neighbor groues with Eccho of your song:
In silent night,
Full closely dight,
You soundly sleepe the bushes greene among.
But I, who erst (ah wofull word to say)
Enioy'd the pleasant spring of her sweet grace,
And then could sing and dance, and sport and play▪
Since her fierce anger did my spring displace:
My nightly rest haue turn'd to detriment,
To plaints haue turn'd my wonted merriment.
The Songs I sing
While day doth spring,
Are bootelesse plaints till I can plaine no more.
The rest I tast,
While night doth last:
Is broken sighes, till they my hartmake sore.
Thou flower of the field that erst didst fade,
And nipt with Northerne cold didst hang the head:
And trees whose bared bowes haue lost their shade
Whose wit [...]ered leaues by westerne blasts were shed,
Ye 'gin to bud and spring againe,
Winter is gone that did you straine.
But I that late
With vpright gate
Bare vp my head, while happy fauour lasted:
Now old am growne
Now ouerthrowne,
With woe, with griefe, with wailing now am wasted.
Your springing stalke with kindly iuice doth sprout,
My fainting legs doe wast and fall away:
Your stretched armes are clad with leaues about,
My griefe-consumed armes doe fast decay.
You gin againe your tops lift vp;
I downe to earth-ward gin to stoope.
Each bowe and twig
Doth waxe so big,
That scarce the rinde is able it to hide:
I doe so faint,
And pine with plaint,
That slops and hose, and Galage waxe too wide.
Eccho, how well may she that makes me mone,
By thy example learne to [...]ue my paine?
Thou hearst my plaints when as I waile alone,
And wailing accents answerest againe.
VVhen as my brest through griefe I beat,
That wofull sound thou dost repeate,
VVhen as I sob,
And heartly throb,
A dolefull sobbing sound againe thou sendest:
And when I weepe,
And sigh full deepe,
A weepy, sighing Voice againe thou lendest.
But ah! how oft haue my sad plaints assaide,
To pierce her eares, deafe onely vnto me?
How oft my woes in mournefull inke arraide
Haue tride to make her eyes my griefes to see?
And you my sighes and teares, how often
Haue ye sought her hard heart to soften?
And yet her eie,
Doth still denie,
For all my woes one bitter teare to shed:
And yet her heart
VVill not impart
One hearty sigh for griefe herselfe hath bred.
Nor I, alas, doe wish that her faire eies,
Her blessed-making eyes should shed a teare,
Nor that one sigh from her deare breast should rise,
For all the paines, the woes, the wrongs I beare.
First let this weight oppresse me stil,
Ere shee, through me tast any ill.
Ah if I might
But gaine her sight,
And shew her ere I eie, my wretched case:
O then should I
Contented die:
But ah I die, and hope not so much grace.
VVith that his fainting legs to shrinke, begun,
And let him sinke with gastly looke to ground
And there he lay as though his life were done,
Till that his Dog, seeing that wofull stound
VVith pitteous howling, kissing and with scraping,
Brought him againe from that sweet sowre escaping.
Then gan this Teares so swiftly for to flow,
As forst his eie-lids for to giue them way,
Then blustring sighes too boistrously can blow,
As his weake lips could not his furie stay,
And inward griefe withall so hugely sweld,
As teares, sighes, griefe had soone all words expeld.
At last when floods of teares began to cease,
And stormes of wearie sighes more calme to blow
As he went on with words his griefe to ease.
And remnant of his broken plaint to shew:
He spide the skie ore-spread with nightly cloudes,
So home he went, his flocke and him to shrowde.
Eubulus his Embleme. Vni mihi Pergama Restant.
F. D.

I. Eglogue intituled Cuddy.

1
A Little Heard-groome (for he was no bett▪)
When course of yeare return'd the pleasant spring,
At breake of day without-en further let [...]
Cast with himselfe his flocke afield to bring,
And for they had so long beene pent with paine,
At sight of Sun they seem'd to liue againe.
2
Such was the flocke all bent to brouse and play,
But nothing such their master was to see.
Downe hung his drooping head like rainy day,
His cheekes with teares like springs bedewed be.
His wringed hand such silent mone did make,
Well may you guesse he was with loue y'take.
3
The while his flocke went feeding on the greene,
And want only for ioy of Summer plaide,
All in despight as if he n'ould be seene
He cast himselfe to ground ful ill appaide.
Should seeme their pleasance made him more com­plaine,
For ioy in sight not felt, is double paine.
4
Vnhappy boy why liu'st thou still, quoth he,
And hast thy deadly wound so long agoe?
What hope of after hap sustaineth thee?
As if there might be found some ease of woe,
Nay beter die ten thousand times then liue,
Since euery houre new cause of death doth giue.
5
The ioyfull Sunne, whom cloudy winters spight,
Had shut from vs in watry fishes haske,
Returnes againe to lend the world his light,
And red as rose begins his yearely taske.
His fiery steedes the steepy welkin beate,
And both the hornes of climing bull do heate.
But ah! no Sunne of grace aspires to me,
Close hid she lies, from whom I should haue light,
The clowdes of blacke disdaine so foggy be,
That blind I lie (poore boy) be reft of sight:
And yet I see the Sunne I seeke to find,
And yet the more I see, the more am blind.
7
Thrice happy ground, whom spoyld with winters rage,
The heat of pleasant spring renewes againe:
Vnhappy I, who in my spring of age,
The frost of cold despaire hath welnigh slaine.
How shall I bide your stormy winters smart,
When spring itselfe hath frorne my bloodles hart?
8
I see the beauty of thy flowers renew,
Thy mantle greene with sundry colours spread,
Thou seest in me a change of former hew,
Palenes for white, blacknes for liuely red.
What hope of haruest fruite, or Summer flowers,
Since that my spring is drownd with tears like show­ers?
9
And last of all, but lieu'st of all to me,
Thou leany flocke, that didst of late lament,
And winesse wast for shepheards all to see,
(Thy knees so weake, thy fleece so rough and rent)
That thou with paine didst pine away vnfed,
All for thy master was with loue misled.
10
Thou 'ginst at earst forget thy former state,
And range amid the buskes thy selfe to feede,
Faire fall thee little flocke both rathe and late,
(Was neuer Louers sheepe, that well did speed)
Thou free, I bound, thou glad, I pine in paine,
I striue to die, and thou to liue full faine.
11
Wo worth the stund, wherein I tooke delight,
To frame the shifting of my nimble feete,
To cheerfull sound of Pipe in Moone-shine night,
Such pleasance past at erst now makes me greet.
I wee'nd by night haue shun'd the parching ray,
But night itselfe was twice more hot then day.
12
Then first of all (and all too soone for me)
I saw thilke Lasse (nay grau'd her in my brest)
Her christall eyes more bright then Moone to see,
Her eyes, her eyes, that haue robd me of rest:
On them I gaz'd, then saw I to my cost,
Through too much sight mine onely sight is lost.
13
Where beene the dapper ditties that I dight,
And Roundlaies, and Virelaies so soot?
Whilome with Collins selfe compare I might,
For other swaine, to striue was little boote,
Such skill I had in making all aboue
But all too little skill to conquer loue.
14
What helps it me to haue my piping prai'zd
Of all saue her, whom I would onely please?
Nought care I, though my fame to skie be raiz'd
For pleasant song that brings my heart no ease.
Wherefore both Pipe and song I all forsweare,
And former pleasance wilfully forbeare.
15
With that he cast his looke to Welkin high,
And saw the doubled shadowes flit away:
And as he glanst halfe in despight awrie,
He spide the shepheards starre shut in the day▪
Then rose, and homeward with his flocke him went,
Whose voice did helpe their masters case lament.

Cuddies Embleme. Questo per amar s'aqu [...]sta.

The Christian Stoicke.
The vertuous man is free, though bound in chaines,
Though poore, cōtent, thogh banisht, yet no strāger,
Though sicke, in health of mind, secure in danger,
And o're himselfe, the world, and fortune raignes,
[Page 41]Nor good haps, proud, nor bad, deiected make him,
To Gods, not to mans will, he frames each action;
He seekes no fame, but inward satisfaction,
And firmer stands, the more bad fortunes shakes him.

AN EGLOGVE. Made long since vpon the death of Sir Philip Sidney.

Thenot. Perin.
PERIN, arreed what new mischance betide,
Hath reft thee of thy wonted meriment?
Faire [...]eeds thy flocke this pleasant spring beside,
Nor Loue, I weene, hath made thee discontent,
Sild age and loue, do meete in one consent.
Perin.
Ah Thenot, where the Ioy of heart doth faile,
VVhat maruaile there, if mirth and musicke quaile?
See how the flowers of the field do spring,
The purple Rose, the Lilly white as snow,
VVith smel and colour for an haruest King.
May serue to make vs yong againe, I trow,
Yet all this pride is quickly laid full low.
Soone as the roote is nipt with northerne cold,
VVhat smell, or beauty, can we then behold?
Thenot.
As good not heare, as heard, not vnderstand,
My borrell braines through eld beene all too dull,
Sike mister meaning nill by me be scand,
All as my face, so wrinkled is my skull,
Then say me Perin, by thy hope of VVull,
And by thine Ewes blowne bags, and bagpipes sound.
So not one Aneling [...] thy flock be found.
Perin.
[Page 42]
Ah Thenot, by thine all-derliefest Lasse,
Or whatsoeuer is more deere to thee:
No bagpipe name, let song and solace passe,
Death hath vndone my flocke, my pipe and me,
Dead is the sheeps delight, and shepheards glee,
Broke is my pipe, and I my selfe forlorne
My sheepe vnfed, their fleeces rent and torne.
Thenot.
I mickle mus [...]de such vncoth change to see,
My flocks refus'de to feede, yet hale they were:
The tender birds sate drooping on the tree,
The carelesse Lambs went wandring here and there,
My selfe vnknowne a part of griefe did beare,
Ne wist I why yet heauy was my heart,
Vntimely death was cause of all this smart
Vp Perin, vp, aduance thy mournfull layes,
Sound loud thy pipe, but sound in dolefull wise.
Perin.
Who else but Thenot, can the Muses raise,
And teach them sing and dance in mournfull giue
My finger's stiffe, my voyce doth hoarsely rise.
Thenot.
Ah, where is Collin, and his passing skill?
For him it fits our sorrow to fulfill.
Perin.
T'way sore extremes our Collin presse so neere,
(Alas that such extremes should presse him so)
The want of wealth, and losse of loue so deere,
Scarse can he breath from vnder heapes of woe,
He that beares heauen, beares no such weight I trow.
Thenot.
Hath he such skill in making all aboue,
And hath no skill to get, or Wealth, or Loue?
Perin.
[Page 43]
Praise is the greatest prise that Poets gaine,
A simple gaine that feeds them ne're a whit.
The wanton lasse for whom he bare such paine,
Like running water loues to change and flit.
But if thou list to heare a sorry fit,
Which Cuddy could in doleful verse endite,
Blow thou thy pipe while I the same recite.
Thenot.
Ginne when thou list, all be my skill but small,
My forward mind shall make amends for all.
Perin.
YE Nimphs that bathe your bodies in this spring:
Your tender bodies white as driuen snow:
Ye Virgins chast which in this groue do sing,
Which neither griefe of Loue, nor death do know:
So may your streames runne cleere for aye,
So may your trees giue shade alway.
Depart a space,
And giue me place,
To waile with griefe my restlesse woe alone,
For feare my cries
Constraine your eyes
To shed forth teares, and helpe lament my mone.
And thou, my Muse, that whilome wont to ease,
Thy Masters mind with laies of sweet delight,
Now change those tunes, no ioy my heart can please▪
Gone is the day, come is the darksome night,
Our Sunne close hid in clouds doth lie,
We liue indeed, but liuing die:
No light we see,
Yet wander wee,
We wander farre and neare without a guide:
And all astray,
We loose our way,
For in this world n'is such a Sunne beside.
Ye shepheards boyes that lead your flocks a field
The whilst your sheepe feed safely round about,
Breake me your Pipes that pleasant sound did yeeld,
Sing now no more the songs of Colin Clout.
Lament the end [...]f all our ioy,
Lament the source of all annoy.
Sidney is dead,
That wont to lead
Our flocks and vs in mirth and shepheards glee:
VVell could we sing,
VVell dance, & spring,
Of all the shepheards was none such as hee,
How often hath his skill in pleasant song,
Drawne all the water-nimphs from out their bowers?
How haue they laine the tender grasse along,
And made him Garlands gay of smelling flowers.
Phoebus himselfe that conquer'd Pan,
Striuing with VVilly, nothing wan.
Me thinks I see
The time when hee
Pluckt from his golden locks the Lawrell crowne,
And so to raise,
Our VVilies praise,
Bedeckt his head, and softly set him downe.
The learned Muses flocke to heare his skill,
And quite forgot their water, wood, and mount,
They thoght his songs were done too quickly still,
Of none but VVillies Pipe they made account.
He song, they seemd in ioy to flow,
He ceast, they seem'd to weepe for woe,
The rurall rout,
All round about,
Like Bees came swarming thicke, to heare him sing.
Ne could they thinke,
On meate or drinke,
VVhile VVillies musicke in their eares did ring
But now (alas) such pleasant mirth is past,
Apollo weepes, the Muses rend their haire.
No ioy on earth that any time can last,
See where his breathlesse corps lies on the beare.
That selfe same hand that reft his life,
Hath turnd shepheards peace to strife.
Our ioy is fled
Our life is dead,
Our hope, our helpe, our glory all is gone:
Our Poets praise
Our happy▪ daies.
And nothing left but griefe, to thinke thereon.
What Thames, what Seuerne, or what westerne Seas,
Shall giue me flouds of trickling teares to shed?
What comfort can my restlesse griefe appease,
O that mine eyes were fountaines in my head!
Ah Collin! I lament thy case,
For thee remaines no hope of grace.
The best reliefe
Of Poets griefe:
Is dead and wrapt full cold in filthy clay,
And nought remaines
To ease our paines,
But hope of death to rid vs hence away.
Phillis thine is the greatest griefe, aboue the rest,
Where bin thy sweetest Posies featly dight,
Thy Garlands with atrue-loues knot addrest,
And all that erst thou Willie didst behight?
Thy labour all is lost in vaine
The griefe shall aye remaine
The Sun bright,
That falles to night,
To morrow from the East againe shall rise,
But we decay,
And wast away,
Without returne, alas thy Willie dies.
See how the drooping flocks refuse to feede,
The riuers streame with teares aboue the banke:
The trees do shed their leaues, to waile agreed,
The beasts vnfed, go mourning all in ranks,
The Sunne denies the Earth, his light,
The spring is kil'd with winters might:
The flowers spill,
The birds are still,
No voyce of ioy is heard in any place.
The medowes greene,
A change haue seene,
And Flora hides her pale disfigur'd face.
Watch now ye shepheards boyes with waking eye
And loose your time of sleepe, to learne to sing.
Vnhappy skill, what good is got thereby
But painted praise that can no profit bring?
If skill could moue the sisters three,
Our Willy still aliue should be.
The wolfe so wood
Amazd flood,
At sound of Willies pipe, and left his prey:
Both Pipe and Skill
The sisters spil,
So worse then any wicked Wolfe are they.
O flatt'ring hope of mortall mens delight,
So faire in outward shew, so foule within!
The deepest streames do flow full calme to sight,
The rau'ning Wolues do ie [...] in Weathers skin.
We deemd our Willy aye should liue,
So sweet a sound his Pipe could giue:
But cruell death
Hath stopt his breath:
Dumbe lies his Pipe that wont so sweet to sound:
Our flocks lament
His life is spent,
And carelesse wander all the woods a round.
Come now, ye shepheards daughters, come no more
To heare the songs that Cuddy wont to sing:
Hoarse is my Muse, my throat with crying sore,
These woods with eccho of my griefe do ring.
Your Willies life was Cuddies ioy,
Your Willies death hath kild the boy:
Broke lies my Pipe
Till reeds be ripe
To make a new one, but a worse I feare:
Saue yeare by yeare,
To waile my Deare,
All Pipe and song Ivtterly forsweare.
Thenot.
A lacke and weladay may shepheards crie
Our Willy dead, our Collin kild with care:
Who shall not loath to liue▪ and long to die?
And will not griefe our little Cuddy spare,
But must he too of sorrow haue a share?
Aye how his rufull verse hath prickt my heart!
How feelingly hath he exprest my smart?
Perin.
Ah Thenot hadst thou seene his sory looke,
His wringed hands, his eyes to heauen vpkest,
His teares, that stream'd like water in the brooke,
His sighs, that made his rimes seeme rudely drest.
But [...]ie we homeward, night approcheth neare,
And rainy clouds in southerne skies appeare.
A. W.

II. EGLOGVE.

Shepheard. Heardman.
COme gentle heardman, sit by mee,
And tune thy Pipe by mine
[Page 48]Heere vnderneath this willow tree,
To shield the hote Sun-shine.
Where I haue made my Summer bower,
For proofe of Summer beames,
And deckt it vp with many a flower,
Sweet seated by the streames.
VVhere gentle Daphne once a day,
These flowry bankes doth walke
And in her bosome beares away
The pride of many a stalke.
But leaues the humble heart behinde,
That should her garland dight:
And she sweet soule the more vnkind,
To set true loues so light,
But whereas others beare the Bell,
As in her fauour blest:
Her shepheard loueth her as well,
As those whom she loues best.
Heard-man.
ALas poore Pastor, I finde,
Thy loue is lodg'd so high,
That on thy flocke thou hast no minde,
But feed'st a wanton eye.
If dainty Daphnes lookes besot
Thy doating hearts desire,
Be sure, that farre aboue thy lot,
Thy liking doth aspire.
To loue so sweet a Nimph as shee,
And looke for loue againe:
Is Fortune fitting high degree,
Not for a shepheards swaine.
For she of Lordly lad's becoyd,
And sought of great estates,
Her fauour scornes to be enioyd
By vs poore lowly Mates.
VVherefore I warne thee to be wise,
Go with me to my walke,
[Page 49]Where lowly lasses be not nice,
There like, and chuse thy Make.
Where are no pearles nor gold to view,
No pride of silken sight,
But peticoats of Scarlet hew,
Which vaile the skin snow-white.
There truest Lasses beene to get
For loue and little cost:
There sweet desire is paide his det,
And labour seldome lost.
Shepheard.
NO Heardman, no, thou rau'st too lowd
Our trade so vile to hold
My weed as great a heart doth shrowd,
As his that's clad in gold.
And take the truth that I thee tell,
This song faire Daphne sings
That Cupid will be seru'd as well,
Of Shepheards as of Kings.
For proofe whereof, old bookes record,
That Venus Queene of loue,
Would set aside her warlike Lord,
And youthfull Pastors proue.
How Paris was as well belou'd,
A simple shepheards Boy,
As after when that he was prou'de,
King Priams Sonne of Troy.
And therefore haue I better hope,
As had those Lads of y'ore,
My courage takes as large a scope,
Although their haps were more.
And for thou shalt not deeme I iest,
And b eare a mind more base,
No meaner hope shall haunt my brest,
Then dearest Daphnes grace.
My mind no other thought retaines,
Mine eye nought else a [...]mires:
My hart no other passion straine,
Nor other hap desires.
[Page 50]My muse of nothing else entreates,
My Pipe nought else can sound,
My veines no other feauer heates,
Such faith's in shepheards found.
Heard-man.
AH Shepheard, then I see, with griefe
thy care is past all cure,
No remedy for thy releefe,
But patiently endure.
Thy wonted liberty is fled,
Fond sancy breeds thy bane,
Thy sense of folly brought a bed,
Thy wit is in the wane.
I can but sorrow for thy sake,
Since loue lulls thee asleepe.
And whist out of thy dreame thou wake,
God shield thy straying sheepe.
Thy wretched flocke may rue and curse
This proud desire of thine,
Whose wofull state from bad to worse
Thy carelesse eie will pine.
And euen as they, thy selfe likewise
With them shalt weare and wast,
To see the spring before thine eies,
Thou thirsty canst not tast.
Content thee therefore with conceit,
VVhere others gaine the grace,
And thinke thy fortune at the height,
To see but Daphnes face.
Although thy truth deserued well,
Reward aboue the rest,
Thy haps shall be but meanes to tell
How other men are blest.
So gentle Shepheard, farewell now,
Be warned by my reed,
For I see written in thy brow,
Thy hart for loue doth bleed.
[Page 51]Yet longer with thee would I stay,
If ought would doe thee good,
But nothing can the heat allay,
Where loue enflames the blood.
Shepheard.
THen Heardman, since it is my lot,
and my good liking such,
Striue not to breake the faithfull knot,
that thinks no paine too much,
For what contents my Daphnes best
I neuer will despise:
So she but wish my soule good rest
when death shall close mine eies.
Then heardman, farewell once againe,
for now the day is fled:
So might thy cares, poore shepheards Swaine,
flie from thy carefull head.

IIII. Eglogue. Concerning olde age. The beginning and end of this Eglogue are wanting.

Perin.
FOr when thou art not as thou wont of y'ore,
No cause why life should please thee any more.
Whilome I was (in course of former yeares,
Ere freezing Eld had coold my youthly rage)
Of mickle worth among my shepheards Peeres.
Now for I am some-dele 'ystept in age,
For pleasance, strength, and beauty giunes asswage.
Each little heard-groome laughs my wrinkled face,
Each bonny lasse for Cuddy shunnes the place:
For all this woe none can we iustly twight,
But hatefull [...]ld, the foe to pleasant rest,
Which like a theese doth rob vs of delight.
Wrenocke.
[Page 52]
Perin, enough few words be alwaies best,
Needs must be borne that cannot be redrest.
Se fe am I as thon seest in thilke estate,
The griefe is eath to beare that haz a mate:
But sicker for to speake the truth indeed,
Thou seemst to blame that blameles seemes to me,
And hurtlesse Eld to s [...]eb (ill mought he speed,
That slayes the dog, for wolues so wicked be)
The faults of men thou lai'st on age I see,
For which if Eld were in it selfe to blame,
Then I and al my Peares should tast the same.
Perin.
Wrenocke, I weene thou doat'st through rusty Eld,
And think'st with fained words to bleare mine eye,
Thou for thy store art euer blesfull held,
Thy heapes of gold, nill let thee sorrow spie,
Thy flocks full safe here vnder shade doe lie,
Thy weanlings fat, thine ewes with bladder blowne:
A iollier Shepheard haue we seldome knowne.
Wrenock.
For thilke my store, great Pan y'herried be:
But if for thy, mine age with ioy I beare,
How fals it that thy selfe vnlike to me,
Art vexed so with griefe and bootelesse feare?
Thy store will let thee sleepe on either eare.
But neither want makes age to wisemen hard,
Nor fooles by wealth from grieuous paines are bar'd
Perin.
Seest not how free yond' Lambkin skips and plaies:
And wags his taile, and buts with tender head:
All for he feeles the heate of youngthly daies,
Which secret law of kind hath inly bred?
Thilke ewe from whom all ioy with youth is fled,
See how it hangs the head, as it would weepe,
Whilome it skipt, vneaths now may it creepe.
Wrenock.
[Page 53]
No fellowship hath state of beasts with man,
In them is nought but strength of lim and bone,
Which ends with age, as it with age began.
But man they sai'ne (as other creature none)
Hath vncouth fire conuaid from heauen by one,
(His name I wist) that yeelds him inward light,
Sike fire as Welkin shewes in winter night.
Which neither age nor time can weare away,
Which waxeth bett' for vse, as Shepheards Crooke,
That euer shineth brighter day by day:
Also though wrinkled seemes the aged looke,
Bright shines the fire that from the Stars we tooke,
And sooth to say, thilke ewe laments the paine,
That thilke same wanton Lambe is like sustaine.
Perin.
Ah Thenot, be not all thy teeth on edge,
To see youngths folke to sport in pastimes gay?
To pitch the barre, to throw the waighty sledge,
To dance with Phillis all the holy-day,
To hunt by day, the Fox, by night, the Gray?
Sike peerelesse pleasures wont vs for to queeme,
Now lig we laide, as drownde in heauy dreame

Deest.

SONNETS, ODES, ELEGIES, MADRI­GALS, ANDEPI­GRAMs.

A compiaint, of which all the staues end with the words of the first, like a Sestine.

1
YE ghastly groues, that heare my wofull cries
Whose shady leaues doe shake to heare my paine,
Thou siluer streame that dost with teares lament:
The cruell chance that doth my griefe increase:
Ye chirping birds whose cheareles not es declare
That ye bewaile the woes I feele in minde,
Beare witnesse how with care I doe consume,
And heare the cause why thus I pine away.
2
Loue is the cause that makes me pine away,
And makes you heare the Eccho of my cries
Through griefes encrease: And though the cause of paine
Which doth enforce me still thus to lament,
Proceede from loue, and though my paine increase
By daily cries which doe that paine declare,
And witnesse are of my afflicted mind,
Yet cry I will, till crying me consume.
3
For as the fire the stubble doth consume,
And as the winde doth driue the dust away,
So pensiue hearts are spent with dolefull cryes,
And cares distract the minde with pinching paine.
But all in vaine I doe my cares lament;
My sorrow doth my sobs, sighs, teares, encrease:
Though sobs, sighes, teares, my torments doe decl [...]re,
Sobs, sighes, nor teares, moue not her flintie minde.
4
I am cast out of her vngratefull minde,
And she hath sworne I shall in vaine consume,
My weary dayes, my life must wast away,
Consum'd with paine, and worne with restlesse cries.
So Philomele too much opprest with paine
By his misdeede that causeth her lament,
Doth day and night her mournefull layes encrease,
And to the woods her sorrowes doth declare.
5
Some ease it is, hid sorrowes to declare,
But too small ease to such a grieued minde,
Which by repeating woes doth more consume,
To end which woes I finde at all no way,
(A simple salue to cure so great a paine)
But to deaths deafened eares to bend my cries,
Come then ye ghastly owles helpe me lament,
And as my cryes, so let your shrikes encrease.
6
For as your shrikes (the tunes of death) encrease
When sunne is set, and shadowes doe declare
The nights approach: so I from my darke minde
Since my bright Sun is fled, in cries consume,
My night of woes, and though you fly away
Soone as the daies returnes and cease your cries,
Yet I by day find no release of paine,
But day and night so foule a change lament.
7
But while I thus to senselesse things lament
Ruth of my case in them thereby d'encrease
Which she feeles not, with scosses she doth declare
My pangs to him, who first her wanton minde,
From me did win: Since when I still consume
Like waxe gainst fire, like snow that melts away
Before the sun: Thus thus, with mournfull cries
I lyuing die, and dying, liue in paine.
8
And now adieu delight, and farewell paine
Adieu vaine hope I shall no more lament
Her fained faith which did my woes encrease;
And ye to whom my griefes I thus declare,
Ye which haue heard the secrets of my mind,
And seeing then my lingring life in paine consume,
Groue, Brooke, and Birds adieu, now hence away,
By death I will, and cease my deadly cries,
E. D.

Inscriptions.

Thisbe.
YE wofull Sires, whose causelesse hate hath bred
Griefe to your selues, death to my loue and me,
Let vs not be dis-ioynd when we are dead,
Though we aliue conioind could neuer bee.
Though cruell starres denide vs two one bed.
Yet in one tombe vs two entombed see.
Like as the dart was one and one the knife
That did begin our loue and end our life.

Clytemnestra to her sonne Ore­stes, comming to kill her for murthering his father AGA­MEMNON.

HOld, hold thy hand, vile son of viler mother,
Death I deserue but O not by thy knife.
[Page 58]One parent to reuenge wilt thou kill the other,
And giue her death that gaue thee (wretch thy life.
Furies will plague thy murther execrable,
Stages will play thee, and all mothers curse thee.
To wound this wombe or breast, how art thou able,
When the one did beare thee, and the other nurse thee?
AIAX.
THis sword is mine, or will Laertes Sonne
Win this as he Achilles armour wonne?
This sword which you O Greeks oft bath'd haue known
In Troian blood, ile now bath in mine owne.
This fearelesse breast which all mine enemies fierce
Haue left vnpierst, now I my selfe will pierce.
So men shall say, Aiax to none did yeeld
But t'Aiax selfe, and Aiax, Aiax kild.
ROMVLVS.
NO common wombe was fit me forth to bring,
But a pure virgin Priest, childe to a King.
No mortall father worthy was to breed me,
Nor humane milke was fierce enough to feed me,
Therefore the God of war by wonder bred me,
And a shee wolfe by no lesse wonder fed me.
In fine, the Gods because earth was too base
T'entombe me dead, did me in heauen place.

Fabritius Curio, who refused gold of the Samnites, and discouered to King Pir­rhus his Phis [...]tion that offered to poison▪ him.

MY famous Country values golde farre lesse,
Then conquest braue of such as gold possesse.
To be orecome with wealth I doe not vse,
And to orecome with poison I refuse.
No hand loues more then mine, to giue to many,
No ha [...]rthates more then mine to take of any.
With so firme [...]steele vertue my minde hath armed,
at [...] ot by gold, [...]or yron it can be harmed.

Cato Vtican, who slew himselfe because he would not fall into Caesars hands.

CAESAR, thou hast o'recome to thy great fame
Proud Germanes, valiant Gauls, and Brittons rude,
Romes liberty (but to thine eternall shame)
And her great Champion thou hast eke subdu'de.
Yet neither shall thy triumphs with my name
Be grac't, nor sword be with my bloud imbrude.
Though all the conquer'd earth do now serue thee,
Cato will die vnconquered, and free.

A Dialogue in Imitation of that betweene Horace an [...] Lidia, beginning, Donec, gratus eram tibi, &c.

1 Louer.
WHile thou did dest loue me, and that necke of thine
More sweet, white, soft, then roses, siluer, downe,
Did weare a necklace of no armes but mine,
Ienuide not the King of Spaine his crowne.
2 Ladie.
VVhile of thy heart I was sole Soueraigne,
And thou didst sing none but Mellinaes name▪
Whom for brown Cole thou dost now disdaine,
Enuide not the Queene of Englands fame.
3 Louer.
Though Cole be lesse faire, she is more kinde,
Her gracefull dancing so doth please mine eye,
And through mine eares her voice so charmes my minde
That so deare she may liue, ile willing die.
4 Ladie.
Though Crispus cannot sing my praise in verse,
I loue him so for skill in Tilting showne,
[Page 60]And gracefull managing of Coursiers fierce:
That his deare life to saue, ile lose mine owne.
5 Louer.
What if I sue to thee againe for grace,
And sing my praises sweeter then before,
If I out of my heart blot Cloes face,
Wilt thou loue me againe, loue him no more?
6 Lady.
Though he be fairer then the morning starre,
Though lighter then the floting Corke thou be,
And then the [...]rish sea more angry farre,
With thee I wish to liue, and die with thee.
Madrigall.
Though you be not content
That I (poore worme) should loue you,
As Cupids power, and your sweete beauty cause me,
Yet (deere) let pittie moue you
To giue me your consent.
To loue my life, as law of nature drawes me,
And i [...] my life I loue, then must I too
Loue your sweet selfe, for my life liues in you,

Madrigall.

Borrowed out of a Greeke Epigram.

[...]ee's rich enough whose eies behold thee,
Who heares thee sing a Monarch is:
A Demy-God who doth thee kisse,
And loue himselfe whose armes infold thee.

Madrigall.

Vpon [...]er dreaming that she saw him dead.

O faire, yet murdring eies,
Starres of my miseries,
Who while night clouds your beames,
How much you wish my death show in your dreames:
Is't not enough that waking you do spill me,
But you a sleepe must kill me?
[Page 61]O kill me still while you your sleepe are taking,
So you lend me kind lookes while you are waking.
The sound of thy sweete name, my dearest treasure,
Delights me more then sight of other faces,
A glimpse of thy sweete face breeds me more pleasure,
Then any others kindest words and graces.
One gracious word that from thy lips proceedeth,
I value more then others Doue▪like kisses:
And thy chast kisse in my conceit exceedeth▪
Others embraces, and loues chiefest blisses.

Sonnets.

WHen traitrous Photine, Caesar did present
With his great riuals honourable head,
He taught his eies a streame of teares to shed
Hiding in his false heart his true content.
And Hanniball when Fortunes ballance light,
Raiz'd low▪brought Rome and swaid proud Carthage down,
While all but he, bewail'd their yeelding town
He laugh't to ease his swelling hearts despight.
Thus cunning minds can maske with diuerse art,
Griefe vnder fained smiles, Ioy vnder teares
Like Hanniball I cannot hide my feares
Setting cleare lookes vpon a cloudie heart.
But let me ioies enioie, Deere you shal trie,
Caesar hid not his ioies so well as I.

Sonnet.

While Loue in you did liue, I onely liu'd in you,
While you for me did burne, for you alone I burned,
While you did sigh for me, for you I sight & mourned,
Till you prou'de false to me, to you I was most true.
But since Loue died in you, in you I liue no more,
Your heart a Seruant new, mine a new Saint enioyeth:
My sight offēds your eies, mine eies your sight annoieth
Since you held me in scorne, by you I set no store.
Yet if dead Loue, if your late flames returne,
If you lamēt your chāge, & count me your sole treasure,
My loue more fresh shall spring, my flame more bright shall bu [...]ne.
Ile loue none else but you, & loue you without measure,
If not (vntrue) farewell: in sand Ile sow no graine,
Nor plant my loue but where loue yeelds me loue againe.

To Mistresse Diana.

PHoebus of all the Gods I wish to bee:
Not of the world to haue the ouerseeing:
For of all things in the worlds circuit being
One onely thing I alwaies wish to see.
Not of all hearbs the hidden force to know,
For ah my wound by herbes cannot be cured:
Not in the Sky to haue a place assured,
For my ambition lies on earth below.
Not to be Prince of the Celestiall quire,
For I one Nimph prize more then all the Muses:
Not with his bow to offer Loue abuses
For I Loues Vassall am, and dread his yre.
But that thy light from mine, might borrow'd be,
And faire Diana might shine vnder me.

Vpon his departure.

Madrigall.
SVre (Deere) I loue you not, for he that loueth,
When he from her doth part
That's Mistres of his heart,
A deadly paine, a hellish torment proueth.
But when sad Fates did seuer
[Page 63]Me farre from seeing you I would see euer,
I felt in my absenting
No paine, nor no tormenting.
For sence of paine how could he finde,
That left his heart and soule behinde▪

Epigrams translated out of Martiall.

Ad Aelian. 76. l. 1.
Si memini, fuerant tibi quatuor, Aelia, dentes,
Expuit vna duos tussis, & vna duos.
Iam secura potes [...]otis tussire di [...]bus,
Nil istuc quod agat tertia tussi [...] habet.
Foure teeth of late you had, both blacke and shaking,
Which durst not chew your meate for feare of aking,
But since your cough (without a Barbers ayde)
Hath blowne them out, you need not be afraid.
On either side to chew hard crusts, for sure
Now from the Too [...]h-ach you liue most secure.
In Herm. 15. l. 2. ‘Quod nulli calic em tuum propinas Humane facis, Herme, non superbe.’
A Monsieur Naso, Verole.
Naso let none drinke in his glasse but he,
Thinke you tis curious pride? tis courtesie.
De Manuella. 51. l. 1 ‘Os & libra tibi lingit, Manuella cat [...]llus. Mon▪ miror merdas si libet esse cani.’
I muse not that your Dog turds oft doth eate,
To a tung that licks your lips, a turd's sweet meate.
De Milone.
MILO dominon est, peregre Milone profecto,
Arua vacant, vxor non minus inde parit.
Cur sit ager sterilis, cur vxor lact tet, edam,
Quo fodiatur ager non habet, vxor habet.
MILO liues long in France, and while he's there,
his groūd bears nought, his wife doth childrē beare
Why should th'one barren, th'other fertile be?
His ground lacks plowing vp,, so doth not she.
De Codro. Li. 15▪ 3. ‘Plus credit nemo, quam tota Cod [...]us in vrbe, Cum sit tam pauper quomodo? coecus amat.’
CODRVS although but of meane estate,
Trusts more then any Merchant in the citie▪
For being old and blind he hath of late,
Married a wife, yong, wanton, faire, and wittie.
Ad Quintum. 117. L. 5. ‘Quae legis causa nupsit tibi Laelia, Quinte. Vxorem hanc poteris dicere legitimam.’
THy lawfull wife faire Laelia needs must bee,
For she was forct by law to marry thee.
Nil mihid as viuus, dicis post fata daturum, Si non es stultus, scis Maro quid cupiam.
To A. S.
RIch Chremes whiles he liues will nought bestow,
On his poore Heires, but all at his last day.
If he be halfe as wise as rich I trow,
He thinks that for his life they seldome pray.
Semper eris pauper, si pauper es, Aemiliane, Duntur opes nullis nunc nisi diuitibus.
To all poore Schollers.
FAile ye of wealth, of wealth ye still will faile,
None but fat sowes are now greez'd in the taile.
In Cinnam. 42. L. 7.
Primum est vt proestes, si quid te, Cinna rogabo,
Illud deinde sequens, vt [...]ito, Cinna, neges.
Diligo praestantem, non odi. Cinna, negantem,
Sed tu nec praestas, nec cito, Cinna, negas.
To his friends
MY iust demaunds so one grant or so one deny,
Th'one friendship showes, and th'other courtesie:
But who nor soone doth grant, nor soone say no,
Doth not true friendship, and good manners know.
In Cinnam. 107. L. 5. ‘Esse nihil dicis, quicquid petis, improbe Cinna, Si nil Cinna petis, nil tibi Cinna negos’
WHat so'ere you coggingly require,
Tis nothing (Cinna) still you cry▪
Then Cinna you haue your desire,
If you aske nought, nought I deny.
De Philone. 48. L. 5. ‘Nunquam se caenasse domi Philo iurat, & hoc est, Non coenat quoties nemo vocauit eum.’
PHilo sweares he ne're eates at home a nights:
He meanes, he fastes when no man him inuites.
12. L 12.
YOu promise mountaines still to me,
When ouer night stark drunk you be.
But nothing you performe next day,
Hence forth be morning drunke, I pray.
Ad Pessimos Coniuges. 35. L. [...].
CVm sitis similes, paresque vita:
Vxor pessima, pessimus maritus,
Miror non bene conuenire vobis.
WHy doe your wife and you so ill agree,
Since you in manners so well matched be?
Thou brazen-fac'd, she impudently bold,
Thou still dost brawle, she euermore doth scold▪
Thou seldome sober art, she often drunke,
Thou a whore-hunting knaue, she a knowne Puncke.
Both of you filch, both sweare and damne, and lie,
And both take pawnes, and Iewish vsurie.
Not manners like make man and wife agree,
Their manners must both like and vertuous bee.

Epigrams.

A Rule for Courtiers.
HE that will thriue in Court must oft become,
Against his will, both blind and deafe and dombe.
On a painted Curtizan.
WHosoeuer saith thou sellest all, doth iest▪
Thou buy'st thy beauty that sels all the rest.
In Aulam.
HEr Sons rich Aula termes her Letchers all,
Whom other Dames loues, friends, and seruants call.
And sure me thinks her wit,
Giues them a name more fit.
For if all mothers them their sons do call
Whom they haue onely borne nine months in all,
May she not call them sons with better reason,
Whom she hath borne nine times as long a season?
For a looking glasse.
IF thou be faire, thy beauties beautifie,
With vertuous deeds and manners answerable:
If thou be foule, thy beauties want supply,
With a faire mind and actions commendable.
In Asinium.
THou still wert wont in earnest or in iest,
To praise an Asse as a most worthy best,
Now like an Asse thy selfe thou still commendest.
Whats'ere thou speakst with thine own praise thou endest
Oh! I perceiue thou praisest learnedly,
An Asse in Thesi and Hipothesi.
On a limping Cuckold.
THou euermore dost ancient Poets blame,
For faining Venus wife to Vulcan lame.
I blame the starres and Hymen to that gaue
A faire straight wife to thee a foule lame knaue,
And nought doth ease my griefe but onely this,
Thy Venus now hath got a Mars to kisse.
On Crambo a lowzie shifter.
BY want of shift since lice at first are bred,
And after by the same encreast and fed▪
Crambo I muse how you haue lice so many,
Since all men know you shift as much as any.
In Quintum.
QVintus is burnt, and may thereof be glad.
For being poore he hath a good pretence,
At euery Church to craue beneuolence
For one that had by fire lost all he had.
In Sabam.
WHy will not Saba in a glasse behold
Her face, since she grew wrinkled, pale and old?
Doubtlesse I thinke she doubts that ougly sight
Like Cow-turnd IO would her selfe affright.
In Aulum.
AVlus giues nought, men say, though much he craue,
Yet I can tell to whom the pox he gaue.
F. D.

Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, and Madrigals.

Sonnet. I.

Dedication of these Rimes, to his first Loue.

IF my harsh humble stile, and rimes ill dressed,
Arriue not to your worth and beauty glorious,
My muses shoulders are with weight oppressed,
And heauenly beames are o're my sight victorious.
If these dimme colours haue your worth expressed,
Laid by louers hand, and not by Art laborious,
Your Sun-like raies haue my wits haruest blessed,
Enabling me to make your praise notorious.
But if alas! (alas▪ the heauens defend it,)
My lines your eyes, my loue your heart displeasing,
Breed hate in you, and kill my hope of easing:
Say with your selfe, how can the wretch amend it?
I wondrous faire, he wondrous dearely louing,
How can his thoughts but make his pen be mouing?

Sonnet. II.

That he cannot hide or dessemble his affection.

I Bend my wits, and beate my weary braine,
To keepe my inward griefe, from outward show.
Alas I cannot: now tis vaine I know,
To hide a fire, whose flame appeareth plaine.
I force my wil, my senses I constraine,
T'imprison in my heart my secret woe,
But musing thoughts, deepe sighes, or tears that flow,
Discouer what my heart hides, all in vaine.
Yet blame not (Deere) this vndissembled passion:
For well may loue, within small limits bounded,
Be wisely maskt in a disguised fashion.
But he, whose heart, like mine, is throughly wounded,
Can neuer faine, no though he were assured,
That faining might haue greater grace procured.

Sonnet. III.

Vpon his absence from her.

THe fairest eie, (O eies in blacknesse faire)
That euer shinde, and the most heau'nly face,
The daintiest smiling, the most conquering grace,
And sweetest breath that ere perfumd the ayre,
Those cherry lips, whose kisse might well repaire
A dead mans state: that speech did displace
All meane desires, and all affections base,
Clogging swift hope, and winging dead despaire,
That snow-white breast, and all those faultles features
Which made her seeme a personage diuine,
And farre excelling fairest humane creatures,
Hath absence banisht from my cursed eine.
But in my heart, as in a mirror cleare,
All these perfections to my thoughts appeare.

Sonnet. IIII.

Vpon presenting her with the speech of Grayes-Inne Maske, at the Court, 1594. consisting of three parts. The story of Proteus transformations, the wonders of the adamantine Rocke, and a speech to her Maiestie.

WHo in these lines may better claime a part,
That sing the prayses of the maiden Queene,
Then you faire sweet, that onely soueraigne beene,
Of the poore kingdome of my faithfull heart?
Or to whose view should I this speech impart,
Where th'Adamantine rocks great power is showne:
But to your conq'ring eyes, whose force once knowne
Makes euen yron hearts loath thence to part?
Or who of Proteus sundry transformations,
May better send you the new-fained Story,
Then I whose loue vnfain'd felt no mutations,
Since to be yours I first receiu'd the glory?
Accept then of these lines, though meanly pend,
So fit for you to take, and me to send.

ELEGIE I.

He renounceth his foode, and former delight in Mu­sicke, Poesie and painting.

SItting at board sometimes, prepar'de to eate,
If't hap my minde on these my woes to thinke,
Sighs fill my mouth in stead of pleasant meate,
And teares do moist my lips in lieu of drinke:
But yet, nor sighs, nor teares, that run amaine,
Can either starue my thoughts, or quench my paine▪
Another time with carefull thought, o're-tane,
I thought these thoughts with musicks might to chase:
But as I gan to set my notes in frame,
A suddaine passion did my song displace.
In stead of Rests, sighs from my heart did rise,
In stead of Notes, deepe sobs and mournfull cries.
Then, when I saw, that these my thoughts increasde,
And that my thoughts vnto my woes gaue fire,
I hop't both thoughts and woes might be releasde,
If to the Muses I did me retire:
Whose sweete delights were wont to ease my woe,
But now (alas) they could do nothing so.
For trying oft (alas) yet still in vaine,
To make some pleasant numbers to arise,
And beating oft my dullen weary braine,
In hope some sweete conceit for to deuise:
Out of my mouth no words but groans would come,
Out of my Pen no inke but teares would runne.
Of all my old delights yet one was left,
Painting alone to ease my minde remaind:
By which, when as I lookt to be bereft
Of these heart▪ vexing woes that still me straind,
From forth mine eies the bloud for colours came,
And teares withall to temper so the same.
Adieu my foode that wontst my taste to please,
Adieu my songs that bred mine eares delight,
Adieu sweet Muse that oft my minde did'st ease,
Painting, adieu, that oft refresht my sight,
Since neither taste, nor eares, nor sight nor mind,
In your delights can ought saue sorrow finde.

SONNET. V.

To Pitie.

VVAke Pittie, wake, for thou hast slept too long,
Within the Tygrish heart of that fierce faire,
Who ruines most, where most she should repaire,
And where she owes most right, doth greatest wrong.
Wake Pittie, wake, O do no more prolong
Thy needfull helpe I but quickly heare my pray're
Quickly (alas) for otherwise despaire
By guilty death, will end my guiltlesse wrong.
Sweete Pittie wake▪ and tell my cruell sweete,
That If my death her honour might encrease,
I would lay downe my life at her proud feete,
And willing die, and dying, hold my peace.
And onely liue, and liuing mercy crie,
Because her glory in my death will die.

ODE. I.

That onely her beauty and voice please him.

1
PAssion may my iudgement bleare,
Therefore sure I will not sweare,
That others are not pleasing:
But I speake it to my paine,
And my life shall it maintaine,
None else yeelds my heart easing.
2.
Ladies I doe thinke there bee,
Other-some as faire as [...]hee,
[Page 74](Though none haue fairer features:
But my turtle-like affection,
Since of her [...] made Election,
Scornes other fairest creatures.
3
Surely I will not deny,
But some others reach as high
With their sweete warbling voices:
But since her notes charmde mine eare,
Euen the sweetest tunes I heare,
To me seeme rude harsh noyses.

Madrigall. I.

To Cupid.

LOue, if a God thou art,
Then euermore thou must,
Be mercifull and iust.
If thou be iust, O wherefore doth thy Dart,
Wound mine alone, and not my Ladies Hart?
If merciful, then why
Am I to paine reseru'd,
Who haue thee truely seru'd:
While she that by thy power sets not a flye,
Laughes thee to scorne, and liues at liberty?
Then, if a God thou wilt accounted bee,
Heale me like her, or else wound her like me.

Madrigall. II.

Vpon his mistresse sicknes, and his owne health.

In health and ease am I,
Yet, as I senselesse were, it nought contents me.
You sicke in paine doe lie,
And (ah) your paine exceedingly torments me.
[Page 75]Whereof, I can this onely reason giue,
That dead vnto my selfe, in you I liue.

Madrigall 3.

He begs a kisse.

SOrrow slowly killeth any,
Sodaine ioy soone murthers many.
Then (sweete) if you would end me,
Tis a fond course with lingring griefe to spend me.
For, quickly to dispatch me,
Your onely way is, in your armes to catch me,
And giue me doue-like kisses,
For such excessiue and vnlookt-for blisses,
Will so much ouer-ioy me,
As they will straight destroy me,

Madrigall 4.

Vpon a kisse receiued.

SInce I your cherry lips did kisse,
Where Nectar and Ambrosia is,
My hungry maw no meate requires:
My thirsty throate no drinke desires.
For by your breath which then I gained,
Camelion-like my life's maintained.
O grant me then those cherries still,
And let me feede on them my fill.
If by a surfet death I get,
Vpon my tombe let this be set:
By cherries twaine his life he cherisht,
By cherries twaine at length he perisht.

ODE II.

Vpon her protestation of kinde affection, hauing tried his sincere fidelitie.

I
LAdie, you are with beauties so enriched
Of bodie and of minde,
As I can hardly finde,
Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.
2
Whether your skin so white, so smooth, so tender,
Or face well form'd and faire,
Or heart-ensnaring haire,
Or daintie hand, or legge, and foote so slender.
3
Or whether your sharpe wit and liuely spirit,
Where Pride can finde no place:
Or your enchaunting grace,
Or speech, which doth true eloquence inherit.
4
Most louely all, and each of them do moue me,
More then words can expresse:
But yet I must confesse,
I loue you most, because you please to loue me.

ODE II.

His restlesse estate.

Your presence breeds my anguish,
Your absence makes me languish:
Your sight with woe doth fill me,
And want of your sweete sight, alas doth kill me.
If those deere eyes that burne me,
With milde aspect you turne me,
For life my weake heart panteth:
If frowningly, my sp'rit and life blood fainteth.
If you speake kindly to me,
Alas, kind words vndoe me▪
Yet silence doth dislike me,
And one vnkinde ill word, starke dead would strike me.
Thus, Sunne nor shade doth ease me,
Nor speech, nor silence please me:
Fauours and frownes annoy me.
Both want and plenty equally destroy me.

ELEGIE. II.

Or letters in Verse.

MY deerest sweete, if these sad lines do hap
The raging fury of the Sea to scape,
O be not you more cruell then the Seas,
Let Pittie now your angry mind appease.
So that your hand may be their blessed Port,
From whence they may vnto your eies resort,
And at that throne pleading my wretched case,
May moue your cruell heart to yeeld me grace.
So may no clouds of elder yeares obscure
Your Sun-like eies, but still as bright endure,
As then they shone when with one piercing Ray,
They made my selfe their slaue, my heart they pray:
So may no sicknesse nip those flowers sweete,
Which euer flowring on your cheekes do meet:
Nor all defacing time haue power to race,
The goodly building of that heauenly face.
3
Fountaine of blisse, yet well-spring of my woe,
(O would I might not iustly terme you so!)
Alas, your cruell dealing, and my fate,
Haue now reduc'de me to that wretched state,
That I know not how, I my stile may frame
To thanks, or grudging, or to praise, or blame:
And where to write, I all my powers do bend,
There wot I not how to begin or end.
And now my drisling teares trill downe apace,
As if the latter would the former chase,
[Page 78]Whereof some few on my pale cheekes remaine,
Like wither'd flowers bedew'd with drops of raine:
The other falling in my Paper sinke,
Or dropping in my Pen encrease my inke.
Which suddaine Passions cause if you would finde,
A trembling feare doth now possesse my minde,
That you will not vouchsafe these lines to reade,
Lest they some pitie in your heart may breed:
But or with angry frownes refuse to take them,
Or taking them the fires fewell make them:
Or with those hands (made to a milder end)
These guiltlesse leaues all into peeces rend.
O cruell Tyrant! (yet beloued still,)
Wherein haue I deseru'd of you so ill,
That all my loue you should with hate requite,
And all my paines reward with such despite?
Or if my fault be great (which I protest
Is onely loue, too great to be exprest)
What, haue these lines so harmelesse▪ innocent,
Deseru'd to feel their Masters punishment?
These leaues are not vnto my fault consenting:
And therefore ought not to haue the same tormenting.
When you haue read them, vse them as you list,
For by your sight they shall be fully blest:
But till you reade them, let the woes I haue
This harmelesse Paper from your furie saue.
4
Cleare vp mine eies and drie your selues my teares,
And thou my [...]eart banish these deadly feares:
Perswade thy selfe, that though her heart disdaine,
Either to loue thy loue, or rue thy paine,
Yet her faire eies will not a looke denie,
To this sad storie of thy miserie.
O then my deere, behold the Portraiture,
Of him that doth all kind of woes endure,
Of him whose Head is made a hiue of woes,
Whose swarming number daily greater growes:
Of him whose senses like a Racke are bent,
With diuerse motions my poore soule to rent:
[Page 79]Whose minde a mirrour is, which onely shewes,
The ougly image of my present woes:
Whose memorie's a poison'd knife to teare
The euer bleeding wound my breast doth beare,
(The euer bleeding wound not to be cured,
But by those eies that first the same procured.)▪
And that poore heart, so faithfull, constant, true,
That onelie loues, and serues, and honours you,
Is like a feeble Ship, which torne and rent,
The Mast of hope being broke, and tackling spent,
Reason the Pilot dead, the stars obscured,
By which alone to saile it was enured,
No Port, no Land, no Comfort once expected,
All hope of safetie vtterlie neglected,
With dreadfull terror tumbling vp and downe,
Passions vncertaine, waues with hideous sound,
Doth dailie, hourelie, minutelie expect
When either it should runne, and so be wrect,
Vpon despaires sharpe Rock [...], or be o're-throwne
With storme of your disdaine so fiercely blowne.
5
But yet of all the woes that do torment me,
Of all the torments that do daily rent me,
Ther's none so great (although I am assured,
That euen the least cannot be long endured:)
As that so many weekes (nay moneths, and yeares)
Nay tedious ages, (for it so appeares)
My trembling heart (besides so many anguishes,)
T'wixt hope and feare vncertaine howerly languishes▪
Whether your hands, your eies, your heart of stone,
Did take my lines, and reade them, and bemone
With one kind word, one sigh, one pittying teare,
Th'unfained griefe which you do make me beare,
Whether y'accepted that last Monument
Of my deere loue, the booke (I meane) I sent
To your deere selfe, when the respectlesse winde
Bare me awaie, leauing my heart behinde:
And daigne sometimes when you the same do view
To thinke on him, who alwaie thinks on you.
[Page 80]Or whether you (as Oh I feare you do)
Hate both my selfe, and gifts, and letters too.
6
I must confesse (vnkind) when I consider,
How ill, alas, how ill agree togither
So peerelesse beautie, to so fierce a mind,
So hard an inside to so faire a rinde,
A heart so bloudie to so white a brest,
So proud disdaine, with so mild lookes supprest:
And how my deere (Oh would it had bene neuer,
Accursed word, nay would it might be euer:)
How once I say, til your heart was estranged,
(Alas how soone my day to night was changed)
You did vouchsafe my poore eies so much grace,
Freely to view the riches of your face,
And did so high exalt my lowlie heart,
To call it yours, and take it in good part.
And (which was greatest blisse) did not disdaine,
For boundlesse loue to yeeld some loue againe.
When this, I say, I call vnto my mind,
And in my heart and soule no cause can find
No fact, no word, whereby my heart doth merit,
To loue that loue, which once I did inherit,
Despaire it selfe cannot make me despaire
But that you'le proue as kind as you are faire,
And that my lines, and booke (O would t'were true)
Are, though I know▪t not yet, receiu'd by you,
And often haue your crueltie repented.
Whereby my guiltlesse heart, is thus tormented,
And now at length in lieu of passed woe,
Will pittie, kindnesse, loue and fauour shoe.
7
But when againe my cursed memorie,
To my sad thoughts confounded diuerslie,
Presents the time, the teare-procuring time,
That with [...]r'd my yong [...]oies before their prime:
The time when I with tedious absence tired
With restlesse loue and rackt desire inspired,
Comming to finde my earthlie Paradise,
[Page 81]To gla [...]e my sight in your two heauenlie eies,
(On which alone my earthlie ioies depended,
And wanting which, my ioy and life were ended)
From your sweete rosie lips, the springs of blisse,
To draw the Nectar of a sweetest kisse:
My greedie eares on your sweet words to feed,
Which canded in your sugred breath proceed,
In daintiest accents through that currall dore,
Guarded with pretious Pearle and Rubies store:
To touch your hand so white, so moist, so soft,
And with a rauisht kisse redoubled oft,
Reuenge with kindest spight the bloudie theft,
Whereby it closelie me my heart bereft:
And of all blisse to taste the consummation,
In your sweet gracefull heauenlie conuersation.
By whose sweet charmes the soules do you inchant,
Of all that do your louelie presence haunt:
In stead of all these ioies I did expect,
Found nought but frownes, vnkindnesse and neglect.
Neglect, vnkindnes, frownes? nay plaine contempt,
And open hate, from no disdaine exempt,
No bitter words, side looks, nor ought that might
Engrieue, encrease so vnderu'd despight.
When this (I say) I thinke, and thinke withall,
How, nor those showers of teares mine eies let fall
Nor winde of blustring sighs with all their force,
Could moue your rockie heart once to remorce,
Can I expect that letter should find grace,
Or pittie euer in your heart haue place?
No no, I thinke, and sad despaire saies for me,
You hate, disdaine, and vtterlie abhorre me.
8
Alas my Deere, if this you do deuise,
To trie the vertue of your murthering eies,
And in the Glasse of bleeding hearts to view
The glorious splendour of your beauties hew,
Ah! trie it on rebellious hearts and eies
That do withstand the power of sacred lights
And make them feele, (if any such be found)
[Page 82]How deepe and eurelesle your eies can wound:
But spare, O spare my yeelding heart, and saue
Him whose chiefe glorie is to be your slaue:
Make me the matter of your clemencie,
And not the subiect of your Tyrannie.

ODE. IIII.

Being by his absence in Italy depriued of her lookes, words, and gestures, he desireth her to write vnto him.

I
MY onelie starre
Why, why are your decreeies,
Where all my liefs peace lies,
VVith me at warre?
VVhy to my ruine tending,
Do they still lighten woe,
On him that loues you so,
That all his thoughts in you haue birth and ending.
II
Hope of my heart,
O wherefore do the words
VVhich your sweet tongue affords,
No hope impart?
But cruell without measure,
To my eternall paine,
Still thunder forth disdaine,
On him whose life depends vpon your pleasure.
III
Sun-shine of ioie,
VVhie do your gestures, which
All eies and hearts be witch,
My blisse destroie?
And pities skie o're-clouding
Of hate an endlesse showre
On that poore heart still powre,
VVhich in your bosome seeks his onely shrowding?
IIII
Blame of my wound,
Why are your lines, whose s [...]ght
Shou'd cure me with delight,
My poyson found?
VVhich through my veines dispersing,
Make my poore heart and mind
And all my senses find
A liuing death in torments past rehearsing.
V
Alas my Fate
Hath of your Eies depriu'd me,
VVhich both kil'd and reuiu'd me,
And sweetned hate:
Your sweet voyce, and sweet Graces,
Which cloath'd in louely weeds,
Your cruell words and deeds
Are intercepted by farre distant places.
VI
But O the Anguish
Which presence still presented,
Absence hath not absented,
Nor made to languish.
No, no, t'encrease my paining,
The cause being (ah) remoued,
For which th'effect [...] loued,
Th'effect is still in greatest force remaining.
VII
O cruel Tyger,
If to your hard hearts center,
Teares, vowes, and Prayers may enter,
Desist your rigour:
[Page 84]And let kinde lines assure me
(since to my deadly wound
No salue else can be found)
That you that kill me, yet at length will cure me.

Madrigall 5.

Allusion to the confusion of Babell.

THe wretched life I liue
In my weake sences such confusion maketh
That like the accursed rabble,
That built the Towre of Bable.
My wit mistaketh,
And vnto nothing a right name doth giue.
I terme her my deere loue, that deadlie hates me,
My chiefest good, her that's my chiefest euill,
Her Saint and Goddesse, who's a Witch, a Deuill▪
Her my sole hope, that with despaire amates me.
My Balme I call her, that with poison fils me,
And her I terme my life, that dailie kils me.

Sonnet VI.

Vpon her acknowledging his desart, yet re­iecting his affection.

IF loue conioin'd with worth and great desart,
Merit like loue in euerie noble mind,
Why then do I you still so cruell find?
To whom you do such praise of worth impart
And if (my deere) you speake not from your heart,
To hainous wrongs you do together bind,
Two seeke with glozing words mine eies to blind,
And yet with hatefull deeds my loue to thwart.
To want what one deserues engrieues his paine,
Because it takes away all selfe accusing:
[Page 85]And vnder kindest words to make disdaine,
Is to a vexed soule too much abusing.
Then if't befalse, such glosing words resraine:
If true, O then let worth his obtaine.

Sonnet 7.

Her answere in the same Rimes.

IF your fond loue want worth and great desart,
Then blame your selfe that you me cruell find:
If worth alone moue euerie noble mind,
Why to no worth should I my loue impart?
And if the lesse to grieue your wounded heart,
I seeke your dazled eies with words to blind,
To iust disfauour I great fauour bind,
With deeds and not with words your loue to twhart▪
the freeing of your mind from selfe accusing,
By granting your desarts should ease your paine.
And since loue is your fault t'were some abusing,
With bitter words t'enuenome iust disdaine.
Then if't be true, all glosing I refraine,
If false, why should no worth worths due obtaine?

ODE 5.

His farewell to his vnkinde and vnconstant Mistris [...].

SWeet, if you like and loue me still,
And yeeld me loue for my good will,
And do not from your promise start,
When your faire hand gaue me your heart,
If deere to you I bee;
As you are deere to mee:
Then yours I am, and will be euer,
Nor time nor place my loue shall seuer.
[Page 86]But faithfull still I will perseuer,
Like constant marble stone,
Louing but you alone.
But if you fauour moe than me,
(Who loue thee deere, and none but thee)
If others do the Haruest gaine,
That's due to me for all my paine:
If you delight to range,
And oft to chop and change:
Then get you some new-fangled Mate,
My doating loue shall turne to Hate,
Esteeming you (though too, too late)
Not worth a pebble stone,
Louing not me alone.

ODE VI.

A Prosopopoeia, Wherein his heart speakes to his second Ladies breast

I Dare not in my Maisters bosome rest,
That flaming Etna would to Ashes burne me:
Nor dare I harbour in his Mistresse brest,
The frosty Climate into yce would turne me,
So, both from her and him I do retyre me,
Lest th'one should freeze me, and th'other fire'me.
VVing'd with true loue, I flie to this sweet Brest,
VVhose snow, I hope, will coole, but t'yce not turne me,
VVhere fire and snow, I trust, so tempred rest,
As gentle heate will warme, and yet not burne me.
But (O deare Brest) from thee [...]le ne'fe retire me,
Whether thou coole, or warme, or freeze, or fire me.

ODE VII.

Vpon her giuing him backe the Paper wherein the former Song was written, as though it had beene an answere thereunto

Lady of matchlesse beauty;
When into your sweete Bosome I deliuered
A paper, with wan lookes, and hand that quiuered
Twixt hope, feare, loue, and duty:
Thought you it nothing else contain'd,
But written words in Rime restraind?
O then your thought abused was,
My Hart close wrapt therin, into your Brest infused was.
When you that Scroule restor'd me,
VVith grateful words, kind grace, and smiling merily,
My Brest did swel with ioy, supposing verily,
You, answere did afford me.
But finding only that I writ,
I hopp't to find my Hart in it:
But you my hope abused had,
And poison of despaire instead thereof infused had.
VVhy, why did you torment me,
VVith giuing back my humble Rymes so hatefully?
You should haue kept both heart and paper gratefully?
Or both you should haue sent me.
Hope you my Heart thence to remoue
By scorning me, my Lines, my Loue?
No, no; your hope abused is,
Too deep to be remou'd, it in your brest infused is.
O shall I hide or tell it:
Deere with so spotlesse, zealous, firme Affection,
I loue your Beauty, Vertue, and perfection,
As nothing can expell it.
[Page 88]Scorne still my Rimes, my Loue despight,
Pull out my Heart, yea kill me quite:
Yet will your hate abused be,
For in my very soule, your loue and looks infused be.

ODE 8.

Commendation of her Beauty, Stature Behauiour and wit.

SOme there are as Faire to see too:
But by Art and not by Nature.
Some as Tall and goodly be too:
But want Beauty to their Stature.
Some haue gratious Kind behauour,
But are soule, or simple Creatures:
Some haue Wit, but want sweet fauour,
Or are proud of their good features.
Only you, and you want pitty
Are most Fayre, Tall, Kinde, and Witty.

MADRIGAL 6.

To her hand, vppon her giuing him her gloue.

O Hand of all hands liuing,
The softest, moistest, whitest:
More skil'd then Phoebu [...] on a Lute in running:
More then Minerua, with a Needle cunning:
Then Mercury more wily,
Instealing Hearts most slily.
Since thou deere hand, in theft so much delightest,
Why fall'st thou now a giuing?
Ay me! thy gifts are thefts, and with strange Art,
In giuing me thy Gloue, thou steal'st my Hart.

MADIGRAL 7.

Cupid proued a Fencer.

Ah Cupid I mistooke thee,
I for an Archer, and no Fencer tooke thee.
But as a Fencer of t [...]faines blowes and thrusts,
Where he intendes no harme:
Then turnes his balefull Arme,
And wounds that part which least his foe mistrusts.
So thou with fencing Art,
Fayning to wound mine eies, hast hit my hart.

Sonnet 8.

Vpon her commending (though most vndeseruedly) his verses to his first Loue.

PRaise you those barren Rimes long since composed?
Which my great Loue, her greater Cruelty,
My constant faith, her false inconstancy,
My praises stile, her o're prais'd worth disclosed.
O, if I lou'd a scorneful Dame so deerly:
If my wilde yeares did yeeld so firme affection:
If her Moon-beames, short of your Suns perfection,
Taught my hoars Muse (as you say) to sing cleerely
How much, how much should I loue and adore you,
Diuinest Creature if you deign'd to loue me?
What beauty, fortune, time should euer moue me
In these staid yeares to like ought else before you?
And O! how should my Muse by you inspired?
Make heauen and earth resound your praise admired.

My then greene Heart so brightly did enflame.

MADRIGAL 8.

He compares him-selfe to a Candle flye.

LIke to the seely flie,
To the deere light I flie
[Page 90]Of your disdainfull Eyes,
But in a diuerse wise
She with the flame doth play,
By night alone; and I both night and day.
She to a Candle runnes:
I to a light, far brighter then the Sunnes.
She neere at hand is fired:
I both neere hand, and farre-away retyred.
She fondly thinkes▪ nor dead, nor burnt to be▪
But I my burning and my death foresee.

MADIGRAL IX.

Answers to her question, what Loue was

IF I behold your Eies,
Loue is a Paradice:
But if I view my Hart,
Tis an infernal smart.

ODE IX.

That all other Creatures haue their abiding in heauen, hell, earth, ayre, water or fire, but he in all of them.

IN heau'n the blessed▪ Angels haue their being,
In hell the Fiends appointed to damnation.
To men and beasts Earth yeelds firme habitation▪
The wing'd Musitians in the ayre are fleeing.
VVith finnes the people gliding,
Of VVater haue the enioying.
In Fire (all else destroying)
The Salamander findes a strange abiding:
But I poore wretch, since I did first aspire,
To loue your beauty, Beauties all excelling,
Haue my strange diuerse dwelling,
In heau'n, hell, earth, water, ayre, and Fier.
[Page 91]Mine Eare while you do sing, in Heau'n remaineth:
My mind in hell, through hope and feares contention.
Earth holds my drossy wit and dull inuention.
Th▪ill food of airie sighes my life sustaineth.
To streames of teares still flowing,
My weeping Eyes are turned.
My constant heart is burned
In quenchlesse fire within my bosome glowing.
O foole, no more, no more so high aspire:
In Heau'n is no beauty more excelling,
In hel no such pride dwelling,
Nor heart so hard in earth, ayre, water, fire.

MADIGRAL 10.

Vpon his timerous silence in her presence.

Are Louers full of fire?
How comes it then my verses are so cold▪
And how, when I am nigh her,
And fit occasion wils me to be bold,
The more I burne, the more I do desire,
The lesse I dare require?
Ah Loue! this is thy wondrous Art,
To freeze the tongue, and fire the heart.

Madrigal 11.

Vpon her long absence.

If this most wretched and infernall anguish,
Wherein so long your absence makes me languish,
My vitall spirits spending,
Do not worke out my ending,
Nor yet your long-expected safe returning,
To heau'nly ioy my hellish torments turning,
With ioy so ouer▪fill me,
As presently it kill me:
I will conclude, hows'euer Schooles deceaue a man,
No Ioy, nor Sorrow, can of life bereaue a man.

Vpon seeing his face in her eye.

FAirest and kindest of all woman-kind:
Since you did me the vndeserued grace,
In your faire Eie to shew me my bad face,
With loane Ile pay you in the selfe same kind▪
Looke in mine Eie, and I will shew to you,
The fairest face that heauens Eie doth view.
But the small worthlesse Glasse of my dimme Eie,
Scarce shewes the Picture of your heau'nly face
Which yet each slightest turne doth strait deface.
But could, O could you once my heart espie,
Your forme at large you there engrau'd should see,
VVhich, nor by Time, nor Death can razed be.

Madrigal XII.

Upon her hiding her face from him.

Goe wayling Accents go,
With my warme teares and scalding teares attended,
To th'Author of my wo,
And humbly aske her, why she is offended.
Say Deere, why hide you so,
From him your blessed Eies,
Where he beholds his earthly Paradise,
Since he hides not from you
To His hart, wherein Loues heau'n you may view?
[...]

Madrigal 13.

Vpon her Beauty and Inconstancy.

WHosoeuer longs to trie,
Both Loue and [...]ealousie,
My faire vnconstant Ladie let him see:
And he will soone a iealous Louer be.
[Page 93]Then he by proofe shall know,
As I doe to my woe,
How they make my poore heart at once to dwell,
In fire and frost, in heau'n and in hell.

A Dialogue betweene a Louers flaming heart, and his Ladies frozen Breast.

Hart.

Shun not (sweet Breast) to see me all of fire.

Breast.

Flie not (deere Hart) to finde me all of snow.

Hart.

Thy snow inflames these flames of my desire.

Breast.

And I desire, Desires sweet flames to know.

Ha.

Thy snow n'il hurt me. Br. Nor thy fire wil harme me.

Ha.

This cold wil coole me. Br. And this heate wil warme me▪

Hart.

Take this chast fire to that pure virgin snow,

Breast.

Being now thus warm'd, Ile ne [...]e seeke other fire:

Hart.

Thou giu'st more blisse thā mortal harts may know,

Breast.

More blisse I take than Angels can desire.

Both together.
Let one ioy fill vs, as one griefe did harme vs,
Let one death kill vs, as one loue doth warme vs.

ELEGIE 3.

For what cause he obtaines not his Lady fauour.

Deere, why hath my long loue, and faith vnfained,
At your faire hands no grace at all obtained?
I'st, that my Pock-hol'd face doth beauty lacke?
No: Your sweet Sex, sweet beauty praiseth:
Ours, wit and valour chiefly raiseth.
Ist, that my musk-lesse cloaths are plaine and blacke?
No. What wise Lady loues fine noddies,
VVith poore-clad mindes, and rich-clad bodies?
Ist, that no costly gifts mine Agents are?
No. My true Heart which I present you,
Should more then pearle or gold content you.
Ist, that my Verses want inuention rare?
No: I was neuer skilful Poet,
I truly loue, and plainly shew it.
Ist, that I vaunt, or am effeminate,
O scornefull vices! I abhorre you.
Dwel still in Court, the place fit for you.
Ist, that you feare my loue soone turnes to hate?
No: Though disdain'd, I can hate neuer,
But lou'd, where once I loue, loue euer.
Ist, that your fauours iealous Eyes suppresse?
No: onely vertue neuer-sleeping,
Both your faire Mindes and Bodies keeping.
Ist, that to many moe I loue professe?
Goddesse, you haue my hearts oblation,
And no Saint else lippes inuocation.
No, none of these: The cause I now discouer:
No woman loues a faithfull worthy, Louer.

AQuatrain.

IF you reward my loue with loue againe,
My blisse, my life, my heau'n I will deeme you,
But if you proudly quite it with disdaine,
My curse, my death, my hell I must esteeme you.

Sonnet 10.

To a worthy Lord (now dead) vpon presenting him for a New-yeares gift, with Caesars Commentaries and Cornelius Tacitus.

WOrthily famous Lord, whose vertues rare,
Set in the gold of neuer stain'd Nobility,
[Page 95]And noble minde shining in true humility,
Make you admir d o [...] all that vertuous are:
If as your Sword with enuy imitates
Great Caesars Sword in all his deeds victorious,
So your learn'd Pen would striue to be glorious,
And write your Acts perform'd in forrein States;
Or if some one with the deepe wit inspir'd,
Of matchlesse Tacitus would them historifie,
Then Caesars works so much we should not glorifie,
And Tacitus would be much lesse desir'd.
But till your selfe, or some such put them forth,
Accept of these as Pictures of your worth,

To SAMVEL DANIEL Prince of English Poets.

Vpon his three seueral sorts of Poesie.
  • Lyricall, in his Sonnets.
  • Tragical, in Rosamond & Cleopatra.
  • Heroicall, in his Ciuill Warres.
OLympias matchlesse Son, when as he knew
How many crownes his fathers sword had gain'd,
With smoaking sighs, and deep-fetch'd sobs did rew,
And his braue cheeks with scalding teares bedew,
Because that Kingdomes now so few remain'd,
By his victorious Arme to be obtain'd.
So (Learned Daniel) when as thou didst see,
That Spencer erst so farre had spred his fame,
That he was Monarch deem'd of Poesie,
Thou did st (I gesse) euen burne with iealousie,
Least Lawrell were not left ynough to frame,
A neast sufficient for thine endlesse Name.
But as that Pearle of Greece, soone after past
In wondrous conquests his renowned sire,
And others all, whose names by Fame are plac't
In highest seat: So hath thy Muse surpast
[Page 96]Spencer, and all that do with hot desire,
To the Thunder-scorning Lawrel-crowne aspire.
And as his Empires linked force was knowne,
When each of those that did his Kingdome share,
The mightiest Kings in might, did match alone▪
So of thy skill the greatnesse thus is showne,
That each of those, great Poets deemed are,
Who may in no one kind with thee compare.
One shar'd out Greece, another Asia held,
And fertile Egypt to a third did fall,
But onely Alexander all did wield.
So in soft pleasing Lyricks some are skild,
In Tragicke some, some in Heroicall,
But thou alone art matchlesse in them all.
‘Non equidem inuideo, miror magis.’

Three Epitaphs vpon the death of a rare Child of six yeares old.

1
WIts perfection, Beauties wonder,
Natures pride, the graces treasure,
Vertues hope, his friendes sole pleasure,
This small Marble stone lies vnder.
which is often moist with teares,
For such losse, in such young yeares.
2
Louely Boy, thou art not dead,
But from Earth to Heauen fled,
For base Earth was farre vnfit,
For thy beauty, grace and wit.
3
Thou aliue on earth sweet Boy,
Had'st an Angels wit, and face:
And now dead, thou dost enioy
Iu high Heauen an Angels place.

An Inscription for the Statue of Dido.

O most vnhappy Dido,
Vnhappy Wife, and more vnhappy Widow!
Vnhappy in thy Mate,
And in thy Louer more vnfortunate,
By treason th'one was reft thee,
By treason th'other left thee.
That left thee meanes to flie with,
This left thee meanes to die with.
The former being dead,
From Brothers sword thou fliest:
The latter being fled,
On Louers sword thou dyest.
‘Piu meritare, che conseguire.’
FRANCIS DAVISON.

MORE SONNETS, ODES, &c.

SONNET 1.

He demaunds pardon, for looking, louing, and writing.

LEt not (sweet Saint) let not these lines offend you,
Nor yet the Message that these lines impart:
The Message my vnfained Loue doth send you,
Loue, which your selfe hath planted in my heart.
For beeing charm'd by the bewitching art
Of those inueagling graces which attend you,
Loues holy fyre makes me breath out in part,
The neuer-dying flames my brest doth lend you.
Then if my Lines offend, let Loue be blamed.
And if my Loue displease, accuse mine Eyes:
If mine Eyes sinne, their sins cause, only lies
On your bright eyes, which haue my heart inflamed.
Since eies, loue, liues, erre then by your direction,
Excuse mine Eies, my Lines, and my affection.

Sonnet 2.

Loue in Iustice punishable onely with like Loue,

BVt if my Lines may not be held excused,
Nor yet my Loue find fauour in your Eies,
But that your Eies as Iudges shall be vsed,
Euen of the fault which from them-selues doth rise,
Yet this my humble fuite do not despise,
Let me be iudged as I stand accused,
If but my fault my doome do equalize,
What er'e it be, it shall not be refused.
And since my loue alreadie is expressed,
And that I cannot stand vpon deniall,
I freely put my selfe vpon my triall,
Let Iustice iudge me as I haue confessed:
For if my doome in iustice scales be wayed
With equall loue, my loue must be repayed.

Sonnet III.

He cals his eares, eyes, and heart as witnesses of her sweete voice, beauty, and inward vertuous perfections.

FAire is thy face, and great thy wits perfection,
So faire alas, so hard to be exprest.
That if my tired Pen should neuer rest,
It should not blaze thy worth, but my affection
Yet let me say, the Muses make election
Of your pure minde, there to erect their nest,
And that your face is such a flint-hard brest,
By force thereof, without force feeles subiection.
Witnesse mine eare rauisht when you it heares,
Witnesse mine eyes rauisht when you they see,
Beutie and vertue, witnesse eyes and eares,
In you (sweete Saint) haue equall soueraignty.
But if nor eyes, nor eares can proue it true,
Witnesse my heart, ther's none that equals you.
How they make my poore heart at once to dwell.
In fire and frost, in heau'n and in hell.

Sonnet IIII.

Praise of her eyes, excelling all comparisons.

I Bend my wit, but wit cannot de [...]ise,
Words fit to blaze the worth, your eyes containes,
Whose nameles worth, their worthles name disdains,
For they in worth exceede the name of eyes.
Eyes they be not, but worlds in which there lies,
More blisse then this wide world besides containes.
Worlds they be not, but stars, whose influēce raignes,
Ouer my life and lifes felicities.
Stars they be not, but Suns, whose presence driues
Darknesse from night, and doth bright day impart:
Suns they be not, which outward heate deriues,
But these do inwardly inflame my heart.
Since then in Earth, nor Heauen, they equal'd are,
I must confesse they be beyond compare,

ODE I.

His Ladie to be condemned of ignorance or crueltie.

As she is faire, so faithfull I,
My seruice she, her grace I merit,
Her beauty doth my loue inherit,
But Grace she doth denie.
O knowes she not how much I loue?
Or doth knowledge in her moue
No small remorce?
For the guilt thereof must lie
Vpon one of these of force,
Her ignorance, or cruelty.
As she is faire, so cruell she,
I sowe true loue, but reape disdaining,
Her pleasure springeth from my paining,
Which Pitties source should be.
Too well she knowes how much I loue,
Yet doth knowledge in her moue,
No small remorce.
Then the guilt thereof must lie
Her vndeserued cruelty.
As she is faire, so were she kinde:
Or being cruell, could I wauer,
Soone should I, either win her fauer,
Or a new Mistresse f [...]de.
But neither our alas may be,
Scorne in her, and louein me,
So fixed are.
[Page 101]Yet in whom most blame doth lie
Iudge she may, if she compare
My loue vnto her crueltie.

Sonnet V.

Contention of Loue and Reason for his heart.

REason and loue lately at strife contended,
Whose right it was to haue my minds protection
Reason on his side Natures will pretended,
Loues title was my Mistresse rare perfection.
Of power to end this strife, each makes election,
Reasons pretence discoursiue thoughts defended,
But loue soone brought those thoughts into subiection
By beauties troopes which on my Saint depended,
Yet since to rule the minde was Reasons dutie
On this condition it by loue was rendred,
That endlesse praise by reason should be tendred,
As a due tribute to her conquering beautie.
Reason was pleasde withall, and to loues royaltie
He pledg'd my heart, as hostage for his loyaltie.

Sonnet VI.

That she hath greater power ouer his happinesse and life, then eyther Fortune, Fate, or Stars.

LEt Fate, my Fortune, and my starres conspire,
Iointly to poure on me their worst disgrace:
So I be gratious in your heauenly face,
I wey not Fates, nor Starres, nor Fortunes yre,
T'is not the influence of heauens fire,
Hath power to make me blessed in my race,
Nor in my happinesse hath Fortune place,
Nor yet can Fate my poore lifes date expire.
T'is your faire eies my Starres all blisse do giue,
T'is your disdaine my Fate hath power to kill▪
T'is you (my Fortune) make me happie liue,
Though Fortune, Fate, and Stars conspire mine ill.
Then (blessed Saint) into your fauour take me,
Fortune, nor Fate, nor Stars can wretched make me.

Sonnet VII.

Of his Ladies weeping.

WHat neede I say how it doth wound my brest,
By fate to be thus rauisht from thine eyes
Since your owne teares with me do Simpathize,
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?
For when with flouds of teares they were opprest,
Ouer those Iuory banks they did not rise,
Till others enuying their felicities,
Did presse them forth, that they might there beare rest,
Some of which teares, prest forth by violence
Your lips with greedy kissing straight did drinke:
And other some vnwilling to part thence,
In amour'd on your cheekes in them did sinke.
And some which from your face wer forc,d away,
In signe of loue did on your garments stay.

Sonnet VIII.

He paints out his torment.

SWeete, to my cursed life some fauour shew,
Or let me not (accurst) in life remaine:
Let not my senses, sence of life retaine,
Since Sence doth onely yeeld me sence of woe.
For now mine eyes onely your frownes do know,
Mine eares heare nothing else but your disdaine,
My lips taste nought but teares, and smell is paine,
Banisht your lips, where Indian Odours grow.
And my deuoted heart your beauties slaue,
Feeles nought but scorne, oppressions and distresse,
Made eu'n of wretchednesse the wretched caue,
Nay, too too wretched for vild wretchednesse.
For euen sad sighs, as loathing there to rest,
Struggle for passage from my griefe-swolne brest.

ODE II.

A Dialogue betweene him and his heart.

AT her faire hands, how haue I grace intreated,
With praiers oft repeated,
Yet still my loue is thwarted:
Heart let her go, for shee'le not be conuerted.
Say, shall she goe?
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
She is most faire though she be marble hearted.
How often haue mysighs declar'd mine anguish▪
Wherein is daily anguish,
Yet doth she still procure it:
Heart let her goe, for I cannot endure it.
Say shall she go,
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
She gaue the wound, and she alone must cure it.
The trickling teares that downe my cheekes haue [...]wed,
My life haue often shewed:
Yet still vnkind I proue her:
Heart let her goe, for nought I doe can moue her.
Say, shall she go,
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
Though me she hates I cannot chuse but loue her.
But shall still a true affection owe her
Which praiers, sighs, teares do shew her.
And shall she still disdaine me?
Heart let her go, if they no grace can giue me.
Say, shall she go?
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
She made me hers, and hers she will retaine me.
But if the loue that hath, and still doth burne me,
No loue at length returne me:
Out of my thoughts ile set her:
Heart let her go, oh heart, I pray thee let her:
[Page 104]Say, shall she goe?
Oh! no, no, no, no, no.
Fixt in the heart, how can the heart forget her?
But if I weepe and sigh, and often waile me,
Till teares, sighs, praiers faile me,
Shall yet my Loue preseruer?
Heart let her go, if she will right thee neuer.
Say, shall she goe?
Oh! no, no, no, no, no.
Teares, sighs, praiers faile, but true loue lasteth euer.

Sonnet VII.

His sighs and teares are bootlesse.

I haue intreated, and I haue complained,
I haue disprais'd, and praise I likewise gaue,
All meanes to win her grace I tried haue,
And still I loue, and still I am disdained.
So long I haue my tongue and Pen constrained,
To praise, dispraise, complaine, and pittie craue,
That now nor tongue, nor Pen, to me her slaue
Remaines, whereby her grace may be obtained.
Yet you (my sighs) may purchase me reliefe,
And ye (my teares) her rockie heart may moue:
Therefore my sighs sigh in her eare my griefe,
And in her heart my teares imprint my loue.
But cease vaine sighs, cease, cease ye fruitlesse teares,
Teares cannot pierce her heart, nor sighs her eares.

Sonnet VIII.

Her beautie makes him liue euen in despaire.

WOunded with griefe, I weepe, and sigh, and paine,
Yet neither plaints, nor sighs, nor teares do good,
But all in vaine I striue against the floud,
Gaining but griefe for griefe, and paine for paine.
Yet though in vaine my teares my cheekes distaine:
[Page 105]Leauing ingrauen sorrow where they stood
And though my sighs consuming vp my bloud,
For loue deseru'd, reape vndeseru'd disdaine:
And though in vaine I know I beg remorce
At your remorcelesse heart more hard then steele,
Yet such (alas) such is your beauties force,
Charming my sence, that though this hell I feele,
Though neither plaints, nor sighs nor tears can moue you,
Yet must I still persist euer to loue you.

Sonnet IX.

Why her lips yeeld him no words of comfort.

OFt doe I plaine, and she my plants doth reed,
Which in blacke colours do paint forth my woe,
So that of force she must my sorow know:
And know, for her disdaine my heart doth bleed.
And knowledge must of force some pittie breed,
Which makes me hope, she will some fauour show
And from her sugred lips cause comfort flow
Into mine eares my heart with ioy to feed:
Yet though she reads, and reading knowes my griefe
And knowledge moues her pittie my distresse,
Yet do her lips, sweet lips yeeld no reliefe.
Much do I muse, but find no cause in this,
That in her lips, her heauenly lips that blisse them,
Her words loth thence to part, stay there to kisse them.

Sonnet X.

Comparison of his heart to a tempest beaten Ship.

LIke a Sea-tossed Barke with tackling spent,
And stars obseur'd his watrie iournies guide,
By loud tempestuous winds and raging tide,
From waue to waue with dreadfull fury sent,
Fares my poore heart, my heart-strings being rent,
And quite disabled your fierce wrath to bide,
Since your faire eies my stars themselues do hide,
Clouding their light in frownes and discontent:
For from your frownes do spring my sighs and teares,
[Page 106]Teares flow like seas, and sighs like windes do blow
Whose ioyned rage most violently beares
My tempest beaten heart from woe to woe.
And if your eyes shine not that I may shu [...] it,
On rocke, despaire, my sighs, and teares will rue it.

ELEGIE.

To his Ladie, who had vowed virginity.

6
EV'n as my hand my Pen and Paper laies,
My trembling hand, my Pen from Paper staies,
Lest that thine eies which shining made me loue you,
Should frowning on my sute bid cease to moue you,
So that I feare like one at his wits end,
Hoping to gaine, and fearing to offend,
What pleaseth hope, the same despaire mislikes,
What hope sets downe, those lines despaire out strikes.
So that my nursing murthering Pen affords,
A graue and cradle to my new-borne words.
But whil'st like clouds tost vp and downe the aire,
I racked hang t'wixt hope and sad despaire,
Despaire is beaten vanquisht from the field,
And vnto conq'ring hope my heart doth yeeld.
For if that Nature loue to beauty offers,
And Beauty shunne the loue that nature profsers:
Then, either vniust beauty is too blame,
With scorne to quench a lawfull kindled flame,
Or else vnlawfully if loue we must,
And be vnlou'd, then nature is vniust,
Vniustly then nature hath hearts created,
There to loue most, where most their loue is hated,
And flattering them with a faire [...] seeming ill,
To poyson them with beauties sugred Pill.
7
Thinke you that beauties admirable worth
Was to no end, or idle end brought forth?
No no, from nature neuer deed did passe.
But it by wisedomes hand subscribed was.
But you in vaine are faire, if faire, not viewed,
[Page 107]Or being seene, mens hearts be not subdued,
Or making each mans heart your beauties thrall,
You be enioyed of no one at all.
For as the Lions strength to seize his pray,
And fearefull hearts light-foote to runne away,
Are as an idle talent but abused,
And fruitlesse had, if had, they be not vsed.
So you in vaine haue beauties bonds to shew,
By which, mens eyes engag'd hearts doe owe,
If time shall cancell them before you gaine
Th'indebted tribute to your beauties raigne.
8
But if (these reasons being vainely spent)
You sight it out to the last argument,
Tell me but how one body can enclose,
As louing friends two deadly hating foes?
But when as contraries are mixt together,
The colour made, doth differ much from either.
Whilst mutually at strife they doe impeach
The grosse and lustre proper vnto each.
So, where one bodie ioyntly doth inuest
An Angels face, and cruell Tigers brest,
There dieth both alleageance and command,
For selfe-deuided kingdomes cannot stand.
But as a child that knowes not what is what,
Now craueth this, and now affecteth that,
And hauing weighs not that which he requires.
But is vnpleasde, euen in his pleasde desires.
Chaste Beautie so, both will, and will not haue
The selfe-same thing it childishly doth craue:
And wanton-like, now loue, now hate affecteth.
9
And loue or hate obtain'd as fast neglecteth,
So (like the web Penelope did weaue,
Which made by day, she did at night vnreaue)
Fruitlesse affections, endlesse threed is spunne,
At one selfe instant twisted, and vndone.
Nor yet is this chaste beauties greatest ill,
For where it speaketh faire, it there doth kill.
[Page 108]A marble heart vnder an amorous looke,
Is of a flattering baite the murthering hooke:
For from a Ladies shining-frowning Eies,
Deaths [...]able dart, and Cupids arrow flies.
10
Since then, from Chastitie and Beauty spring,
Such muddy streames, where each doth reigne as king:
Let tyrant chastities vsurped throne,
Be made the seate of beauties grace alone:
And let your beautie be with this suffiz'd,
Raze not my heart, nor to your beauty raise,
Bloud-guilded Trophees of your beauties praise:
For wisest conquerors doe townes desire,
On honourable termes, and not with fire.

Sonnet XI.

That he cannot leaue to loue, though commanded.

HOw can my loue in equity be blamed,
Still to importune though it ne're obtaine,
Since though her face and voice will me refraine,
Yet by her voice and face I am inflamed?
For when (alas) her face with frownes is framed,
To kill my loue, but to reuiue my paine:
And when her voice commands, but all in vaine,
That loue both leaue to be, and to be named:
Her Syren voice doth such enchantment moue,
And though she frowne, eu'n frownes so louely make her
That I of force am forced still to loue.
Since that I must, and yet cannot forsake her,
My fruitlesse praiers shall cease in vaine to moue her,
But my deuoted heart ne're cease to loue her.

Sonnet XII.

He desires leaue to write of his loue.

MVst my deuoted heart desist to loue her?
No: loue I may, but I may not confesse it,
[Page 109]What harder thing than loue▪ and yet depresse it?
Loue most conceal'd, doth most it selfe discouer.
Had I no Pen to shew that I approue her,
Were I tong-tide that I might not addresse it,
In plaints and Prair's vnfained to expresse it,
Yet could I not my deepe affection couer.
Had I no Pen, my very teares would shew it,
Which write my true affection in my face.
Were I tong-tide, my sighs would make her know it,
Which witnes that I grieue at my disgrace.
Since then, though silent, I my loue discouer,
O let my pen haue leaue to say, I loue her!
Quid pluma leuius? Puluis. Quid puluere? Ventus.
Quid vento? Mulier. Quid muliere, Nihil.
Translated thus.
DVst is lighter than a feather,
And the winde more light than either:
But a womans sickle minde,
More than Feather, Dust, or Winde.
W. D.

Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, and other Poesies.

Ten Sonnets by T. W.

A Dialogue betweene the Louer and his heart.

L.

SPeake gentle heart, where is thy dwelling place,

H.

with her whose bi [...]th the heauēs thēselues haue blest

L.

What dost thou there?

H.

Sometimes [...]ehold her face, And lodge sometimes within her christall brest.

L.

She cold, thou hot, how can you then agree?

H

Not nature now, but loue doth gouerne mee.

L.

With her wilt thou remaine, and let me die?

H.

If I returne, we both shall die for griefe.

L.

If still thou stay, what shall I get thereby?

H.

Ile moue her heart to purchase thy reliefe.

L.

What if her heart be hard, and stop his eares?

H.

Ile sigh aloud, and make him soft with teares.

L.

If that preuaile, wilt thou returne from thence?

H.

Not I alone, my heart shall come with me.

L.

Then will you both liue vnder my defence?

H.

So long as life will let vs both agree.

L.

Why then despaire, go packe thee hence away. I liue in hope to haue a happy day.

A Dialogue betweene a Louer, Death, and Loue.

Louer.

COme, gentle Death▪

D.

Who cals▪

L.

One that's opprest.

D.

What is thy wil?

L.

That thou abridge my woe, By cutting off my life.

D.

Cease thy request, I cannot kill thee yet.

L.

Alas why so?

D.

Thou want'st thy heart.

L.

who stole that same away?

D.

Loue whom thou seru'st, entreat him if thou may.

Louer.

COme Cupid come.

C.

Who calleth me so oft?

L.

Thy vassall true whō thou shouldst know by right.

C

What makes thy crie so faint?

L.

My voice is soft, Quite broke and spent with crying day and night.

C.

Why then what's thy request.

L.

That thou restore To mee my heart, and steale the same no more.

And thou O Death when I possesse my heart, Dispatch me then at once.

D.

Alas why so?

L.

By promise thou art bound to end my smart.

D.

But if thy heart returne, then what's thy woe?

D.

That brought from frost, it neuer will desire To rest with mee that am more hot then fire.

That time hath no power to end or diminish his loue.

TIme wasteth yeares, and months, and daies, & houres
Time doth consume, fame, riches, wit, and strength,
Time kils the greenest herbes, and sweetest flowers,
Time weares out youth, and Beauties pride at length,
Time maketh euery tree to die and rot:
Time turneth oft our pleasures into paine.
Time causeth warres, and wrongs to be forgot,
Time cleares the skie that first hung full of raine.
[Page 113]Time brings to nought the mightiest Princes state,
Time brings a floud from new resolued snow,
Time calmes the Sea where tempests roared late,
Time eates whatso'ere the Moone doth see below:
Yet shall no time vpon my heart preuaile,
Nor any time shall make my loue to faile.

Loues Hyperboles.

IF Loue had lost his shafts, and loue downe threw
His thunder▪ bolts, or spent his forked fire,
They onely might recou'red be anew
From out my heart crosse-wounded with desire.
Or if debate by Mars were lost a space,
It might be found within the selfe same place.
IF Neptunes waues were all dried vp and gone,
My weeping eyes so many teares distill,
That greater seas might grow by them alone:
Or if no flame were yet remaining still.
In Vulcans forge, he might from out my brest
Make choice of such as should befit him best.
IF Aeole were depriued of his charge,
Yet soone could I restore his winds againe,
By sobbing sighs which forth I blow at large,
To moue her minde that pleasures in my paine,
What man but I could thus encline his will,
To liue in loue, that hath no end of ill?

An Inuectiue against Loue.

LOue is a sowre delight, a sugred griefe,
A liuing death, an euer-dying life.
A breath of reasons law, a secret thiefe
A sea of teares, an euerlasting strife.
A baite for fooles, a scourge of noble wits,
A deadly wound, a shot that euer hits.
[Page 114]Loue is a blinded god, away-ward boy,
A laborinth of doubts, an idle lust,
A slaue of beauties will, a witlesse toy,
A rauenous bird, a tyrant must vniust.
A burning heate in frost, a flattering foe,
A priuate hell, a very world of woe.
Yet mightie Loue regard not what I say,
Who in a trance do lie, reft of my wits
But blame the light that leads me thus astray,
And makes my tongue thus raue by franticke fits,
Yet hurt me not, lest I sustaine the smart,
Which am content to lodge her in my heart.

Petrarks Sonnet translated.

Pace non trouo, & non ho da far guera.

I Ioy not Peac [...] where yet no warre is found,
I feare and hope, I burne, yet freeze withall.
I mount to heauen, yet lie still on the ground,
I nothing hold, yet I compasse all.
I liue her bond, which neither is my foe,
Nor friend, nor holds me fast, nor lets me goe.
Loue will not that I liue, nor let me die,
Nor locks me fast, nor suffers me to scape,
I want both eyes and tongue, yet see I crie.
I wish for death, yet after helpe I gape.
I hate my selfe, yet loue another wight,
And feede on griefe in lieu of sweet delight.
At selfe same time, I both lament and ioy,
I still am pleas'd, and yet displeased still:
Loue sometimes seemes a God, sometimes a Boy,
Sometimes I sinke, sometimes I swim at will.
T'wixt death and life, small difference I make,
All this (deere Dame) endure I for thy sake.

He proues himselfe to endure the hellish torments of Tantalus, Ixion, Ti­tius, Sisyphus and the Be­lides.

IN that I thirst for such a Goddesse grace,
As wants remorse, like Tantalus I die,
My state is equall to [...]xions case,
Whose mangled lims are turn'd continually.
In that my rowling toiles can haue no end,
Nor loue, nor time, nor chance will stand my friend.
IN that my heart consuming neuer dies,
I feele with Titius an equall paine,
Vpon whose heart a vulture feeding lies.
In that I rise through hope, and fall againe,
By feare like Sisyphus [...] labour still
To turne a rowling stone against a hill.
IN that I make my vowes to her alone,
Whose teares are deafe, and will retaine no sound,
With Belides my state is all but one,
Which fill a Tub whose bottome is not sound.
Thus in my heart since loue therein did dwell
Are all the torments to be found of hell.

Loues discommodities.

WHere heate of loue doth once possesse the heart,
There cares oppreste the minde with wonders ill.
Wit runs awry not fearing future smart,
And fond desire doth ouermaster Will.
The belly neither cares for meate nor drinke,
Nor ouer-watched eyes desire to winke.
FOot-steps are false, and wauering too and fro:
The pleasing flower of Beauty fades away,
Reason retires, and pleasure brings in woe,
And wisedome yee [...]deth place to blacke decay.
[Page 116]Counsell and fame, and friendship, are contemn'd,
And bashful shame, and Gods themselues condemn'd.
WAtch full suspect is linked with despaire,
Inconstant hope is often drown'd in feares,
What folly hurts, Fortune cannot repaire,
And miserie doth swim in seas of teares.
Long vse of life is but a lingring foe,
And gentle death is onely end of woe.

Allegory of his Loue to a Ship,

THe Souldier worne with wars delights in peace,
The Pilgrime in his ease when toyles are past,
The ship to gaine the Port, when stormes doe cease,
And I reioyce dischargd'd from loue at last.
whom while I seru'd, peace, rest, and land I lost,
With wars, with toiles, with storms, worne, tir'd, & tost.
SWeet liberty now giues me leaue to sing,
What world it was, where loue the rule did beare,
How foolish Chaunce by lots rul'd eu'ry thing,
How Error was man▪ saile, each waue a teare.
The master loue himselfe, deepe sighes were winde,
Cares row'de with vowes, the Ship a pensiue mind.
FAlse hope the healme, oft turn'd the ship about,
And constant faith stood vp for middle mast,
Despaire the Cable twisted all with doubt,
Helde griping griefe the piked Anchor fast.
Beauty was all the rocks, but [...] at last.
Haue gain'd the Port, and now my loue is past.

Execre [...]ition of his passed loue.

I Curse the time, where in these lips of mine,
Did pray or praise the Dame that was vnkind.
I curse my Inke, my Paper, and each line,
My hand hath writ in hope to please her mind.
[Page 117]I curse her hollow heart, and flattering eyes,
Whose slie deceits did cause my mourning cries.
I Curse the sugred speech and Syrenes song,
Wherewith so oft she hath bewitcht mine eare▪
I Curse my foolish will that staid so long
And tooke delight to bide twixt hope and feare:
I curse the howre, wherein I first began,
By louing lookes to proue a witlesse man.
I Curse those daies which I haue spent in vaine
In louing one vngratefull and vnkind,
I curse the bow and shafts that bred my paine,
And Loue I curse that Archer nak'd and blind.
But on that howre that my fond loue did end,
Millions of blessings I will euer spend.
FINIS. T. VV.

A Sonnet of the Sunne: A Iewell, being a Sunne-shining vpon the Marigold closed in a heart of gold sent to his Mistresse, na­med Mary.

THe Sunne doth make the Marigolde to flowrish,
The Sunnes departure makes it droupe againe,
So golden Maries sight, my ioyes doe nourish,
But by her absence all my ioyes are slaine.
The Sun, the Marigold makes liue and die,
By her the Sun-shines brighter, so may I.
Her smiles doe glad the Sunne, and light the ayre,
Reuiue my heart, and cleare the cloudy skie.
Her frownes the ayre make darke the Sunne to lowre.
The Marigold to close, my heart to die,
By her the Sun, the flowre, the ayre, and I,
Shine and darken, spread, and close, liue and die,
You are the Sunne, you are the golden Mary,
Passing the Sunne in brightnesse, gold in powre:
[Page 118]I am the flowre whom you doe make to vary.
Flowrish when you smile, droupe when you doe lowre.
Oh let this heart of gold, Sunn, and flowre,
Still liue, shine, and spring in your hearts bowre.
Cha. Best.

A Sonnet of the Moone.

LOoke how the pale Queene of the silent night,
Doth cause the Ocean to attend vpon her,
And he as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour:
But when the siluer wagon of the Moone
Is mounted vp so high he cannot follow,
The sea cals home his crystall waues to moue,
And with low ebbe doth manifest his sorrow:
So you that are the soueraigne of my heart,
Haue all my ioyes attending on your will,
My ioyes low ebbing when you doe depart.
When you returne, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come, and as you doe depart
Ioyes ebbe and flow within my tender heart.
Cha. Best.

Three Sonnets for a Proeme to the Poems following.

That loue onely made him a Poet, and that all sorts of verses, both in rime and measure, agree with his Lady.

Sonnet 1.

SOme men they say, are Poets borne by kind,
And sucke that Science from their mothers breast▪
An easie art that comes with so great rest,
And happy men to so good hap assignde.
In some desire of praise enflames the minde,
To clime with paine Parnassus double crest:
Some hope of rich rewardes hath so possest.
That gold in Castell sands, they seeke to find.
Me, neither nature hath a Poet made,
Nor loue of glory mou'de to learne the trade,
[Page 119]Nor thirst of golde perswaded me to write:
For Natures graces are too fine for me,
Praise like the Peacock prides her selfe to see,
Desire of gaine the basest mindes delight.

Sonnet 2.

WHat mou'de me then? say Loue, for thou canst tell:
Of thee [...] learn'd this skill, if skill I haue.
Thou knowest the Muse, whose helpe I alwaies craue,
Is none of those that on Parnassus dwell.
My muse is such as doth them all excell,
They all to her alone their cunning gaue,
To sing, to dance, to play, to make so braue:
Thrice threefolde graces her alone befell.
From her doe flow the streames that water me,
Here is the praise, if I a Poet be▪
Her onely looke both will and skill doth giue.
What maruell then if I those lawes refuse,
Which other Poets in their making vse,
Since by her looks I write, by which I liue?

Sonnet 3.

THus am I free from lawes that other binde,
Who diuers verse to diuers matter frame,
All kinde of Stiles doe serue my Ladies name,
What they in all the world, in her I finde.
The lofty verse doth shew her noble minde,
By which she quencheth loues enraged flame:
Sweet Liricks sing her heauenly beauties fame,
The tender Elege speakes her pitty kinde,
In mournefull Tragicke verse for her I die,
In Comicke she reuiues me with her eye,
All serue my Goddesse both for mirth and mone,
Each looke she casts doth breed both peace and strife,
Each word she speakes doth cause both death and life,
Out of my selfe I liue in her alone.

ODE.

Where his Lady keepes his heart.

SVVeet Loue, mine onely treasure,
For seruice long vnfained,
VVherein I nought haue gained,
Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
To tell me in what part,
My Lady keepes my heart.
If in her haire so slender,
Like golden nets vntwined,
VVhich fire and art haue fined,
Her thrall my heart I render,
For euer to abide
VVith locks so dainty tide.
If in her eyes she binde it,
VVherein that fire was framed,
By which it is inflamed,
I dare not looke to finde it:
I onely wish it sight,
To see that pleasant light.
But if her breast haue dained
With kindnesse to receiue it,
I am content to leaue it,
Though death thereby were gained.
Then Lady take your owne,
That liues for you alone.

To her eyes.

FAine would I learne of thee thou murth'ring Eye,
Whether thy glance be fire, or else a dart:
For with thy looke in flames thou mak'st the frie,
And with the same thou strik'st me to the hart.
Pierst with thy lookes I burne in fire,
And yet those lookes I still desire.
The Flie that buzzeth round about the flame
Knowes not (pooresoule) she gets her death thereby,
I see my death, and seeing seeke the same,
And seeking, finde, and finding, chuse to die.
That when thy lookes my life haue slaine,
Thy lookes may giue me life againe.
Turne then to me those sparkling Eyes of thine,
And with their fiery glances pierce my hart.
Quench not my light, least I in darkenesse pine,
Strike deepe and spare not, pleasant is the smart.
So by thy lookes my life be spilt,
Kill me as often as thou wilt.

ODE 2.

The more fauour hee obtaines, the more he desires.

AS soone may water wipe me dry,
And fire my heate allay,
As you with fauour of your eye,
Make hot desire decay.
The more I haue,
The more I craue:
The more I craue, the more desire,
As piles of wood encrease the fire,
The senselesse stone that from one hie
Descends to Earth below,
With greater hast it selfe doth ply,
The lesse it hath to goe.
So feeles desire
Encrease of fire,
That still with greater force doth burne,
Till all into it selfe it turne.
The greater fauour you bestow,
[Page 122]The sweeter my delight:
And by delight desire doth grow,
And growing gathers might.
The lesse remaines,
The more my paines,
To see my selfe so neare the brinke,
And yet my fill I cannot drinke.

Loue the onely price of loue.

THe fairest Pearles that Northerne Seas do breed,
For precious stones from easterne coasts are sold.
Nought yeelds the earth that from exchange is freed,
Gold values all, and all things value Gold.
Where goodnesse wants an equall change to make,
There greatnesse serues, or number place doth take.
No mortall thing can beare so high a price,
But that with mortall thing it may be bought,
The corne of Sicill buies the Westerne spice,
French wine of vs, of them our cloth is sought.
No pearles, no gold, no stones, no corne no spice.
No cloth, no wine, of loue can pay the price.
What thing is loue, which nought can counteruaile?
Nought saue it selfe, eu'n such a thing is loue.
All worldly wealth in worth as far doth faile,
As lowest earth doth yeeld to heau'n aboue.
Diuine is loue, and scorneth worldly pelfe,
And can be bought with nothing, but with selfe.
Such is the price my louing heart would pay,
Such is the pay thy loue doth claime as due.
Thy due is loue, which I (poore I) assay,
In vaine assay to quite with friendship true:
True is my loue, and true shall euer be,
And truest loue is farre too base for thee.
Loue but thy selfe, and loue thy selfe alone,
For saue thy selfe, none can thy loue require:
[Page 123]All mine thou hast, but all as good as none,
My small desart must take a lower flight.
Yet if thou wilt vouchsafe my heart such blisse,
Accept it for thy prisoner as it is.

His heart arraigned of theft, and acquitted.

MY heart was found within my Ladies brest,
Close coucht for feare that no man might him see,
On whom suspect did serue a straight arrest,
And Felon-like he must arraigned be.
What could he meane so closely there to stay,
But by deceit to steale her heart away?
The bench was set, the Prisoner forth was brought,
My Mistresse selfe chiefe Iudge to heare the cause:
Th'end [...]tement read, by which his bloud was sought,
That he (poore heart) by stealth had broke the lawes:
His Plea was such as each man might descrie,
For grace and truth were read in neither eye.
Yet forc'd to speake, his farther Plea was this,
That sore pursu'de by me that sought his bloud,
Because so oft his presence I did misse,
Whilst as he said, he [...] bour'd for my good▪
He void of helpe to haue his harmes redrest,
Tooke sanctuary in her sacred brest.
The gentle Iudge that saw his true intent,
And that his cause did touch her honour neere,
Since he from me to her for succour went:
That ruth migh raigne, where rigour did appeare,
Gaue sentence thus: that if he there would bide,
That place was made, a guiltlesse heart to hide.

MADRIGAL I.

THine eyes so bright
Bereft my sight,
When first I viewed thy face.
So now my light
Is turnd to night,
[Page 124]I stray from place to place.
Then guide me of thy kindnesse,
So shall I blesse my blindnesse.

Phaleuciak I.

TIme nor place did I want, what held me tongtide?
What charmes, what magicall abused Altars?
Wherefore wisht I so oft that houre vnhappy,
When with freedome I might recount my torments,
And plead for remedy by true lamenting
Dumbe▪ nay dead in a trance I stood amazed,
When those lookes I beheld that late I long'd for:
No speech, no memory, no life remained,
Now speech prat [...]th apace, my griefe bewraying,
Now bootlesse memory my plaints remembreth,
Now life moueth againe, but all auailes not.
Speech, life and memory die altogether,
With speech, life, memory, loue onely dies not.

Deadly Sweetnesse.

SWeete thoughts, the foode on which I feeding sterue,
Sweete teares, the drinke that more augmēts my thirst,
Sweete eyes the stars by which my course doth swerue,
Sweete hope, my death▪ which wast my life at first.
Sweete thoughts, sweetteares, sweet hope, sweet eyes,
How chance that death in sweetnesse lies?

Madrigall II.

Verball loue.

IF loue be made of words, as woods of trees,
Who more belou'd then I?
If loue be hot where true desire doth freeze,
Who more then she doth frie?
Are droanes that make no hony counted Bees?
Is running water drie?
[Page 125]Is that a gainefull trade that has no fees?
He liue, that dead doth lie▪
What else but blinde is he, that nothing sees,
But deafe that heares no cry▪
Such is her vowed loue to me,
Yet must I thinke it true to be.

Ladies eyes, serue Cupid both for Darts and Fire.

OFt haue I mus'd the cause to finde,
Why loue in Ladies eyes doth dwell:
I thought, because himselfe was blinde,
He lookt that they should guide him well.
And sure his hope but seldome failes,
For loue by Ladies eyes preuailes.
But time, at last, hath taught me wit.
Although I bought my wit full deere,
For by her eyes my heart is hit,
Deepe is the wound, though none appeare,
Their glancing beames as darts he throwes,
And sure he hath no shafts but those.
I mus'de to see their eyes so bright,
And little thought they had beene fire,
I gazde vpon them with delight,
But that delight hath bred desire.
What better place can loue require,
Than that where grow both shafts and fire?

Loues Contrarieties.

I Smile sometimes amids my greatest griefe,
Not for delight, for that longsince is fled,
Despaire did shut the gate against reliefe,
When loue at first, of death the sentence read.
But yet I smile sometimes in midst of paine,
To thinke what toyes doe tosse my troubled head
How most I wish, that most I should refraine,
[Page 126]And seekethe thing that least I long to sinde,
And finde the wound by which my heart is slaine,
Yet want both skill and will to ease my minde.
Against my will I burne with free consent,
I liue in paine, and in my paine delight,
I crie for death, yet am to liue content,
I hate the day yet neuer wi [...]h for night,
I freeze for cold, and yet refraine the fire:
I long to see, and yet I shunne her sight,
I scald in Sunne, and yet no shade desire,
I liue by death, and yet I wish to die,
I feele no hurt, and yet for helpe enquire,
I die by life, and yet my life defie.
‘Heu, cogor votinescius esse mei.’

ODE III.

Desire and hope.

DEsire and Hope haue mou'd my minde,
To seeke for that I cannot finde,
Assured faith in woman-kinde,
And loue with loue rewarded:
Selfe-loue, all but himselfe disdaines,
Suspect as chiefest vertue raignes,
Desire of change vnchang'd remaines.
So light is loue regarded.
True friendship is a naked name,
That idle braines in pastime frame,
Extremes are alwaies worthy blame,
Enough is common kindnesse.
What flouds of teares do louers spend?
What sighes from out their hearts [...]hey send?
How many may, and will not mend?
Loue is a wilfull blindnesse.
What is the loue they so desire?
Like loue for loue, and equall fire:
Good louing wormes, which loue require,
And know not when they haue it.
Is loue in words? faire words may faine.
Is loue in lookes? sweet lookes are vaine.
Both these in common kindnesse raigne,
Yet few or none so craue it.
Thou wouldst be lou'd, and that of one,
For vice? thou maist seeke loue of none,
For vertue? why of her alone?
I say no more, speake you that know the truth,
If so great loue be aught but feare of youth,

ELEGIE. III.

Her praise is in her want.

SHe onely is the pride of Natures skill▪
In none but her, all graces friendly meet.
In all saue her, may Cupid haue his will,
By none but her, is fancie vnder feet.
Most strange of all her praise is in her want,
Her heart that should be flesh, is Adamant.
‘Laudo quod lugeo.’

Her outward gesture deceiuing his inward hope.

SMooth are thy lookes, so is thy deepest streame,
Soft are thy lips, so is the swallowing sand.
Faire is thy sight, but like vnto a dreame,
Sweet is thy promise, but it will not stand.
Smoth, soft, faire, sweet, to them that lightly touch.
Rough, hard, foule, soure to them that take too much,
Thy lookes so smooth haue drawne away my sight,
Who would haue though that hookes could so be hid?
Thy lips so soft haue fretted my delight,
Before I once suspected what they did.
Thy face so faire hath burnt me with desire,
Thy words so sweet were bellowes for the fire.
And yet I loue the lookes that made me blinde,
And like to kisse the lips that fret my life,
In heate of fire an ease of heate I finde,
And greatest p [...]ace in midst of greatest strife.
That if my choice were now to make againe,
I would not haue this ioy without this paine,

Phaleuciacke II.

HOw, or where haue I lost my selfe▪ vnhappy!
Dead, nor liue am I neither, and yet am both.
Through despaire am I dead, by hope reuiued,
Weeping wake I the night from euen to morning
Sighing waste I the day from morne to euening.
Teares are drink to my thirst, by teares I thirst more
Sighes are meate that I eate, I hunger eating,
Might I, O that I might refraine my feeding,
Soone would ease to my heart by death be purchast.
Life and light▪ do I lacke, when I behold not
Those bright beames of her eyes, Apollo darkning:
Life and light do I lose when I behold them,
All as Snow by the Sun resolu'd to water.
Death and life I receiue her eyes beholding,
Death and life I refuse not in beholding,
So that, dead or aliue I may behold them.

Lenuoy in riming Phaleuciacks.

MVse not, Ladie, to reade so strange a Meeter,
Strange griefe, strange remedie for ease requireth
When sweete ioy did abound, I writ the sweeter,
Now that weareth away, my Muse retireth.
In you lies it alone to cure my sadnesse,
And therewith to reuiue my heart with gladnesse.

Sonnet IIII.

Desire hath conquered reuenge.

WRong'd by desire I yeelded to disdaine,
Who cal'd reueng to worke my spite thereby.
[Page 129] [...]ash was Reuenge and sware, Desire should die,
No price nor praier his pardon might obtaine.
Downe to my heart in rage he hastes amaine.
And stops each passage, lest Desire should flie:
Within my eares disdainsull words did lie,
Proud looks did keepe mine eies with scornful traine
Disire that earst but flickred in my brest,
And wanton-like now prickt, now gaue me rest,
For feare of death sunke deeper in my heart.
There raignes he now, and there will raigne alone
Desire is iealous, and giues part to none,
Nor he from me, nor I from him can start.

That he is vnchangeable.

THe loue of chāge hath chang'd the world throughout
And nought is counted good, but what is strange,
New things waxe olde, olde new, all turne about,
And all things change, except the loue of change.
Yet feele I not this loue of change in me,
But as I am, so will I alwaies be.
For who can change that likes his former choise
Who better wish, that knowes he hath the best?
How can the heart in things vnknowne reioyce,
If ioy well tride can bring no certaine rest?
My choice is made, change he that list for me,
Such as I am, so will I alwaies be.
Who euer chang'd and not confest his want?
And who confest his want and not his woe▪
Then change who list, thy woe shall not be scant
Within thy selfe thou feedst thy mortall foe.
Change cals for change, no end, no ease for thee,
Then as I am, so will I alwaie [...] be.
Mine eies confesse they haue their wished sight,
My heart affirmes it feeles the loue it sought.
Mine inward thoughts are fed with true delight,
Which full consent of constant ioy hath wrought.
And full consent desires no change to see,
Then as I am so will I alwaies bee.
Rest then (my heart) and keepe thine old delight,
Which like the Phoenix waxeth yong each day,
Each houre presents new pleasure to my sight,
More cause of ioy encreaseth eu'ry way.
True loue with age doth daily cleerer see,
Then as I am, so will I alwaies bee.
What gain'd faire Cresside by her faithlesse change,
But losse of time, of beauty, health, and life?
Marke Iasons hap, that euer lou'd to range,
That lost his children, and his princely wife.
Then change farewell, thou art no mate for me,
But as I am, so will I alwaies be.

Iamais aultre.

To his eyes.

VNhappy eyes the causers of my paine,
That to my foe betraid my strongest hold,
Wherein he like a tyrant now doth raigne
And boasts of winning that which treason sold.
Too late you call for helpe of me in vaine,
Whom loue hath bound in chaines of massie gold
The teares you shed increase my hote desire,
As water on the Smithie kindles fire.
The sighs that from my heart ascend,
Like winde disperse the flame throughout my brest,
No part is left to harbour quiet rest,
I burne in fire and do not spend:
Like him, whose growing maw,
The vulture still doth gnaw.

ODE IIII.

Vpon visiting his Lady by Moone-light.

THe night say all, was made to rest,
And so say I, but not for all:
To them the darkest nights are best,
Which giue them leaue asleepe to fall▪
[Page 131]But I that seeke my rest by light
Hate sleepe, and praise the cleerest night.
Bright was the Moone, as bright as day,
And Venus glistred in the West,
Whose light did leade the readie way,
That brought me to my wished rest:
Then each of them encreast their light,
While I enioy'd her heauenly sight.
Say, gentle Dames, what mou'd your minde
To shine so bright aboue your wont:
Would Phoebe faire Endimion finde?
Would Venus see Adonis hunt?
No no, you feared by her sight,
To lose the praise of beauty bright.
At last, for shame you shrunke away,
And thought to reaue the world of light:
Then shone my Dame with brighter ray,
Then that which comes from Phoebus sight▪
None other light but hers I praise,
Whose nights are cleerer then the daies.

Vpon her absence.

THe sommer Sun that scalds the ground with heat,
And burnes the grasse, and dries the riuers source,
With milder beames, the farthest earth doth beate,
When through the frozen Goat he runs his course.
The fire that burnes what euer comes to hand,
Doth hardly heate that farthest off doth stand.
Not so, the heate that sets my heart on fire,
By distance, slakes, and lets me coole againe:
But still, the farther off the more desire,
The absent fire doth burne with hotter pain [...]
My Ladies presence burnt me with desire,
Her absence turnes me into flaming fire.
Who so hath seene the flame that burneth bright,
By outward cold in narrow roome supprest,
Encrease in heat, and rage with greater might,
May gesse what force of fire torments my brest:
So run the swelling streames with double force,
Where looks or piles are set to stay their course.
For when my heart perceiu'd her parting neere,
By whose sweet sight he liues that else should die,
It clos'd it selfe to keepe those beames so cleere,
VVhich from her looke had pierst it through the eye.
The fiery beames which would breake out so faine
By seeking vent, encrease my burning paine,
But if my deere returne aliue and sound.
That these mine eies may see her beauty bright,
My heart shall spread with ioy that shall abound,
And open wide, receiuing cleerer light.
She shall recouer that which I possesse,
And I thereby enioy no whit the lesse.

ODE V.

Petition to haue her leaue to die.

WHen will the fountaine of my teares be drie?
VVhen will my sighs be spent?
VVhen will desire agree to let me die?
VVhen will my heart relent?
It is not for my life I pleade,
Since death the way to rest doth leade,
But stay for thy consent,
Lest thou be discontent.
For if my selfe without thy leaue I kill,
My Ghost will neuer rest:
So hath it sworne to worke thine onely will,
And holds that euer best.
For since it onely liues by thee,
Good reason thou the ruler bee.
Then giue me leaue to die,
And shew thy power thereby.

The Louer absence kils me, her presence cures me.

THe frozen Snake opprest with heaped snow
By strugling hard gets out her tender head,
And spies far off from where she lies below
The winter Sun that from the North is fled.
But all in vaine she lookes vpon the light,
VVhere heate is wanting to restore her might.
VVhat doth it helpe a wretch in prison pent,
Long time with biting hunger ouer-prest,
To see without, or smell within the sent,
Of dainty fare for others tables drest,
Yet Snake and pris [...]ner both behold the thing,
The which (but not with sight) might comfort bring.
Such is my state, or worse if worse may bee,
My heart opprest with heauie frost of care,
Debar'd of that which is most deere to mee,
Kild vp with cold, and pinde with euill fare,
And yet I see the thing might yeeld reliefe,
And yet the sight doth breed my greater grefe.
So This be saw her louer through the wall,
And saw thereby she wanted that she saw:
And so I see, and seeing want withall,
And wanting so, vnto my death I draw.
And so my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this verse my hated life might end.

ODE VI.

The kind louers complaint in finding nothing but folly for his faithfulnesse.

IF my decay be your encrease,
If my distresse be your delight,
If warre in mee procure you peace,
If wrong to mee, to you be right.
I would decay, distresse warre, wrong,
Might end the life that ends so long.
Yet if by my decay you grow,
When I am spent your growth is past:
If from my griefe your ioy do flow,
VVhen my griefe ends, your ioy flies fast:
Then for your sake, though to my paine,
I striue to liue, to die fullfaine.
For if I die, my warre must cease,
Then can I suffer wrong no more:
My warre once done, farewell your peace,
My wrong, your right doth still restore:
Thus, for your right I suffer wrong,
And for your peace, my warre prolong.
But since no thing can long indure,
That sometime hath not needfull rest,
VVhat can my life your ioy assure,
If still I waile with griefe opprest?
The strongest stomacke faints at last,
For want of ease and due repast▪
My restlesse sighes breake out so fast,
That time to breath they quite denie:
Mine eyes so many teares haue cast,
That now the springs themselues are drie.
Then grant some little ease from paine,
Vntill the spring be full againe.
The Gyant whom the Vulture gnawes,
Vntill his heart be growne, hath peace:
And Sisyphus by hellish lawes,
VVhilst that the stoue [...]oules downe, doth cease▪
But all in vaine I striue for rest,
VVhich breeds more sorrow in my brest.
Let my decay be your encrease,
Let my distresse be your delight:
Let warre in me procure your peace,
Let wrong in me to you be right:
That by my griefe your ioy may liue,
Vouchsafe some little rest to giue.

ODE VII.

Vnhappy eyes.

CLose your lids, vnhappy eyes,
From the sight of such a change:
Loue hath learned to despise,
Selfe-conceit hath made him strange:
Inward now his sight he turneth,
With himselfe in loue he burneth.
If abroad he beautie spie,
As by chance he lookes abroad,
Or it is wrought by his eye,
Or forc'd out by Painters fraud:
Saue himselfe none faire, he deemeth,
That himselfe too much esteemeth.
Coy disdaine hath kindnesse place,
Kindnesse forc'de to hide his head:
True desire is counted base,
Hope with hope is hardly fed:
Loue is thought a furie needlesse,
He that hath it, shall die speedlesse.
Then mine eyes why gaze you so [...]
Beauty scornes the teares you shed,
Death you seeke to end my woe,
O that you of death were sped:
But with loue hath death conspired,
To kil none whom loue hath fired.

Cupid shoots light, but wounds sort.

CVpid at length I spie thy craftie wile,
Though for a time thou didst me sort beguile,
When first thy shaft did wound my tender heart,
It toucht me light, me thought I felt some paine:
Some little pricke at first did make me smart,
But yet that griefe was quickly gone againe.
Full small account I made of such a sore,
As now doth ranckle inward more and more.
So poyson first the sinewes lightly straines,
Then straies, and after spreads through all the vaines,
No otherwise, then he, that prickt with thorne,
Starts at the first, and feeles no other griefe,
As one whose heart so little hurt did scorne,
And deigned not to seeke despis'd reliefe:
At last, when rest doth after trauell come,
That little pricke the ioynt with paine doth numme.
VVhat may I thinke the cause of this thy craft,
That at the first thou stick'st not deepe thy shaft:
If at the first, I had thy stroke espi'de,
(Alas I thought thou wouldst not dally so)
To keepe my selfe alwaies I would haue tride,
At least, I thinke I might haue cur'd my woe,
Yet, truth to say, I did suspect no lesse,
And knew it too, at least, I so did gesse.
I saw, and yet would willingly be blind,
I felt the sting, yet flatt'red stil my mind,
And now too late I know my former guilt,
And seeke in vaine to heale my curelesse sore.
My life, I doubt, my health I know is spilt,
A iust reward for dallying so before:
For I that would not when I might haue ease,
No matuell though I cannot when I please.
‘Clipeum post vulnera.’

A true description of loue, Paraphrastically▪ translated out of Petrarkes 103 Sonnet, beginning,

S' Amor non è, che dunque è quel ch'io sento.

IF loue be nothing but an idle name,
A vaine deuise of foolish Poets skill:
A faine de [...]re, deuoid of smoake and flame,
[Page 137]Then what is that which me tormenteth still
If such a thing as loue indeed there be,
What kind of thing, or which, or where is he?
If it be good, how causeth it such paine,
How doth it breed such griefe within my brest?
If nought how chance the griefe that I sustaine,
Doth seeme so sweet amidst my great vnrest?
For sure me thinks it is a wondrous thing,
That so great paine should so great pleasure bring.
If with my will amidst these flames I frie,
VVhence come these teares? how chance I thus cōplain?
If force perforce I be are this misery,
VVhat helpe these teares that cannot ease my paine?
How can this fancy beare such sway in me,
But if my selfe consent, that so it be?
And if my selfe consent▪ that so it be,
Vniust I am thus to complaine and crie,
To looke that other men should succour me,
Since by my fault I feele such misery.
VVho will not helpe himselfe when well he can,
Deserues small helpe of any other man.
Thus am I tost vpon the troublous Seas,
By sundry winds, whose blasts blow sundry waies:
And eu'ry blast still driuing where it please,
Brings hope and feare to end my lingring daies,
The Steers man gone, saile, helme, and tackle lost,
How can I hope to gaine the wished coast?
VVisedome and folly is the lucklesse fraught,
My ship therewith ballast vnequally:
VVisedome too light, folly of too great waight,
My barke and I, through them in ieopardy:
Thus, in the midst of this perplexity,
I wish for death, and yet am loath to die.

Faire Face, and hard Heart.

FAire is thy face, and that thou knowest too well,
Hard is thy heart, and that thou wilt not know:
Thou fear'st and smil'st, when I thy praises tell,
But stop'st thine eares when I my griefe would show.
Yet though in vaine, needs must I speake,
Or else my swelling heart would breake.
And when I speake, my breath doth blow the fire,
With which my burning heart consumes away:
I call vpon thy name, and helpe require,
Thy deerest name which doth me still betray:
For grace, sweet grace thy name doth sound,
Yet ah! in thee no grace is found.
Alas, to what part shall I then appeale?
Thy face so faire disdaines to looke on mee,
Thy tongue commands my heart his griefe conceale,
Thy nimble feete from me do alwaies flee.
Thine eyes cast fire to burne my heart,
And thou reioycest in my [...]mart.
Then, since thou seest the life I leade in paine,
And that for thee I suffer all this griefe,
O let my heart this small request obtaine,
That thou agree it pine without reliefe!
I aske not loue for my good will,
But leaue, that I may loue thee still.

Quid minus optari per mea vota potest?

ODE VIII.

Disdaine at variance with desire.

DIsdaine that so doth fill me,
Hath surely sworne to kill me,
And I must die,
Desire that still doth burne me,
To life againe will turne me,
[Page 139]And liue must I.
O kill me then disdaine!
That I may liue againe.
Thy lookes are life vnto me,
And yet those lookes vndoe me,
O death and life!
Thy smile some rest doth shew me,
Thy frowne with war o'rethrow me,
O peace and strife!
Nor life nor death is either,
Then giue me both, or neither.
Life onely cannot please me,
Death onely cannot ease me,
Change is delight.
I liue that death may kill me,
I die that life may fill me,
Both day and night.
If once despaire decay,
Desire will weare away.

An Inuectiue against Loue.

ALl is not gold that shineth bright in show,
Not euery flowre so good, as faire, to sight,
The deepest streames, aboue doe calmest flow,
And strongest poysons oft the tast delight,
The pleasant baite doth hide the harmelesse hooke,
And false deceit can lend a friendly looke.
Loue is the gold whose outward hew doth passe,
Whose first beginnings goodly promise make,
Of pleasures faire and fresh as Sommers grasse,
Which neither Sunne can parch, nor winde can shake:
But when the mould should in the fire be tride,
The gold is gone, the drosse doth still abide.
Beauty the flowre, so fresh, so faire, so gay,
So sweete to smell, so soft to touch and tast:
As seemes it should endure, by right, for aye,
And neuer be with any storme defast,
But when the balefull Southerne winde doth blow,
Gone is the glory which it erst did shew.
Lo [...]e is the streame, whose wa [...]es so calmely flow
As might intice mens minds to wade therein:
Loue is the poison mixt with sugar so,
As might by outward sweetenesse liking win,
But as the deepe o're flowing stops thy breath,
So poyson once receiu'd brings certaine death.
Loue is the baite, whose tast the fish deceiues,
And makes them swallow downe the choking hooke,
Loue is the face whose fairenesse iudgement reaues,
And makes thee trust a false and fained looke.
But as the hooke the foolish fish doth kill,
So flatt'ring lookes, the louers life doe spill.

Vsque adeo dulce puella malum est.

Vpon an Heroical Poeme which he had begun (in Imi­tation of Virgil,) of the first inhabiting this famous Ile by Brute, and the Troyans.

MY wanton Muse that whilome wont to sing,
Faire Beauties praise and Venus sweet delight,
Of late had chang'd the tenor of her string,
To higher tunes then serue for Cupids fight.
Shrill Trumpets sound, sharpe swords & Lances strong,
Warre, bloud, and death, were matter of her song.
The God of loue by chance had heard thereof,
That I was prou'd a rebell to his crowne,
Fit words for war, quoth he, with angry scoffe,
A likely man to write of Mars his frowne.
[Page 141]Well are they sped whose praises he shall write▪
Whose wanton Pen can nought but loue indite.
This saide, he whiskt his parti colour'd wings,
And downe to earth he comes more swift then thought,
Then to my heart in angry hast he flings.
To see what change these newes of warres had wrought:
He pries, and lookes, he ransacks eu'ry vaine,
Yet finds he nought, saue loue and louers paine.
Then I that now perceiu'd his needlesse feare,
With heauy smile began to plead my cause:
In vaine (quoth I) this endlesse griefe I beare,
In vaine I striue to keepe thy grieuous Lawes,
If after proofe, so often trusty found,
Vniust Suspect condemne me as vnsound.
Is this the guerdon of my faithfull hart?
Is this the hope on which my life is staide?
Is this the ease of neuer-ceasing smart?
Is this the price that for my paines is paide?
Yet better serue fierce Mars in bloudy field,
Where death, or conquest, end or ioy doth yeeld.
Long haue I seru'd, what is my pay but paine?
Oft haue I sude, what gaine I but delay?
My faithfull loue is quited with disdaine,
My griefe a game, my pen is made a play.
Yea loue that doth in other fauour find,
In me is counted madnesse out of kind.
And last of all, but grieuous most of all,
Thy selfe, sweete loue, hath kild me with suspect:
Could loue beleeue, that I from loue would fall?
Is warre of force to make me loue neglect:
No, Cupid knowes, my minde is faster set,
Then that by warre I should my loue forget.
My muse indeede to war inclines her mind.
The famous acts of worthy Brute to write:
To whom the Gods this Ilands rule assignde,
Which long he sought by Seas through Neptunes spight,
With such conceits my busie head doth swell.
But in my heart nought else but loue doth dwell.
And in this war thy part is not the least,
Here shall my muse Brutes noble Loue declare:
Here shalt thou see thy double loue increast,
Offairest twins that euer Lady bare:
Let Mars triumph in armour shining bright,
His conquerd armes shall be thy triumphs light.
As he the world, so thou shalt him subdue,
And I thy glory through the world will ring,
So by my paines, thou wilt vouchsafe to rue,
And kill despaire. With that he whisk'this wing,
And bad me write, and promist wished rest,
But sore I feare false hope will be the best.

Vpon his Ladies buying strings for her Lute.

IN happy time the wished faire is come,
To fit my Lute with strings of eu'ry kinde,
Great pitty 'tis, so sweet a Lu [...]e be dumme,
That so can please the eare, and ease the minde.
Go take thy choise, and chuse the very best,
And vse them so, that head and heart find rest.
Rest thou in ioy, and let me waile alone,
My pleasant daies haue tane their last farewell:
My heartstrings sorrow strooke so long with mone,
That at the last they all in peeces fell▪
And now they lie in peeces broke so small,
That scarce they serue to make me frets withall.
And yet they serue and binde my heart so straite,
That frets indeed they serue to fret it out:
No force for that, in hope thereof I waite,
That death may rid me both of hope and doubt.
But death, alas, drawes backward all too long,
And I each day feele now increase of wrong.

Care will not let him liue, nor hope let him die.

MY heauy heart with griefe and hope torment,
Beates all in vaine against my weary breast,
As if it thought with force to make a vent,
That death might enter to procure my rest.
But foolish heart, thy paines are lost I see,
For death and life both flie and follow thee.
When weight of care would presse me down with paine,
That I might sinke to depth of death below,
Hope lends me wing▪ and lifts me vp againe,
To striue for life and liue in greater woe.
So fares the Bote, which windes driue to the shore,
And tides driues backward where it was before.
Thus neither hope will let me die with care,
Nor Care consent that hope assure my life:
I seeke for life, death doth his stroke prepare,
I come to death, and life renewes my strife.
All as the shadow, followes them that flie
And flies from them that after it doe hie.
What is my hope? that hope will faile at last,
And griefe get strength to worke his will on me▪
Either the Waxe with which hopes wings are fast,
By scalding sighes mine eies shall melted see.
Or else my teares shall wet the feathers so,
That I shall fall and drowne in waues of woe.

ODE 9

Cupids Marriage with dissimu­lation.

A New-found match is made of late,
Blind Cupid needes will change his wife:
New-fangled Loue doth Psyche hate.
With whom so long he led his life.
Dissembling, she
The bride must be,
To please his wanton eye.
Psyche laments
That loue repents,
His choice without cause why.
Cytheron sounds with musicke strange,
Vnknowne vnto the Virgins nine:
From flat to sharpe the Tune doth range,
Too base, because it is too fine.
See how the bride
Puft vp with pride,
Can mince it passing well:
She trips on toe,
Full faire to shew,
Within doth poyson dwell.
Now wanton Loue at last is sped,
Dissembling is his onely ioy,
Bare Truth from Venus Court is fled,
Dissembling pleasures hides annoy.
It were in vaine
To talke of paine,
The wedding yet doth last,
But paine is neere,
And will appeare,
With a dissembling cast.
Despaire and hope are ioyn'd in one,
And paine with pleasure linked sure,
[Page 145]Not one of these can come alone,
No certaine hope, no pleasure pure.
Thus sowre and sweete
In loue doe meete,
Dissembling likes it so,
Of sweet small store,
Of sowre the more,
Loue is a pleasant woe.

Amor & mellis & fellis.

ODE 10.

Dispraise of Loue, and Louers follies.

IF Loue be life, I long to die,
Liue they that list for me:
And he that gaines the most thereby,
A foole, at least shall be.
But he that feeles the sorest fits,
Scapes with no lesse then losse of wit [...]
vnhappy life they gaine,
Which loue doe entertaine.
In day by fained lookes they liue,
By lying dreames in night,
Each frowne a deadly wound doth giue,
Each smile a false delight.
Ifthap their Lady pleasant seeme,
It is for others loue they deeme:
If voide she seeme of ioy,
Disdaine doth make her coy.
Such is the peace that louers finde,
Such is the life they leade.
Blowne here and there with euery winde
Like flowers in the mead.
[Page 146]Now war, now peace, now war againe,
Desire, despaire, delight, disdaine,
Though dead in midst of life,
In peace, and yet at strife.

In amore haec insunt mala.

In praise of the Sunne.

THe Golden Sunne that brings the day;
And lends men light [...]o see with all,
In vaine doth cast his beames away,
Where they are blind on whom they fall,
There is no force in all his light,
To giue the mole a perfect sight.
But thou my Sunne more bright then he,
That shines at noone in Summer tide.
Hast giuen me light and powre to see,
With perfect skill my sight to guide.
Till now I liu'd as blind as Mole,
That hides her head in earthly hole.
I heard the praise of beauties grace,
Yet deem'd it nought but Poets skill.
I gaz'd on many a louely face,
Yet found I none to bind my will.
Which made me thinke that beauty bright,
Was nothing else but red and white.
But now thy beames haue clear'd my [...]ight,
I blush to thinke I was so blinde.
Thy flaming eyes afford me light,
That beauties blaze each where I find.
And yet these Dames that shine so bright,
Are but the shadow of thy light.

ODE XI.

To his Muse.

REst, good my Muse, and giue me leaue to rest,
We striue in vaine.
Conceale thy skill within thy sacred brest,
Though to thy paine.
The honour great which Poets wont to haue,
With worthy deeds is buried deepe in graue.
Each man will hide his name,
Thereby to hide his shame,
And silence is the praise their vertues craue.
To praise, is flattery, malice to dispraise,
Hard is the choice,
What cause is left for thee, my Muse, to raise
Thy heau'nly voice?
Delight thy selfe on sweete Pernassus hill,
And for a better time reserue thy skill,
There let thy siluer sound,
From Cyrrha wood rebound,
And all the vale with learned Musicke fill.
Then shall those fooles that now preferre each rime,
Before thy skill,
With hand and foote in vaine assay to clime,
Thy sacred hill.
There shalt thou sit and skorne them with disdaine,
To see their fruitlesse labour all in vaine:
But they shall fret with spight,
To see thy glory bright,
And know themselues thereto cannot attaine.

Death in Loue.

MIne eies haue spent their teares, and now are drie,
My weary hand will guide my Pen no more.
My voice is hoarse, and can no longer crie,
[Page 148]My head hath left no new complaints in store,
My heart is ouerburd [...]ned so with paine,
That sence of griefe doth none therein remaine,
The teares you see distilling from mine eies,
My gentle Muse doth shed for this my griefe.
The plaints you heare are her incessant cries,
By which she cals in vaine for some reliefe.
She neuer parted since my griefe begun,
In her I liue, she dead, my life were done.
Then (louing Muse) depart, and let me die,
Some brauer youth will sue to thee for grace,
That may aduance thy glory to the skie,
And make thee scorne blinde Fortunes frowning face.
My heart and head that did th [...] entertaine,
Desire a [...]d Fortune with despite haue slaine.
My Ladie dares not lodge thee in her brest,
For feare, vnwares she let in loue with thee.
For well she thinkes some part in thee must rest,
Of that which so possest each part of me.
Then (good my Muse) flie backe to heau'n againe,
And let me die, to end this endlesse paine.

Breake heauie heart.

BReake heauie heart, and rid me of this paine,
This paine that still encreaseth day by day:
By day with sighes I spend my selfe in vaine:
In vaine by night with teares I waste away,
Away I wa [...]e with teares by night in vaine,
Teares, sighs by night, by day encrease this paine.
Mine eies no eies, but fountaines of my teares
My teares no teares, but flouds to moist my heart:
My heart no heart, but labour of my feares,
My feares no feares, but feelings of my smart.
My s [...]art, my feares, my heart, my teares, mine eies
Are blind, dride, spent, past, wasted with my cries.
And yet mine eies, though blind, see cause of griese,
And yet my teares, though dride, runne downe amaine:
And yet my heart, though spent, attends reliefe.
And yet my feares, though past, encrease my paine.
And yet I liue, and liuing feele more smart,
And smarting, crie in vaine breake, Beaui [...] heart▪

Desires gouernment.

WHere wit is ouer-ruld by will,
And will is led by fond desire,
There reason were as good be still,
As speaking, kindle greater fire.
For where desire doth beare the sway,
The heart must rule, the head obey.
What bootes the cunning Pilots skill,
To tell which way to shape their course▪
When he that steers will haue his will,
And driue them where he list perforce.
So reason shewes the truth in vaine,
Where fond desire as King doth raigne.

Loues properties.

TWixt heate and colde, t'wixt death and life,
I freeze and burne, I liue and die:
Which ioyntly worke in me such strife,
I liue in death, in cold I frie.
Nor hot, nor cold, nor liue, nor dead,
Neither, and both, this life I lead.
First burning heate sets all on fire,
Whereby I seeme in flames to frie:
Then cold despaire kils hot desire,
That drenched deepe, in death I lie.
Heate driues out cold, and keepes my life
Cold quencheth heate, no end of strife.
The lesse I hope to haue my will,
The more I feele desire encrease.
And as desire encreaseth still,
Despaire to quench it doth not cease.
So liue I as the Lampe whose light,
Oft comes, oft goes, now dim, now bright.

Liuing Death.

IF meanes be none to end my restlesse care,
Ifneeds I must o'rewhelm'd with sorrow lie:
What better way this sorrow to declare,
Then, that I dying liue, and cannot die?
If nought but losse I reape in stead of gaine,
If lasting paine do euery day encrease:
To thee (good Death) alas I must complaine,
Thou art of force to make my sorrow cease.
If thou, because I thee refusd sometime,
Now shut thine eares, and my request denie,
Still must I loue, and waile in wofull rime:
That dying still I am, and cannot die.

Spiro non viu [...].

The passionate prisoner.

YE walles that shut me vp from sight of men,
Inclosd wherein aliue I buried lie,
And thou sometime my bed, but now my den,
Where smothred vp, the light of Sunne I flie:
O shut your selues, each chinke and creuisse straine
That none but you may heare me thus complaine.
My hollow cries that beate thy stony side,
Vouchsafe to beate, b [...]t beate them backe againe,
That when my griefe hath speech to me denide,
Mine eares may heare the witnesse of my paine▪
As for my teares, whose streames must euer last,
My silent couch shall drinke them vp as fast.

Hopelesse desire soone withers and dies.

THough naked trees seeme dead to sight,
When Winter winde doth keenely blow,
Y [...]t if the roote maintaine her right,
The Spring their hidden life will show.
But if the roote be dead and drie,
No maruell though the branches die.
VVhile hope did liue within my brest,
No Winter storme could kill desire,
But now disdaine hath hope opprest,
Dead is the roote, dead is the spire.
Hope was the roote, and spire was loue,
No sap beneath, no life aboue.
And as we see the rootlesse stocke,
Retaine some sap, and spring a while
Yet quickly proue a life-lesse blocke,
Because the roote doth life beguile:
So liues desire which hope hath left,
As twilight shines when Sunne is rest.

ODE XII.

To his heart.

NAy, nay, thou striu'st [...]n vaine, my heart,
To mend thy misse:
Thou hast deseru'd to beare this smart,
And worse then this.
That wouldst thy selfe debase,
To serue in such a place.
Thou thoughts thy selfe too long at rest,
Such was thy pride.
Needs must thou seeke another brest
Wherein to bide.
Say now what hast thou found?
In fetters thou art bound.
What hath thy faithfull seruice won,
But high disdaine?
Broke is thy threede thy fancie spunne,
Thy labour vaine.
Falne art thou now with paine,
And canst not rise againe.
And canst thou looke for helpe of mee
In this distresse▪
I must confesse I pittie thee,
And can no lesse.
But beare a while thy paine,
For feare thou fall againe.
Learne by thy hurt to shunne the fire,
Play not withall▪
When climing thoughts high things aspire,
They seeke their fall.
Thou ween'st nought shone but gold,
So wast thou blind and bold.
Yet lie not for this disgrace,
But mount againe,
So that thou know the wished place,
Be worth thy paine.
Then though thou fall and die,
Yet neuer feare to flie.

Phaleuciacks. III.

WIsdome warns me to shun that once I sought for.
And in time to retire my hasty footsteps.
Wisedome sent from aboue, not earthly wisedome.
Long, too long haue I slept in ease vneasie,
On false worldly reliefe my trust reposing:
Health and wealth in a boat, no sterne nor ank [...]r.
(Bold and blind that I was) to Sea be-taking▪
Scarce from shore had I lancht, when all about me,
[Page 153]Waues like hils did rise, till helpe from heauen
Brought my Ship to the Port of late repentance.

O nauis, referent in mare te noui fluctus.

ODE XIII.

Adefiance to disdainfull loue.

NOw haue I learn'd with much adoe at last,
By true disdaine to kill desire,
This was the marke at which I shot so fast,
Vnto this height I did aspire.
Proud loue, now doe thy worst, and spare not,
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.
What hast thou left wherewith to moue my minde?
What life to quicken dead desire?
I count thy words and oathes as light as wind,
I feele no heate in all thy fire.
Go change thy bow, and get a stronger,
Go breake thy shafts, and buy thee longer.
In vaine thou bait [...]st thy hooke with beauties blaze,
In vaine thy wanton eyes allure.
These are but toyes, for them that loue to gaze,
I know what harme thy lookes procure:
Some strange conceit must be deuised,
Or thou and all thy skill despised.

Scilicet asserui iam me, fugique catena [...].

Being s [...]orned and disdained, be inueighs against his Lady.

SInce iust disdaine began to rise,
And crie reuenge for spitefull wrong:
What erst I praisde, I now despise,
And thinke my loue was all too long.
[Page 154]I tread in durt that scornfull pride,
Which in thy lookes I haue descride,
Thy beauty is a painted skin,
For fooles to see their faces in.
Thine eyes that some as stars esteeme,
From whence themselues, they say take light,
Like to the foolish fire I deeme,
That leades men to their death by night.
Thy words and oathes are light as winde,
And yet farre lighter is thy minde:
Thy friendship is a broken reede,
That failes thy friends in greatest neede.

Vitijs patientia victa est.

ODE 14.

The Tombe of dead Desire.

WHen Venus saw Desire must die,
Whom high disdaine,
Had iustly slaine,
For killing Truth with scornfull eye,
The earth she leaues and gets her to the skie:
Her golden haire she teares
Blacke weeds of woe she weares:
For helpe vnto her father doth she crie:
Who bids her stay a space
And hope for better grace.
To saue his life she hath no skill,
Whom should she pray,
What doe, or say,
But weepe for wanting of her will?
Meane time Desire hath tane his last farewell,
And in a Meddow faire,
To which the Nimphs repaire,
[Page 155]His breathlesse corps is laid with wormes to dwell:
So glory doth decay
When death takes life away.
When morning Starre had chasde the night,
The Queene of loue
Lookt from aboue,
To see the graue of her delight?
And as with heedfull eye she viewd the place,
She spide a flower vnknowne,
That on his graue was growne,
Instead of learned verse his Tombe to grace.
If you the name require,
Hearts-ease from dead desire.

An Altar and Sacrifice to dis­daine, for freeing him from loue.

My Muse by thee restor'd to life,
To thee Disdaine, this Altar reares,
Whereon she offers [...]uslesse strife,
Self-spending sighs, and bootlesse teares.
Long Sutes in vaine,
Hate for good will:
Still-dying paine,
Yet liuing still.
Selfe-louing pride,
Lookes coyly strange,
Will Reasons guide,
Desire of change.
And last of all,
Blinde Fancies fire,
False Beauties thrall,
That bindes desire.
All these I offer to Disdaine,
By whom I liue from fancie free:
With vow, that if I loue againe,
My life the sacrifice shall bee.

Vicimus & domitum pedibus calcamus amorem.

Certaine Poemes vpon diuerse Subiects by the same Author,

Three Odes translated out of Anacreon, the Greeke Lyricke Poet.

ODE I.

OF Atreus Sonnes faine would I write,
And faine of Cadmus would I sing:
My Lute is set on Loues delight,
And onely Loue sounds eu'ry string.
Of late my Lute I alt'red quite.
Both frets and strings for tunes aboue,
I sung of fierce Alcides might,
My Lute would sound no tune but Loue.
Wherefore ye worthies all farewell,
No tune but Loue my Lute can tell.

ODE II.

A comparison betwixt the strength of beasts, the wisedome of Man, and the beauty of a womans face.

THe Bull by nature hath his hornes,
The Horse his hooues to daunt their foes,
The light-foote Hare the hunter scornes,
The Lions teeth his strength disclose.
The Fi [...]h, by swimming, scapes the weele,
The Bird, by flight, the fowlers net,
With wisedome Man is arm'd as steele,
Poore women none of these can get.
What haue they then? faire beauties grace,
A two-edg'd Sword, [...]a trustie shield,
No force resists a louely face,
Both fire and sword to Beautie yeeld,

ODE III.

OF late, what time the Beare turnd roūd
At midnight in her wonted way,
And men of all sorts slept full sound,
O'recome with labour of the day:
The God of loue came to my dore,
And tooke the ring, and knocks it hard:
Whose there, quoth I, that knocks so sore,
You breake my sleep, my dreams are mar'd?
A little boy, forsooth quoth he,
Dung-wet with raine this Moonles night,
With that me thought it pittied me.
I op't the dore, and candle light.
And straight a little boy I spide,
A winged boy with shafts and bow,
I tooke him to the fire side,
And set him downe to warme him so.
His little hands in mine I straine,
To rub and warme them therewithall:
Out of his locks I crush the raine,
From which the drops apace downe fall.
At last, when he was waxen warme,
Now let me trie my bow, quoth he,
I feare my string hath caught some harme,
And wet, will proue too slacke for me.
He said, and bent his bow, and shot,
And wightly hit me on the heart,
The wound was sore and raging hot,
The heate like fury reekes my smart.
Mine host, quoth he, my string is well,
And laugh't, so that he leapt againe:
[Page 159]Looke to your wound for feare of swell,
Your heart may hap to feele the paine.

Anacreons second Ode, otherwise.

NAture in her worke doth giue,
To each thing that by her do liue,
A proper gift where she may,
Preuent in time her owne decay.
The Bull ahorne, the Horse a hoofe,
The light-foote hare to run aloofe:
The Lyons strength, who may resist?
The birds aloft flie where they list.
The fish swimmes safe in waters deepe,
The silly worme at least can creepe:
What is to come, men can forecast,
And learne more wit, by that is past.
The womans gift what might it bee,
The same for which the Ladies three,
Pallas, Iuno, Venus straue,
VVhen each desired it to haue.
T. S.

Anacoreons third Ode, otherwise.

CVpid abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the raine,
Harbour he sought, to me he tooke his flight,
To drie his plumes, I heard the boy complaine,
I opt the dore, and granted his desire,
I rose my selfe, and made the wag a fire.
Prying more narrow by the fiers flame,
I spide his Quiuer hanging at his backe:
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would haue gone for feare of further wracke.
But what I feard, did me poore wretch betide,
For forth he drew an Arrow from his side.
He pierst the quicke, and I began to start,
A pleasing wound, but that it was too high,
His shaft procurde a sharpe, yet sugred smart,
Away he flew, for now his wings were drie.
But left the Arrow sticking in my brest,
There sore I grieue, I welcom'd such a Guest.

Naturall comparisons with perfect loue.

THe lowest trees haue tops, the Ant her gall,
The flie her splene, the little sparkes their heate:
The slender haires cast shadowes, though but small,
And Bees haue stings, although they be not great.
Seas haue their sourse, and so haue shallow springs,
And loue is loue, in Beggars, as in Kings.
Where riuers smoothest run, deepe are the fords,
The Diall stirres, yet none perceiues it moue,
The firmest faith is in the fewest words,
The Turtles cannot sing, and yet they loue.
True harts haue eies, and eares no tongues to speake,
They heare, and see, and sigh, and then they breake.

An answere to the first staffe, that loue is vnlike in Beggars and in Kings.

COmpare the Bramble with the Cedar tree,
The Pismires anger with the Lions rage:
What is the buzzing flie where Eagles be?
A drop the sparke, no Seas can Aetna svvage.
Small is the heate in beggars breasts that springs,
But flaming fire consumes the hearts of Kings.
Who shrouds himselfe where slender haires cast shade?
But mighty Okes may scorne the Summer Sun:
Small cure will serue, where Bees the wound haue made,
But Dragons poyson through each part doth run.
Light is the loue that beggars bosome stings,
Deepe is the wound that Cupid makes in Kings.
Small channels serue, where shallow springs do slide,
And little helpe will turne or stay their course▪
The highest banks scarce hold the swelling tide,
Which ouerthrowes all stops with raging force:
The baser sort scarce wet them in the springs,
VVhich ouer-whelme the heads of mighty kings.
What though in both the heart be set of loue,
The selfe same ground both corne and cockle breede:
Fast by the Bryar, the Pine-tree mounts aboue,
One kinde of grasse, the Iade, and Iennet feeds:
So from the heart, by secret vertue springs,
Vnlike desire in beggars and in kings.

A song in praise of a Beggars life.

BRight shines the Sun, Play beggars play.
Here's scraps enough to serue to day.
VVhat noise of Viols is so sweete,
As when our merry clappers ring,
VVhat mirth doth want where beggars meete,
A beggars life is for a king.
Eate, drinke, and play, sleepe when we list,
Go where we will, so stocks be mist.
Bright shines, &c.
The world is ours, and ours alone,
For we alone haue world at will,
VVe purchase not, all is our owne,
Both fields and streets we beggars fill.
Nor care to get, nor feare to keepe,
Did euer breake a beggars sleepe.
Bright shines, &c.
A hundred head of blacke and white,
Vpon our gownes securely [...]eede,
If any dare his Master bite,
He dies therefore as sure as Creede.
Thus beggars lord it as they please,
[Page 162]And none but beggars liue at ease.
Bright shine the Sun, &c.

Vpon beginning without making an end.

BEgin, and halfe is done, yet halfe vndone remaines,
Begin that halfe, & all is done, & thou art easd of pains
The second halfe is all againe, new worke must be begun
Thus he that still begins, doth nothing but by halues,
And things half done, as good vndone, half oxen are but calues.

An Epigram to Sir Philip Sidney in Elegiacall verse, translated out of Iodell, the French Poet.

Cambridge, worthy Philip, by this verse builds thee an Altar
Gainst time & tempest, strong to abide for euer,
That praise of verses no length of time can [...] abolish,
VVith Greece & Italy purchased endlesse honour.
I then pursuing their steps like glory to purchase,
VVill make thy memory famous in after ages,
And in these measured verses thy glory be sounded,
So be thy holy fauour, helpe to my holy fury.

Hexameters, vpon the neuer enough praised Sir Philip Sidney.

VVhat can I now suspect, or what can I feare any longer▪
Oft did I feare, oft hope, whilst life in Sidney remained:
Of nothing can I now despaire, for nought can I hope for:
This good is in misery, when great extremity grieues vs,
That neither hope of good, nor fear of worse cā affright vs
And can I thē cōplaine, whē no complaint cā auaile me?
How can I seeme to be discontēt, or what can I weep for?
He liues eternall, with endlesse glory bedecked:
Yea still on earth he liues, & still shall liue by the Muses.

Another vpon the same.

VVhat strange aduenture' what now vnlook't for arriull,
Hath drawne the Muses from sweet Boeotia mountaines
[Page 163]To chuse our country, to seeke in London abiding?
Are faire Castalian streames dride? stands Cyrrha no longer?
Or loue the Muses, like wantons oft to be changing?
Scarce can I that suppose, scarce think I those to be Muses.
No sound of melody, no voice but dreary lamenting.
Yet well I wot too well, Muses most dolefully weeping.
See where Melpomene sits hid for shame in a corner
Here ye the carefull sighs, fetcht from the depth of her en­trailes?
There weepes Calliope, there sometimes lusty Thaleia.
Aye me [...] alas, now know I the cause, now seeke I no further,
Here lies their glory, their hope, their onely reioycing.
Dead lies worthy Philip, the care and praise of Apollo:
Dead lies his carkasse, but fame shall liue to the worlds end.

Others vpon the same.

Whom can I first accuse? whose fault account I the greatest,
Where kept the Muses, what countries haunted Apollo?
Where loitred bloudy Mars, where lingred worthy Minerua?
What could three sisters do more then nine in a combate?
Was force of no force? Was faire entreaty refused?
Where is the musicke, that sometimes moued Alecto?
That gain'd Eurydice, that left Proserpina weeping?
Choose whether of the two you list, your skill to be nothing:
Or your most faithfull seruants vnkindly rewarded.
And thou that braggest of skilfull surgery knowledge,
That canst of Simples discerne the quality secret,
And giue fit plaisters for woundes that seeme to be curelesse,
Whereto auailes thy skill, that cannot Sidney recouer.
And couldest thou whilome preuaile with destinie fatall,
For king Admetus gainst course of naturall order,
And canst doe nothing to saue so faithfull a seruant.
As for Mars well I wot, cold frost of Thracia kingdome,
Hath kild all kindnes, no ruth of him can be lookt for,
And dainty Pallas disdaind forsooth to be present,
Enuy perhaps, nay grief as I gesse, was cause of her absence.
Onely we poore wretches, whom Gods and Muses abandon,
Lament thy timelesse decay with sorrowfull outcries.
But yet if hap some Muse, would adde new grace to my verses,
Germany, France, Italy, Spaine, Denmarke, Persia, Turky,
India where Phoebus climes from the sea to the Skie-ward,
[Page 164]India where Phoebus declines from skie to the Sea-warn'd,
Tartary, Pole, Lettow, Muscouy, Bohemia, Norway,
All Coasts where rising or falling Phoebus appeareth,
Should heare, and wonder to heare thy glory resounded.
Armenian Tigres enrag'd for theft of a yongling,
Princely Lyons roaring, for want of prey to be starued,
Fierce Beares, & grunting wild Boares, vpon Arcady moun­taines,
Should stand a stonisht, forgetting naturall of-spring,
Forgetting hunger, forgetting slaughter appo [...]nted,
As when Calliopes deere sonne, sweete harmony singing,
Vnto the true consent of his Harpe strings tuned in order,
Drew from their places wild beasts and trees by the musick.
Swift flowing Hebrus stai'd all his streames in a wonder,
As if chill coldnesse frorne had them downe to the bottome.
But for I wote too well my slender skill to be nothing,
Here will I quite forsweare both Verse and Muse in an anger
Lest hap my rudenesse disgrace thy glory by praising.

Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori. To Time.

ETernall Time, that wasteth without wast,
That art, and art not, diest, and liuest still:
Most slow of all, and yet of greatest hast,
Both ill and good, and neither good nor ill.
How can I iustly praise thee, or dispraise,
Darke are thy nights, but bright and cleare thy daies.
Both free and scarce, thou giu'st and tak'st againe,
Thy wombe that all doth breede, is Tombe to all:
What so by thee hath life, by thee they fall.
Constant, inconstant, moouing, standing still,
Was, is, shall be, doe thee both breede and kill.
I lose thee, while I seeke to finde thee out,
The farther off, the more I follow thee:
The faster hold, the greater cause of doubt,
Was, is, I know, but shall, I cannot see.
[Page 165]All things by thee are measured, thou by none:
All are in thee, thou in thy selfe alone.

A Meditation vpon the frailty of this life.

O Trifling toyes that tosse the braines,
While loath some life doth last!
O wished wealth, O sugred ioyes,
O life when death is past:
Who loaths exchange of losse with gaine?
Yet loath we death as hell.
What wofull wight would wish his woe?
Yet wish we here to dwell.
O fancy fraile that feedes on earth,
And staies on slipp'ry ioyes:
O noble minde, O happy man,
That can contemne such toyes.
Such toyes as neither perfect are,
And cannot long endure,
Our greatest skill, our sweetest ioy,
Vncertaine and vnsure.
For life is short and learning long,
All pleas [...]re mixt with woe.
Sicknesse and sleepe, steale time vnseene,
And ioyes doe come and goe.
Thus learning is but learn'd by halfes,
And ioy inioy'de no while,
That serues to shew thee what thou want'st,
This helpes thee▪ to beguile.
But after death is perfect skill,
And ioy without decay,
When sinne is gone that blinds our eyes,
And steales our ioyes away.
No crowing Cocke shall raise vs vp,
To spend the day in vaine,
No weary labour shall vs driue,
To goe to bed againe.
But for we feele not what we want,
Nor know not what we haue,
[Page 166]We loue to keepe the bodies life,
We loath the soule to saue.

A Dialogue betweene the Soule and the Body.

Soule.
AY me poore soule, whom bound in sinfull chaines,
This wretched body keepes against my will!
Body
Aye me poore body, whom for all my paines,
This froward soule causelesse condemneth stil.
Soule

Causelesse? when as thou striu'st to sin each day?

Body

Causelesse, when as I striue thee to obay.

Soule

Thou art the meanes, by which I fall to sin.

Body

Thou art the cause that setst this meanes a worke

Soule

No part of thee that hath not faulty bin.

Body

I shew the poyson that in thee doth lurke.

Soule

I shall be pure when so I part from thee.

Body

So were I now, but that thou stainest me.

Saphi [...]kes vpon the passion of Christ.

HAtred eternall, furious reuenging,
Mercilesse raging, bloody persecuting,
Scandalous speeches, odious reuilings
Causelesse abhorring:
Impious scoffings by the very abiects,
Dangerous threatning by the Priests annointed,
Death full of torment in a shamefull order,
Christ did abide here.
He that in glory was aboue the Angels,
Changed his glory for an earthly Carkasse,
Yeelded his glory to a sinfull outcast,
Glory refusing.
Me that in bondage many sinnes retayned,
He for his goodnesse, for his onely goodnesse,
Brought from hel-torments to the ioyes of heauen,
Not to be numbred.
Dead in offences, by his ayde reuiued,
Quickned in spirit, by the grace he yeeldeth,
Sound then his praises, to the worlds amazement
Thankefully singing.

DIVERS POEMS OF sundry Authors.

A hymne in praise of Musicke.

PRaise, pleasure, profit, is that threefold band,
Which ties mens minds more fast then Gordions knot
Each one some drawes, all three none can withstand,
Of force conioynde, Conquest is heardly got.
Then musicke may of hearts a Monarch be,
Wherein praise, pleasure, profit so agree.
Praise-worthy Musicke is, for God it praiseth,
And pleasant, for brute beasts therein delight,
Great profit from it flowes, for why it raiseth
The mind ouerwhelmed with rude passions might:
When against reason passions fond rebell,
Musicke doth that confirme, and those expell.
If Musicke did not merit endlesse praise,
Would heauenly Spheares delight in siluer round?
If ioyous pleasure were not in sweete layes,
Would they in Court and Country so abound?
And profitable needes we must that call,
Which pleasure linkt with praise doth bring to all.
Heroick minds with praises most incited,
Seeke praise in Musicke and therein excell:
God, man, beasts, birds, with Musicke are delighted,
And pleasant t'is which pleaseth all so well.
No greater profit is then selfe content:
And this will Musicke bring, and care preuent.
When antique Poets Musicks praises tell,
They say it beasts did please, and stones did moue:
To proue more dull then stones, then beasts more fell,
Those men which pleasing Musicke did not loue,
They fain'd, it Citties built, and states defended
To shew the profite great on it depended.
Sweete birds (pooremens Musitians) neuer flake
To sing sweet Musicks prayses day and night:
The dyings Swans in Musicke pleasure take,
To shew that it the dying can delight:
In sicknesse, health, peace, warre, we doe it need,
Which proues sweet Musicks profite doth exceed.
But I, by niggard praising, doe dispraise
Praise-worthy musicke in my worthlesse Rime:
Ne can the pleasing profit of sweet laies,
Any saue learned Muses well define.
Yet all by these rude lines may clearely see,
Praise, pleasure, profite, in sweet musicke be.
I. D.

Ten Sonnets to Philomel,

Sonnet 1.

Vpon Loues entring by his eares.

OFt did I heare, our eyes the passage were,
By which Loue entred to assaile our hearts
Therefore I guarded them, and voide of feare
Neglected the defence of other parts.
Loue knowing this, the vsuall way forsooke:
And seeking found a by-way by mine eare.
At which he entring, my hart prisoner tooke,
And vnto thee sweet Philomel did beare.
Yet let my heart, thy heart to pitty moue,
Whose paine is great, although small fault appeare
[Page 179]First it lies bound in fettring chaines of Loue,
Then each day it is rackt with hope and feare.
And with loues flames tis euermore consumed,
Onely because to loue thee it presumed.

Sonnet 2.

OWhy did fame my heart to loue betray,
By telling my Deares vertue and perfection?
Why did my Traitor eares to it conuey,
That Syren-song cause of my hearts infection?
Had I beene deafe, or Fame her giftes concealed,
Then had my heart beene free from hopelesse Loue,
Or were my state likewise by it reuealed,
Well might it Philomel to pitty moue.
Then should she know how Loue doth make me languish
Distracting me twixt hope and dreadfull feare:
Then should she know my care, my plaints and anguish,
All which for her deare sake I meekely beare.
Yea I could quietly Deathes paines abide,
So that she knew that for her sake I di'de.

Sonnet 3.

Of his owne, and of his Mistresse sicknesse at one time.

SIckenesse entending my loue to betray,
Before I should sight of my deere obtaine:
Did his pale colours in my face display,
Lest that my fauour might her fauour gaine.
Yet not content here with, like meanes it wrought,
My Philomels bright beauty to deface:
And natures glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceiued loue it might displace.
But my firme loue could this assault well beare,
Which vertue had, not beauty for his ground:
And yet bright beames of beauty did appeare,
Through sicknesse vaile, which made my loue abound
If sicke (thought I) her beauty so excell,
How matchlesse would it be if she were well.

Sonnet 4.

Another of her sicknesse and recouery.

PAle Death himselfe did loue my Philomell,
When he her vertues and rare beauty saw,
Therefore he sicknesse sent: which should expell,
His riuals life, and my deare to him draw.
But her bright beauty dazled so his Eies,
That his da [...]t life did misse, though her it hit:
Yet not there with content, new meanes he tries,
To bring her vnto Death, and make life flit.
But Nature soone perceiuing, that he meant
To spoile her onely Phoenix, her chiefe pride,
Assembled all her force, and did preuent
The greatest mischiefe that could her betide.
So both our liues and loues Nature defended,
For had she di'de, my loue and life had ended.

Sonnet 5.

Allusion to Theseus voyage to Crete, against th [...] Minotaure.

MY loue is sail'd against dislike to fight
Which like vild monster, threatens his decay:
The ship is hope, which by desires great might,
Is swiftly borne towards the wished bay:
The company which with my loue doth fare,
(Though met in one) is a dissenting crew:
They are ioy, griefe, and neuer-sleeping care,
And doubt which nere beleeues good newes for true:
Blacke feare the flag is, which my ship doth beare,
Which (Deere) take downe, if my loue victor be:
And let white comfort in his place appeare.
When loue victoriously returnes to me.
Least I from rocke despaire come tumbling downe,
And in a sea of teares be forc [...]tto drowne.

Sonnet 6.

Vpon her looking secretly out at a window as he passd by.

ONce did my Philomel reflect on me,
Her Cristall pointed eyes as I past by:
Thinking not to be seene, yet would me see,
But soone my hungry eies their food did spie.
Alas, my deere couldst thou suppose, that face
Which needs not enuy Phoebus chiefest pride,
Could secret be, although in secret place,
And that transparant glasse such beames could hide?
But if I had beene blind, yet Loues hot flame,
Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright eye,
Did plainly shew when it so neere thee came,
By more the vsuall heate then cause was nie.
So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye
Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy.

Sonnet 7.

WHen time nor place would let me often view
Natures chiefe Mirror, and my sole delight,
Her liuely picture in my heart I drew,
That I might it behold both day and night,
But she, like Philips Son, scorning that I
Should portraiture, which wanted Apelles Art,
Commanded Loue (who nought dare her denie)
To burne the picture which was in my heart.
The more Loue burn'd the more her picture shin'd:
The more it shin'd, the more my heart did burne:
So what to hurt her Picture was assign'd,
To my hearts ruine and decay did turne.
Loue could not burne the Saint, it was diuine,
And therefore fir'd my heart, the Saints poore shrine.

Sonnet 8.

To the Sun of his mistris beauty eclipsed with frownes.

WHen as the Sun eclipsed is, some say,
It thunder, lightning, raine, and wind portendeth:
[Page 182]And not vnlike but such things happen may,
Sith like effects my Su [...] eclipsed sendeth
Witnesse my throat made hoarse with thundring cries,
And heart with loues hot flashing lightnings fired:
VVitnesse the showers which still fall from mine eies,
And brest with sighes like stormy winds neare riued.
O shine then once againe sweete Sun on me,
And with thy beames dissolue clouds of despaire
VVhereof these raging Meteors framed be,
In my poore heart by absence of my faire.
So shalt thou proue thy beames thy heate, thy light,
To match the Sun in glory, grace and might.

Sonnet IX.

Upon sending her a gold ring, with this Poesie, Pure and Endlesse.

IF you would know the loue which I you beare,
Compare it to the Ring which your faire hand
Shall make more precious, when you shall it weare:
So my loues nature you shal vnderstand.
Is it of mettall pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyall thought did staine.
Hath it no end▪ so endlesse is myloue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your d [...]sdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more t'is tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas gold the more t'is purifide,
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent.
My loue doth waxe more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.

Sonnet X.

The Hearts captiuitie.

MY cruell deere hauing captiu'de my heart,
And bound it fast in chaines of restlesse loue:
Requires it out of bondage to depart,
[Page 183]Yet is she sure from her it cannot moue.
Draw backe (said she) your hopelesse loue from me,
Your worth requires a farre more worthy place,
Vnto your suite though I cannot agree
Full many will it louingly embrace.
It may be so (my deere) but as the Sun
When it appeares doth make the stars to vanish:
So when your selfe into my thoughts do run,
All others quite out of my heart you banish.
The beames of your perfections shine so bright,
That straight-way they▪ dispell all others light.
I. D.

A Himme in praise of Neptune.

OF Neptunes Empire let vs sing,
At whose command the waues obey:
To whom the riuers tribute pay,
Downe the high mountaines sliding:
To whom the scalie Nation veelds
Homage for the Christall fields
Wherein they dwell.
And euerie Sea-god paies a Iem,
Yeerely out of his watrie Cell,
To decke great Neptunes Diadem:
The Tritons dancing in a ring,
Before his Pallace gates, do make
The water with their ecchoes quake,
Like the great thunder sounding:
The Sea-Nimphs chant their accents shrill,
And the Syrens taught to kill
With their sweete voyce:
Make eu'ry ecchoing rocke reply,
Vnto their gentle murmuring noise,
The praise of Neptunes Empery,
Th. Campion.

This Hymne was sung by Amphitrytè, Thamesis, and other Sea-Nimphs in Grates-Inne Maske at the Court. 1594.

Of his Mistresses face.

ANd would you see my mistresse face?
It is a flowry garden place:
Where knots of beauty haue such grace,
That all is worke, and no where space.
It is a sweet delitious morne,
Where day is breeding, neuer borne:
It is a meadow yet vnshorne,
Which thousand flowers do adorne.
It is the heauens bright reflexe,
Weake eyes to dazle and to vexe:
It is th'Idaea of her sexe,
Enuie of whom doth world perplexe.
It is a face of death that smiles,
Pleasing, though it kill the whiles:
Where death and loue in pretty wiles,
Each other mutually beguiles.
It is faire beauties freshest youth,
It is a fain'd Eliziums truth:
The spring that wintred harts renu'th,
And this is that my soule pursu'th.

Upon her Palenesse.

BLame not my cheeks, though pale with loue they be,
The kindly heate into my heart is flowne:
To cherish it that is dismaid by thee,
Who art so cruell and vnstedfast growne.
For Nature cal'd for by distressed hearts,
Neglects, and quite forsakes the outward parts.
But they whose cheekes with carelesse bloud are stain'd,
Nurse not one sparke of loue within their hearts,
And when they woo, they speake with passion faind,
For their fat loue lies in their outward parts.
But in their brests where loue his court should hold
Poore Cupid sits, and blowes his nailes for cold.
Tho. Campion.

Of Corinnaes singing.

WHen to her Lute Corinna sings,
Her voice reuiues the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appeare,
As any challeng'd eccho cleere.
But when she doth of mourning speake,
Eu'n with her sighes the strings do breake.
And as her Lute doth liue or die,
Led by her passions, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enioy a sodaine spring.
But if she doe of sorrow speake,
Eu'n from my heart the strings do breake.
Tho. Campion

A Dialogue betwixt the Louer and his Lady.

LAdy, my flame still burning,
And my consuming anguish,
Doth grow so great, that life I feele to languish,
Then let your heart be moued,
To end my griefe and yours, so long time proued.
And quench the heate that my chiefe part so fireth,
Yeelding the fruit that faithfull loue requireth,

Her answere.

SWeete Lord, your flame still burning,
And your consuming anguish.
[Page 186]Cannot be more than mine, in which I languish,
Nor more your heart is moued,
To end your griefe and mine, so long time proued▪
But if I yeeld, and so your loue decreaseth
Then I my louer lose, and your loue ceaseth,
Ignoto.

An Elegie of a womans heart.

O Faithlesse world, and thy most faithlesse part▪
A womans heart:
The true Shop of variety, where sits,
Nothing but fits,
And feauers of desire, and pangs of loue,
Which toyes remoue.
Why was she brone to please, or I to trust
Words writ in dust?
Suffring her eyes to gouerne my despaire,
My paine for ayre,
And fruit of time rewarded with vntruth,
The foode of youth▪
Vntrue she was, yet I beleeu'd her eyes,
Instructed spies,
Til I was taught, that loue was but a schoole
To breede a foole.
Or sought she more thē triumphs of denial,
To see a triall,
How far her smiles cōmanded my weaknes?
eelde and confesse.
Excuse not now thy folly, nor her nature:
Blush and endure
Aswell thy shame, as passiōs that were vaine▪
And thinke thy gaine,
To know that loue, lodg'd in a womās brest
Is but a guest.
H. W.

A Poesie to proue affection is not loue.

COnceit begotten by the eyes,
Is quickly borne, and quickly dies:
[Page 187]For while it seekes our hearts to haue,
Meane while there reason makes his graue:
For many things the eyes approue,
Which yet the heart doth seldome loue.
For as the seeds in spring time sowne,
Die in the ground ere they be growne,
Such is conceit, whose rooting failes,
As child that in the cradle quailes:
Or else within the mothers wombe,
Hath his beginning, and his tombe.
Affection followes Fortunes wheeles:
And soone is shaken from her heeles,
For following beauty or estate,
Her liking still is turn'd to hate.
For all affections haue their change,
And fancie onely loues to range.
Desire himselfe runs out of breath,
And getting, doth but gaine his death,
Desire, nor reason hath, nor rest
And blinde doth seldome chuse the best,
Desire attain'd is not desire,
But as the cinders of the fire.
As ships in ports desir'd are drownd,
As fruit once ripe, then fals to ground,
As flies that seeke for flames, are brought
To cinders by the flames they sought:
So fond desire when it attaines,
The life expires, the woe remaines▪
And yet some Poets faine would proue,
Affection to be perfect loue,
And that desire is of that kinde,
No lesse a passion of the minde.
As if wild beasts and men did seeke,
To like, to loue, to chuse alike.
W. R.

MADRIGAL

In praise of two.

FAustina hath the fairer face,
And Phillida the better grace,
Both haue mine eye enriched.
This sings full sweetly with her voice,
Her fingers make as sweete a noise,
Both haue mine eare bewitched.
Ay me! sith Fates haue so prouided,
My heart (alas) must be diuided.

To his Ladies garden, being absent far from her.

GArden more then Eden blessed,
Art thou thus to haue thy bowers,
Free'd from winter, and still dressed,
With her faces heau'n-set flowers?
Happy too are those thy allies,
Where her faire feete deigne to tred,
Which departing earths low vallies,
Shall to the milkie way be led,
Thy trees whose armes her embraced,
And whose fruit her lips do kisse,
In whose vertuous minde well placed
The rare tree of knowledge is,
Happy are so thy birds be,
Whom she taught to sing by art,
Who in heauenly harmony
With the Angels beares a part.
Happy blest, and fortunate,
Bowers, Allies, Trees, and Birds,
But my most vnhappy state,
Farre surmounts all reach of words.

Vpon his Ladies sicknesse of the small Pocks.

CRuell and vnpartiall sicknesse,
Sword of that Arch-Monarke death,
That subdues all strength by weaknesse,
Whom all kings pay tribute breath.
Are not these thy steps I tracke,
In the pure snow of her face,
When thou did'st attempt to sacke
Her liues fortresse, and it race.
Th'heauenly hony thou didst sucke,
From her Rose cheeks might suffice,
Why then didst thou marre and plucke
Those deere flowers of rarest price?
Mean'st thou thy Lord to present
With those rich spoyles and adorne,
Leauing me them to lament,
And in lnkes blacke teares thus mourne?
No: Ile in my bosome weare them,
And close locke them in my heart▪
Thence, nor time, nor death, shall beare the,
Till I from my selfe docdepart.
Th. Spilman.

A Sonnet in the grace of wit, of tongue, of face.

Her face, her tongue, her wit, so faire, so sweet, so sharpe,
First bent, thē drew, now hit, mine eie, mine eare, my hart:
Mine eie, mine eare, my heart, to like, to learne, to loue,
Her face, hir tong, hir wit, doth lead, doth teach, doth moue
Her face hir tong, hir wit, with beams, with soūd, with art
Doth blind, doth charme, doth rule, mine eie, mine eare, my heart,
Mine eie▪ mine eare, my hart, with life, with hope, with skil
Her face, her tong, her wit, doth feed, doth [...]east, doth fill.
[Page 190]Oface, o tong, o wit, with frowns, with checks, with smart
Wring not, vex not, woūd not mineey, mine eare, my hart
This eie, this eare, this hart, shal ioy, shal bind, shall sw [...]are,
Your face, your tong, your wit, to serue, to loue, to feare.

Sonnet.

For her heart onely.

ONely (sweet Loue) affoord me but thy heart
Then close thine eyes within their iuory coue [...]s,
That they to me no beame of light impart,
Athough they shine on all thy other louers.
As for thy lip of ruby, cheeke of rose,
Though I haue kist them oft with sweete content,
I am content that sweet content to lose,
If they sweete Will will not barre me, I assent.
Let me not touch thy hand, but through thy gloue,
Nor let it be the pledge of kindnesse more:
Keepe all thy beauties to thy selfe, sweet lnue,
I aske not such bold fauours as before.
I beg but this, afford me but thy heart,
For then I know thou wilt the rest impart

ODE.

That time and absence proues▪ [...]ather helps then hurts to loues.
ABsence, heare thou my Protestation,
Against thy strength,
Distance, and length:
Do what you can for alteration.
For hearts of truest mettle▪
Absence doth ioyne, and time doth settle.
Who loues a Mistris of such quality,
He soone hath found
Affection ground
Beyond time place, and all mortality
To hearts that cannot vary,
Absence is present, time doth tary.
My sences want their outward motions:
Which now within
Reason doth win,
Redoubled in her secret notions:
Like rich men that take pleasure,
In hiding, more then handling Treasure▪
By absence, this good meanes I gaine,
That I can catch her,
Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my braine.
There I embrace and kisse her,
And so I both enioy and misse her.

The true loues knot.

LOue is the linke, the knot, the band of vnity
And all that loue, do loue with their belou'd to be:
Loue onely did decree,
To change his kind in me.
For though I lou'd with all the powers of my minde,
And through my restles thoghts, their rest in her did find,
Yet are my hopes declind,
Sith she is most vnkinde.
For since her beauties Sun my fruitlesse hope did breede,
By absence from that Sun▪ I hop't to sterue that weede,
Though absence did indeed
My hopes not starue, but feed.
For when I shift my place, like to the stricken Deere,
I cannot shift the shaft, which in my side I beare:
By me it resteth there
The cause is not elsewhere.
So hau [...] I seene the sicke to runne and turne againe,
As if that outward change, could ease his inward pain [...]
But still alas in vaine,
The fit doth still remaine.
Yet goodnes is the spring from whence this ill doth grow
For goodnes causd the loue, which great respect did owe
Respect true loue did show,
True Loue thus wrought my woe.
Ignoto.

Sonnet.

BEst pleas'd she is, when loue is most exprest,
And sometime saies that loue should be requited,
Yet is she grieu'd my loue should now be righted,
When that my faith hath prou'd what I protest.
Am I belou'd whose heart is thus opprest,
Or deere to her, and not in her delighted?
I liue to see the Sun, yet still benighted,
By her despaire is blam'de, and hope supprest,
She still denies, yet still her heart consenteth:
She grants me all, but that which I desire,
She fuell sends, but bids me leaue the fire,
She lets me die, and yet my death lamenteth.
O foolish loue, by reason of thy blindnesse.
I die for want of loue, yet kild with kindnesse.

Sonnet.

WHen a weake child is sicke, and out of quiet,
And for his tendernesse cannot sustaine
Phisicke of equall strength vnto his paine,
Phisitions to the Nurse prescribe a diet.
O I am sicke, and in my sicknesse weake,
And through my weaknesse dead, if I but take
The pleasantest receit, that art can make,
Or if I heare but my Phisition speake.
But ah (faire God of Phisicke) it may be,
But Phisicke to my Nurse would me recouer,
She whom I loue with beauty nurseth me,
But with a bitter mixture kils her louer.
Yet I assure my selfe, I should not die,
If she were purged of her crueltie.

Sonnet.

WEre I as base as is the lowly plaine,
And you (my loue) as high as heau'n aboue,
Yet sho [...]ld the thoughts of me your humble swaine,
Ascend t [...] heauen, in honour of my loue▪
[Page 193]Were I as high as heau'n aboue the plaine,
And you (my loue) as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the Mayne,
Whereso'ere you were, with you my loue should go,
Were you the earth (deere loue) and I the skies,
My loue should shine on you like to the Sun,
And looke vpon you with ten thousand eyes,
Till heau [...]n wax't blind▪ and till the world were dun.
Where so'ere I am, below, or else aboue you,
Whereso'ere you are, my heart shall truly loue you.
I. S.

Madrigall.

MY loue in her attire doth shew her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For euery season she hath dressings fit:
For Winter, Spring, and Summer,
No beautie she doth misse,
When all her Robes are on,
But beauties selfe [...]he is,
When all her Robes are gone.

A Poeme.

WHen I to you of all my woes complaine,
Which you make me endure without release,
With scornefull smiles you answere me againe,
That louers true must beare and hold their peace.
Deere I will beare, and hold my peace, if you
Will hold your peace, and beare what I shall do.
F. D.

Sonnet.

THe Poets faine that when the world began,
Both sexes in one body did remaine,
Till loue (offended with this double man)
Causd Vulcan to diuide him into twaine.
In this diuision he the heart did seuer,
But cunningly he did indent the heart,
That if there were a reuniting euer,
Each part might know which was his counterpart.
See then (deere loue) th'indentute of my heart,
And reade the cou'nants writ with holy fire,
See (if your heart be not the counterpart,
Of my true hearts indented chast desire.)
And if it be, so may it euer be,
Two hearts in one, twixt you my loue and me.
I. S.

An inuectiue against women.

ARe women faire? I wondrous faire to see too,
Are women sweet? Yea passing sweet they be to:
Most faire and sweet to them that inlie lone them,
Chaste and discreet to all, saue those that proue them.
Are women wise? Not wise but they be witty,
Are women witty? Yea, the more the pitty:
They are so witty, and in wit so wily,
That be ye ne're so wise, they will beguile ye.
Are women fooles? Not fooles, but fondlings many.
Can women fond be faithfull vnto any?
When snow-white swans do turne to colour sable,
Then women fond will be both firme and stable.
Are women Saints? No Saints, nor yet no diuels
Are women good? Not good, but needfull euils.
So Angel-like, that diuels I do not doubt them,
So needfull ils, that few can liue without them.
Are women proud? I, passing proud, and praise them.
Are women kind▪ I, wondrous kind and please them:
Or so imperious, no man can endure them,
Or so kind-hearted, any may procure them.
Ignoto.

Loues embassie in an Iambicke Elegie.

VNhappy verse! the witnesse of vnhappy state,
Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying thoght
And fly forth vnto my loue, wheresoeuer she be.
Whether lying restlesse in heauy bed, or else
Sitting so cheerlesse at the cheerfull boord, or else
Playing alone carelesse on her heaun'ly Virginals.
If in bed, tell her that mine eies can take no rest:
If at boord, tell her that my mouth can taste no foode:
If at her Virginals, tell her I can heare no mirth.
Asked why say waking Loue suffereth no sleepe:
Say that raging loue doth appall the weake stomacke:
Say that lamenting loue marre [...] the Musicall.
Tell her, that her pleasures were wont to lull me a sleepe
Tell her▪ that her beauty was wont to feede mine eyes:
Tel her, that her sweet tong was wont to make me mirth.
Now do I nightly waste, wanting my kindly rest:
Now do I daily starue, wanting my liuely foode:
Now do I alwaies die, wanting my timely mirth.
And if I waste, who will bewaile my heauy chance?
And if I starue, who will record my cursed end?
And if I die, who will say, this was Immerito.
Edmund Spencer.

Sonnet.

Loues seuen deadly sinnes.

MIne eye with all the deadly sinnes is fraught,
1. First proud, sith it presum'd to looke so hie:
A watchman being made, stood gazing by,
2. And Idle, tooke uo heed till I was caught:
[Page 196]3. And Enuious beares enuy, that my thought
Should in his absence be to her so nie:
4. To kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye,
And so content gaue to a murther wrought:
5. And couetous, it neuer would remoue
From her faire haire, gold so doth please his sight.
6. Vnchast, a bawde betweene my heart and loue,
7. A glutton eye, with teares drunke euery night.
These sinnes procured haue a Goddesse ire:
Wherefore my heart is damn'd in loues sweete fire.

Sonnet.

To two most Honorable and vertuous Ladies and Sisters, the Ladie Margaret Countesse of Cumberland, the Ladie Anne Countesse of Warwicke.

YE Sister-Muses, do not you repine,
That I two sisters doe with nine compare,
Since each of these is farre more truly rare,
Then the whole troope of all the heau [...]nly nine.
But if ye aske me which is more diuine,
I answere, like to their twinne eyes they are,
Of which, each is more bright then brightest starre.
Yet neither doth more bright than other shine.
Sisters of spotlesse fame, of whom alone
Malitious tongues take pleasure to speake well,
How should I you commend, sith either one
All things in heau'n and earth so farre excell?
The onely praise I can you giue, is this,
That one of you, like to the other is.
H. C.

ODE.

Of Cynthia:

THe ancient readers of heauens booke,
Which with curious eye did looke
Into Natures story,
All things vnder Cynthia tooke
To be transitory.
This the learned onely knew,
But now all men finde it true,
Cynthia is descended,
With bright beames, and heauenly hew,
And lesser starres attended.
Lands and Seas [...]e rules below,
Where things change, and ebbe, and flow,
Spring, waxe olde, and perish:
Onely time which all doth mow,
Her alone doth cherish.
Times yong houres attend her still,
And her eyes and cheekes do fill,
With fresh youth and beauty:
All her louers olde do grow,
But their hearts, they do not so
In their loue and dutie.

This song was sung before her sacred Maiestie at a shew on horse­backe, wherewith the right Honorable the Earle of Cumberland presented her Highnesse on May day last.

Of loue gift.

WHo giues a gift to binde a friend thereby,
Doth set or put his gift to vsury:
And he that giues a gift that is not free,
Giue where he lift, so that he giue not me.
For bought and sold is friendship strange,
Who liues by selling, liues by change.
And he that loues to change his friend,
Will turne to nothing in the end.

The Anatomie of Loue.

NOw what is loue, I pray thee tell?
It is that fountaine and that well.
Where pleasure and repentance dwell:
[Page 198]It is perhaps that sounding bell,
That tols all in, to heauen, or hell,
And this is Loue, as I heare tell.
Now what is loue, I preth thee say?
It is a worke on holy day,
It is December match'd with May
When lustie blouds in fresh array,
Heare ten months after of their play:
And this is loue, as I heare say.
Now what is loue, I preth thee faine,
It is a sunshine mixt with raine,
It is a gentle pleasing paine,
A flower that dies, and springs againe.
It is in faith that would full faine,
And this is loue, and not a staine.
Yet what is loue I preth thee say,
It is a pretty shaddow way,
As well found out by night as day,
It is a thing wil soone decay:
Then take the vantage while you may,
And this is loue as I heare say.
Now what is loue, I preth thee show,
A thing that creepes and cannot go,
A prize that passeth too and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for mo [...].
And he that proues shall find it so
And this is some sweete friend I trow.
In vaine I liue, such sorrow liues in me,
In vaine liues sorrow, since by her I liue:
Life works in vaine, where death will Master be,
Death striues in vaine, where life doth vertue giue.
Thus each of vs would worke an others woe,
And hurts himselfe in vaine, and helpes his foe.

A Poeme.

IF wrong by force had Iustice put to fligh [...],
Yet were there hope she might returne againe,
If l [...]wlesse warre had shut her vp from sight,
Yet lawfull peace might soone restore her traine.
But now alas, what hope of hope is left,
When wrongfull death hath her of life bereft?
The Sun that often fals, doth often rise,
The Moone that waineth, waxeth full with light:
But he that death in chaines of darknesse ties,
Can neuer breake the bands of lasting night.
What then remaines but teares of losse to waile,
In which all hope of mortall helpe doth faile?
Who then shall weepe, nay who shall teares refraine,
If common harmes must moue the minds of all?
Too few are found that wrongfull hearts restraine,
And of too few, too many death doth call▪
These common harmes I waile among the rest,
But priuate losse denies to be exprest.

A Poeme in the nature of an Epitaph of a friend.

IF stepdame nature haue beene scant,
In dealing beauties gifts to mee:
My wit shall helpe supply that want,
And skill in steed of shape shall bee.
My stature I confesse is small,
And therefore nill I boast of warre.
My name shall fill the heauens and all,
This skin shall serue to hide that skarre.
My head to beare the helme vnfit,
My hands vnapt to murther men:
But little heads oft hold much wit,
And feeble hands can guide a Pen.

Loues contentment.

Death is my doome, awarded by disdaine,
A lingring death that will not let me die,
This length of life is lengthning of my paine,
And length of paine gets strength of paine thereby:
And strength of paine, makes paine of longer last,
Ah who hath [...]y'de my life to paine so fast?
And yet I seeme, as if I did but faine,
Or make my griefe much greater then I neede,
When as the care to hide my burning paine,
With secret sighes, constraines my heart to bleed.
Yet well I wote, be kild I shall not be,
Vntill by death a proofe thereof you see.
But if this lodge, the witnesse of my woe,
Whose stony wals enteard my plaints containe,
Had sence to feele, and tongue my paine to show,
Which hee inclosd, I vtter all in vaine,
You soone should know that most I make my mone,
Alone, if he that loues can be alone.
Why should I seeke to make my shame be knowne,
That foolish loue is causer of my paine▪
(Forgiue me loue) the speech is not mine owne,
But so they speake that thee and thine disdaine.
And I my selfe confesse my skill too small,
To pleade for loue, and cleere my selfe with all.
What reason can my simple wit deuise,
Why bootlesse griefe should thus my minde afflict?
I loue the thoughts, that loue it selfe despise,
I seeke for that I neuer looke to finde.
Oft haue I heard, for which I thinke I die,
Thine angrie tongue all kind of loue defie.
Yet is my life vpon thy promise staid,
By which thou hast assur'd me of thy loue,
And though thereby my heate be not allaide,
No stay of flight, where gaine is still aboue.
[Page 201]Yet since thy heart can yeeld to loue no more,
I rest content, although I die therefore.
Quis Deus opposuit nostris sua numina votis?

A repentant Poeme.

Though late my heart, yet turne at last,
And shape thy course another way,
T'is better lose thy labour past,
Then follow on to sure decav.
What though thou long haue straid away▪
In hope of grace for mercy cry.
Though weight of sinne doth presse thee downe,
And keepe thee grou'ling on the ground,
Though blacke despaire, with angrie frowne,
Thy wit and iudgement quite confound:
Though time and wit haue bene mispent,
Yet grace is left if thou repent.
Weepe then my heart, weepe still and still,
Nay melt to flouds of flowing teares,
Send out such shrikes as heau'n may fill,
And pierce thine angrie Iudges ea [...]es,
And let thy soule that harbours sin,
Bleede streames of bloud to drowne it in.
Then shall thine angrie Iudges face,
To cheerefull lookes it selfe apply,
Then shall [...]hy soule be fild with grace,
And feare of death constraind to flie.
Euen so my God, oh when? how long?
I would, but sin is too too strong.
I strine to rise, sin keeps me downe,
I fly from sin, sin followes me.
My will doth reach at glories crowne,
VVeake is my strength, it will not be.
See how my fainting soule doth pant,
O let thy strength supply my want.

To the Epitaph vpon the heart of Henry the third, late King of France and Poland: slaine 1589. by a Iacobine Frier. Vpon the Tombe of his heart in the Church of Saint Clou, neere Paris, adioyning to the house where he was slaine.

Adsta viator, & dole Regum vicem,
Cor Regis isto conditum est sub marmore,
Qui iura Gallis, iura Sarmatis dedit.
Tectus Cucullo hunc sustulit Sicarius,
Abi Viator, & dole Regum vicem.
Th [...]s Paraphastically Englished.
WHether thy choice, or chance thee hither brings,
Stay Passenger, and while the hap of kings.
This little stone, a great Kings heart doth hold▪
That ru'ld the fickle French, and [...]olackes bold:
Whom with a mightie worlike host attended
With traiterous knife, a coused monster ended.
So fraile are euen the highest earthly things.
Go passenger, and waile the hap of Kings.
F. D.

Addit. per Cha. Best. Arm. An Epitaph on Henry the fourth the last French King.

THat we should more bewaile the hap of kings,
Great Henry Bo [...]bons death occasion brings,
To Henry Valois ne [...]t crownd King of France,
Next both in bloud, in name, in reigne, in chance.
Perils his youth, wa [...]s did his manhood spend,
His old a [...]e peace, till murder his life did end:
His conquests glory, his wisedome peace did wi [...],
His faith heauen, Christ pardon for his sinne.

An Epitaph on Queene Elizabeth.

ELiza that great maiden Queene lies heere,
Who gouern'd England foure and fortie yeare,
Our coines refinde in Ireland tamde, Belgia protected,
Friended France, foiled Spaine, and Pope reiected:
Princes found her powerfull, the world vertuous,
Her subiects wise and iust, and God religious:
God hath her soule, the world her admiration,
Subiects her good deeds, Princes her imitation.

Vnions Iewell.

Diuers rare gems in thee O vnion shine:
First seauen Margarites in thy Iewell stand:
Matildaes three, three Ianes of regall line,
Two royall Maries, two Elizaes, and
One Isbell, Anne, Sibill, and Margery,
All royall gems, set princely shine in thee,
But first in it doth Agasia shine,
Who first with Durstus it began to make.
[Page 204]Then Margret, next of our King Edgars line,
VVhom Malcolme King of Scots, to wife did take.
VVhose grandchild Mawde our Empresse did conioine
Scots, Saxon, Norman bloud in our Kings line.
For their child Mawde, our first Henry did marry,
Of them Matild our said Empresse did spring:
By whose second husband our Kings did carry
Name of great Plantagenet, then Scots King
First Alexander did Sibilla wed,
VVho sprong from our VVilliam conquerors bed.
The third Matild their first king Dauid maried,
Earle VValdoffes daughter, neece to great K▪ VVilliam:
Iane our King Iohns daughter thither was caried
By their second Alexander, after came
Their third King Alexander who did marry
An other Margret, daughter of our third Harry.
From them two did another Margret spring,
VVho by Norwaies Prince a fourth Margret had,
Scots infant Queene whom first Edward our king▪
To haue married to his sonne, would haue bene glad.
So Scotlands Peares would too▪ her death sayd nay,
VVhich onely this great vnion then did stay.
Though that most noble and victorious king.
This naturall vnion could not then aduance,
Another he as great t'effect did bring
VVhen he his sonne maried to the heire of France
Isbell, by whom since all our kings haue claimed
The crowne of France, which some of the haue gained.
Though this our second Edward did preuent,
That he from Scotland did not not take his wife,
His daughter Iane performed his intent
VVith second Dauid spending there her life.
He did the child of second Edward marry
As third Alexander did of our third Harry.
Without issue they died, then Margery,
Their first King Roberts daughter Bruse by name,
Scots Queene by birth, must needs remembred be:
By whom Lord Stewart did encrease his fame.
From them second Robert, & Iames Stewart from him
Third Robert namde, whence first Iames did begin.
A valiant Prince who spent his youthfull prime,
In martiall deeds, with our fift Henry in France:
To whom our sixt king Henry in his time,
Iane our third Edwards grandchild did aduance.
In mariage, she of Henry Bewford sprong,
Somersets Earle was vertuous, faire and yong.
Fifth Margaret Richmonds Countes forth did bring
Our seuenth Henry, who one diuision ended,
With Eliza, heire of our fourth Edward king:
From both whom great'st Margret of all descended:
From whom and fourth Iames, fift Iames Scottish king,
And from him Mary Scots last Queene did spring.
Fourth Iames being dead, Margret did Douglas marry,
They a daughter Margret had, Earle Lyneux wife▪
Whose sonne Lord Darnley married their last Mary,
Of whom comes Charles Iames finisher of strife.
Who with Anne makes vnion by the childlesse death▪
Of our Queenes Mary, and Elizabeth.
The rarest pearles, and richest Margarits all,
Which euer did in any Iewell stand▪
The rarest Iewell too, and most Angelicall,
Almost made vp by God and Natures hand,
By men to be finisht to this Isle sent,
Then to be worne for her best ornament.

A Panegyricke to my soueraigne Lord the King.

GReat King, since first this Ile by Ioues owne hand,
Was set apart within great oceans armes,
And was appointed by her selfe to stand,
Fenc' [...] round about with rocks from forren harmes:
She into sundry parts hath oft bene torne,
And greatest wounds by her owne blowes hath borne.
But all the fractions now which man did make,
Since it in one whole number nature gaue,
Are added vp, and brought to one great stake,
And being all sum'de vp, one totall haue.
For Brittaine now to all the diuidend,
In one whole quotient all doth comprehend.
For thou the Monarch of this westerne Ile,
Now all her shiuered parts hast brought together:
Spreading thy Empires wings eight hundred mile,
In length, and foure in breadth, there staying neither▪
But ore'old oceans brest thy arme dost stretch
Through Ireland, making it to India reach▪
To Iude thou the tribes hast brought againe,
Which by themselues did in Samaria dwell▪
Iordane by thee whose streame did run amaine,
Is now dride vp, that euery tribe may well
To other go: thou hast broke downe the wall,
Which Adrian made, and which we picticke call.
Thou vertues orbe where fame is still ascendent,
And neuer can her highest auge attaine,
Conquetour of a I hearts, all flattries transcendent,
Who hold'st it losse to take, to giue great gaine.
Of bounteous deeds the euer-running spring,
To many wealth, to all dost gladnesse bring.
The Muses dearling who with golden Pen,
And silu'red tongue thy princely mind canst tell,
In whom learning a Princes richest Iemme,
Both humane, and diuine abounding dwell.
The great contriuer of this triple Ile,
To one imperiall diadem and stile.
The royall product of the princely doue,
VVhich Englands Noah from peaces Arke sent forth,
After warres deluge, who oliue branch of loue.
Dost bring with thee in thy returne from North:
How ioyfully did Brittaine reach her hand,
To take thee int' the Arke of this her land?
With great Eliza glory of her owne,
Wonder of future times, true Churches nurse,
The ancient faiths reuiuer, on whom were showne,
Heauens blessings, all mens praiers, no mans curse.
Fortunes fauours, natures wealth, Gods high grace,
The Muses lodge, all vertues dwelling place.
Our Sun did set with great Elizabeth,
Before night thou a new day-light didst bring,
Our sommers peace did close at her cold death,
Without warres winter thou renewd'st our spring▪
All our liues ioyes with her dead seemd to bee,
Before intombde they were reuiude by thee.
Center of royall births, in whom do meete▪
Lines drawne from all the noble conquerors bloud,
Which euer in any part with warlike feete,
Of this great Iles circumference haue stood,
With thy faire Queene, a sea whither do runne,
Streames of all royall bloud of Christendome.
Both royall plants whence princely branches spring,
VVhereon grow our best fruits of hope and ioy
Great of-springs both, of many a noble King▪
An antidotesh' against this lands annoy.
[Page 208]In whose milde lookes hath princely maiestie,
A marriage made with modest courtesie.
She vertues booke bound in a golden couer,
Wherein nature hath writte with Gods owne quill,
All beauties learning, where thou her true louer,
Maist reade sweete lectures of delight at will.
And on the frame of whose diuinest feature,
All graces shine that can be in a creature.
Sprung of a double, knit to a triple King,
Late quadruple, the holy number, Three,
Gratefull to God did seeme more apt to bring,
Peace to this land, with loue and vnitie.
Plant royall set by Iuno in this land,
Whose ancestors by Mars heere once did stand.
Sacred beautie her makes seeme angelicall,
Thee heauenly wisedome to the starres do raize,
Minerua her, Apollo thee do call
Their dearlings, both truest theames of all praise.
Together liue and loue, and long do raigne,
To our, to your, to Gods▪ ioy, bli [...]le, and gaine.

To my Lord the Prince.

DEarling of these, of future times the glory,
Branch royall sprung from many a regall stemme,
On whose faire structure, written is the story
Of natures chefest skill, worlds choisest Iemme,
Wits richest Cabinet, vertues best aray,
Centre where lines of all hearts loues do meete▪
Sweete ground whereon the Muses loue to play,
Ripe in wit, though greene in yeares, of forme most sweet
Scotlands faire fruit, Englands great hope, Frances loue▪
Irelands awe, Cambriaes ioy, great Brittains [...]ame,
Abridgement of all worth, the mighty Ioue,
Long lengthen your good daies, and still your name,
And when you shall haue honoured long this land
Grant you a glorious Saint in heauen to stand.

To the excellent Lady Elizabeth her Grace.

FAire vertues Iemme▪ set in most royall gold,
The worthiest owner of the fairest mansion,
Rich prize for which nature and fortune hold
VVith Muses and graces Great contention:
All which by agreement this partition make,
None of themselues worthy of all discerning,
Nature your beauty, Graces your vertues take,
Fortune shares your honour, Muses your learning.
Map of perfection, who deserue to be,
And are the worthiest marke the world can yeeld,
For all great Christian Princes loues, they see
Such vertues wheat, growing in beauties field:
Long may you liue, a holy and happy life,
A royall maide first, then a royall wife.

De lapsu hominis in Adam.

PAuper amabilis & venerabilis est benedictus,
Diues inutilis, insatiabilis, est maledictus,
Qui [...]ona negligit, & mala diligit, intrat abyssum.
Nulla potentia, nulla pecunia▪ liberat ipsum.
Irremeabilis, insatiabilis, illa vorago,
Hic vbi mergitur, horrida cernitur omnis image.
Uir miserabilis Euaque flebilis hoc subierunt,
Hic cruciamina, per sua crimina, cum m [...]ruerunt.
Iussa Dei pia, iussa salubria si tenuissent,
Vir neque f [...]mina, nec sua semina, morte perissent,
Sed quia spernere iussaque soluere non timuere,
Mors grauis irrujt, hoc merito fuit, & periere.
Ianua mortis passio fortis crimen corum,
A [...]tulit [...]rbi semina morbi, totque malorum.
Illa parentes, atque sequentes culpa peremit,
Atque piar [...]m deliciarum munus ademit.
[...]lebile fatum dans cruciatum, dansque dolorem,
Illa merenti perdere tanti regis honorem.
Est data saeuam causa per Euam perditionis,
Dum meliorem sperat honorem voce draconis,
Hoc male credens, nos quoque laedens crimine magn [...],
Omnia tristi subdidit isti saecula damn [...].
Stirps miserorum plena dolorum postea creuit,
His quoque damnis pluribus annis subdita fleuit.

De restitutione hominis per Christum.

SEd Deus omnipotens, qui verbo cuncta creauit,
Sic cecidisse d [...]lens homines quos semper amauit,
Ipse suum verbum transmi [...]it ad in [...]im a mundi,
Exulibus miseris aperire viam redeundi.
Filius ergo Dei descendit ab arce superna
Nunquam discedens à maiestate paterna,
Qui corpus sumens animatum, numine salu [...]
Processit natus sacrae de virginis alu [...].
Uerus homo, verusque Deus, pius & miserat [...]r,
Uerus saluator, nostraeque salutis amator,
Sponte su [...] mor [...]ens mortem moriendo peremit
[...]t sic p [...]rpetua miser [...]s à morte redemit,
Namque pia de morte resurgens, vt Leo f [...]rtis,
Restituit vitam prostrato principe mortis.

Of the fall of man in Adam.

THe poore mā belou'd, for vertue approu'd, right blessed is he,
Where couetous chu [...]f who neuer hath enough, accursed shalbe.
Who goodnes reiecteth, & euill affecteth, shall fall in the pit,
No plenty of pence shall free him from thence, no power nor wit.
Both vnrepassable and vnsatiable, that gulph will appeare,
Imbogd he shall be, where nought he shall see, but horror & feare.
Adam vnstable, and Eue variable, the very first time,
By falling from God, deserued this rod, (O horrible crime,)
For had they adhered to God, & him feared, by keeping his reede
Thē death had not come on, the mā or the womā, or any their seed.
But when as the man, from Gods will began, basely to reuolt,
For his grieuous sinne, death came rushing in, and on him laid holt,
This was the great crime, which at the first time, by craft of the de­uill,
Did bring in the seed, of sicknes and need, & all other euill:
This was the sin, which first did begin, our parents to kill,
And heauenly foode, prepard for our good, did vtterly spill.
Vnhappy the fate, which first such a state, such sorrow did bring,
To him that had lost, so much to our cost, our heauenly king.
The credulous Eue, twas she that did giue, the cause of such euill,
Hoping that honor, wold come more vpō her, deceiued by the deui [...]
Beleeuing of him, did make her to sin, to all our great losse,
For mankind e're sence, receiued from hence, an horrible crosse.
For all the nations, through all generatiōs, which after haue bene
With grief of their heart, haue tasted the smart of that primitiue [...]in.

Of the restoring of man by Christ.

BVt Ioue omnipotent, all things by his word who created,
Gri [...]uing man to be fal [...]e, whose loue was in him so innated
Sent from aboue his word, for man to prepare a returning
Thence, where else had he lien, through all eternity burning▪
So Gods onely begotten sonne, came downe to redeeme vs,
Yet did he still himselfe, his fathers glory beteeme vs.
A body formde with a soule, to his diuinity taking.
And to be borne of a virgine, his humanity making.
Borne very God, very man, he a man God, mercifull, holy,
Purchased our saluation, was our Sauiour wholy.
For by his willing death, he deaths selfe wholy defeated,
And so vs all from eternall death, by death [...]ebegetted
From death again rising, he deaths prince mightily maimed,
Whereby his owne from death, to eternall life he regained.
FINIS.

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