Son Didst Conspire, But Plead Thy Maisters Cause, Unjustly Payned: Whom She, All Carelesse Of His Grief, Constrayned To Utter Forth The Anguish Of His Hart, And Would Not Heare, When He To Her Complayned The Piteous Passion Of His Dying Smart. Yet Live For Ever, Though Against Her Will, And Speake Her Good, Though She Requite It Ill. Xlix. Fayre Cruell! Why Are Ye So Fierce And Cruell? Is It Because Your Eyes Have Powre To Kill? Then Know That Mercy Is The Mighties Iewell, And Greater Glory Think To Save Then Spill. But If It Be Your Pleasure And Proud Will To Shew The Powre Of Your Imperious Eyes, Then Not On Him That Never Thought You Ill, But Bend Your Force Against Your Enemyes. Let Them Feel The Utmost Of Your Crueltyes, And Kill With Looks, As Cockatrices Do: But Him That At Your Footstoole Humbled Lies, With Mercifull Regard Give Mercy To. Such Mercy Shall You Make Admyr'D To Be; So Shall You Live, By Giving Life To Me. L. Long Languishing In Double Malady Of My Harts Wound And Of My Bodies Griefe, There Came To Me A Leach, That Would Apply Fit Medcines For My Bodies Best Reliefe. Vayne Man, Quoth I, That Hast But Little Priefe* In Deep Discovery Of The Mynds Disease; Is Not The Hart Of All The Body Chiefe, And Rules The Members As It Selfe Doth Please? Then With Some Cordialls Seeke For To Appease The Inward Languor Of My Wounded Hart, And Then My Body Shall Have Shortly Ease. But Such Sweet Cordialls Passe Physicians Art: Then, My Lyfes Leach! Doe You Your Skill Reveale, And With One Salve Both Hart And Body Heale. [* Priefe, Proof, Experience.] Li. Doe I Not See That Fayrest Ym?Ges Of Hardest Marble Are Of Purpose Made, For That They Should Endure Through Many Ages, Ne Let Theyr Famous Moniments To Fade? Why Then Doe I, Untrainde In Lovers Trade, Her Hardnes Blame, Which I Should More Commend? Sith Never Ought Was Excellent Assayde Which Was Not Hard T'Atchive And Bring To End; Ne Ought So Hard, But He That Would Attend Mote Soften It And To His Will Allure. So Do I Hope Her Stubborne Hart To Bend, And That It Then More Stedfast Will Endure: Only My Paines Wil Be The More To Get Her; But, Having Her, My Ioy Wil Be The Greater. Lii. So Oft As Homeward I From Her Depart, I Go Lyke One That, Having Lost The Field, Is Prisoner Led Away With Heavy Hart, Despoyld Of Warlike Armes And Knowen Shield. So Doe I Now My Self A Prisoner Yield To Sorrow And To Solitary Paine, From Presence Of My Dearest Deare Exylde, Long-While Alone In Languor To Remaine. There Let No Thought Of Ioy, Or Pleasure Vaine, Dare To Approch, That May My Solace Breed; Bet Sudden* Dumps**, And Drery Sad Disdayne Of All Worlds Gladnesse, More My Torment Feed. So I Her Absens Will My Penaunce Make, That Of Her Presens I My Meed May Take. [* Sudden, Qu. Sullen?] [** Dumps, Lamentations.] Liii. The Panther, Knowing That His Spotted Hyde Doth Please All Beasts, But That His Looks Them Fray*, Within A Bush His Dreadful Head Doth Hide, To Let Them Gaze, Whylst He On Them May Pray. Right So My Cruell Fayre With Me Doth Play; For With The Goodly Semblance Of Her Hew She Doth Allure Me To Mine Owne Decay, And Then No Mercy Will Unto Me Shew. Great Shame It Is, Thing So Divine In View, Made For To Be The Worlds Most Ornament, To Make The Bayte Her Gazers To Embrew: Good Shames To Be To Ill An Instrument! But Mercy Doth With Beautie Best Agree, As In Theyr Maker Ye Them Best May See. [* Fray, Frighten.] Liv. Of This Worlds Theatre In Which We Stay, My Love, Like The Spectator, Ydly Sits, Beholding Me, That All The Pageants Play, Disguysing Diversly My Troubled Wits. Sometimes I Ioy When Glad Occasion Fits, And Mask In Myrth Lyke To A Comedy: Soone After, When My Ioy To Sorrow Flits, I Waile, And Make My Woes A Tragedy. Yet She, Beholding Me With Constant Eye, Delights Not In My Merth, Nor Rues My Smart: But When I Laugh, She Mocks; And When I Cry, She Laughs, And Hardens Evermore Her Hart. What Then Can Move Her? If Nor Merth, Nor Mone, She Is No Woman, But A Sencelesse Stone. Lv. So Oft As I Her Beauty Doe Behold, And Therewith Doe Her Cruelty Compare, I Marvaile Of What Substance Was The Mould The Which Her Made Attonce So Cruell Faire. Not Earth; For Her High Thoughts More Heavenly Are: Not Water; For Her Love Doth Burne Like Fyre: Not Ayre; For She Is Not So Light Or Rare; Not Fyre; For She Doth Friese With Faint Desire. Then Needs Another Element Inquire, Whereof She Mote Be Made; That Is, The Skye. For To The Heaven Her Haughty Looks Aspire, And Eke Her Love Is Pure Immortall Hye. Then Sith To Heaven Ye Lykened Are The Best, Be Lyke In Mercy As In All The Rest. Lvi. Fayre Ye Be Sure, But Cruell And Unkind, As Is A Tygre, That With Greedinesse Hunts After Bloud; When He By Chance Doth Find A Feeble Beast, Doth Felly Him Oppresse. Fayre Be Ye Sure, But Proud And Pitilesse, As Is A Storme, That All Things Doth Prostrate; Finding A Tree Alone All Comfortlesse, Beats On It Strongly, It To Ruinate. Fayre Be Ye Sure, But Hard And Obstinate, As Is A Rocke Amidst The Raging Floods; Gaynst Which A Ship, Of Succour Desolate, Doth Suffer Wreck Both Of Her Selfe And Goods. That Ship, That Tree, And That Same Beast, Am I, Whom Ye Doe Wreck, Doe Ruine, And Destroy. Lvii. Sweet Warriour! When Shall I Have Peace With You? High Time It Is This Warre Now Ended Were, Which I No Lenger Can Endure To Sue, Ne Your Incessant Battry More To Beare. So Weake My Powres, So Sore My Wounds, Appear, That Wonder Is How I Should Live A Iot, Seeing My Hart Through-Launced Every Where With Thousand Arrowes Which Your Eies Have Shot. Yet Shoot Ye Sharpely Still, And Spare Me Not, But Glory Thinke To Make These Cruel Stoures*. Ye Cruell One! What Glory Can Be Got, In Slaying Him That Would Live Gladly Yours? Make Peace Therefore, And Graunt Me Timely Grace, That Al My Wounds Will Heale In Little Space. [* Stoures, Agitations.] Lviii. By Her That Is Most Assured To Her Selfe. Weake Is Th'Assurance That Weake Flesh Reposeth In Her Own Powre, And Scorneth Others Ayde; That Soonest Fals, When As She Most Supposeth Her Selfe Assur'D, And Is Of Nought Affrayd, All Flesh Is Frayle, And All Her Strength Unstayd, Like A Vaine Bubble Blowen Up With Ayre: Devouring Tyme And Changeful Chance Have Prayd* Her Glorious Pride, That None May It Repayre. Ne None So Rich Or Wise, So Strong Or Fayre, But Fayletb, Trusting On His Owne Assurance: And He That Standeth On The Hyghest Stayre Fals Lowest; For On Earth Nought Hath Endurance. Why Then Doe Ye, Proud Fayre, Misdeeme So Farre, That To Your Selfe Ye Most Assured Arre! [Footnote: Lviii.--By Her, &C. By Is Perhaps A Misprint For To; Or This Title May Belong To Sonnet Lix. H.] [* Prayd, Preyed Upon.] Lix. Thrise Happie She That Is So Well Assured Unto Her Selfe, And Setled So In Hart, That Neither Will For Better Be Allured, Ne Feard With Worse To Any Chaunce To Start: But, Like A Steddy Ship, Doth Strongly Part The Raging Waves, And Kcepes Her Course Aright, Ne Ought For Tempest Doth From It Depart, Ne Ought For Fayrer Weathers False Delight. Such Selfe-Assurance Need Not Feare The Spight Of Grudging Foes, Ne Favour Seek Of Friends: But In The Stay Of Her Owne Stedfast Might, Neither To One Her Selfe Nor Other Bends. Most Happy She That Most Assur'D Doth Rest; But He Most Happy Who Such One Loves Best. Lx. They That In Course Of Heavenly Spheares Are Skild To Every Planet Point His Sundry Yeare, In Which Her Circles Voyage Is Fulfild: As Mars In Threescore Yeares Doth Run His Spheare. So, Since The Winged God His Planet Cleare Began In Me To Move, One Yeare Is Spent; The Which Doth Longer Unto Me Appeare, Then Al Those Fourty Which My Life Out-Went. Then, By That Count Which Lovers Books Invent, The Spheare Of Cupid Fourty Yeares Containes, Which I Have Wasted In Long Languishment, That Seem'D The Longer For My Greater Paines. But Let My Loves Fayre Planet Short Her Wayes This Yeare Ensuing, Or Else Short My Dayes. [Footnote: Lx. 4.--As Mars In Three Score Yeares. I Do Not Understand Spenser'S Astronomy. C.] Lxi. The Glorious Image Of The Makers Beautie, My Soverayne Saynt, The Idoll Of My Thought, Dare Not Henceforth, Above The Bounds Of Dewtie, T'Accuse Of Pride, Or Rashly Blame For Ought. For Being, As She Is, Divinely Wrought, And Of The Brood Of Angels Heavenly Born, And With The Crew Of Blessed Saynts Upbrought, Each Of Which Did Her With Theyr Guifts Adorne, The Bud Of Ioy, The Blossome Of The Morne, The Beame Of Light, Whom Mortal Eyes Admyre, What Reason Is It Then But She Should Scorne Base Things, That To Her Love Too Bold Aspire! Such Heavenly Formes Ought Rather Worshipt Be, Then Dare Be Lov'D By Men Of Meane Degree. Lxii. The Weary Yeare His Race Now Having Run, The New Begins His Compast Course Anew: With Shew Of Morning Mylde He Bath Begun, Betokening Peace And Plenty To Ensew. So Let Us, Which This Chaunge Of Weather Vew, Chaunge Eke Our Mynds, And Former Lives Amend; The Old Yeares Sinnes Forepast Let Us Eschew, And Fly The Faults With Which We Did Offend. Then Shall The New Yeares Ioy Forth Freshly Send Into The Glooming World His Gladsome Ray, And All These Stormes, Which Now His Beauty Blend*, Shall Turne To Calmes, And Tymely Cleare Away. So, Likewise, Love! Cheare You Your Heavy Spright, And Chaunge Old Yeares Annoy To New Delight. [* Blend, Blemish.] Lxiii. After Long Stormes And Tempests Sad Assay, Which Hardly I Endured Heretofore, In Dread Of Death, And Daungerous Dismay, With Which My Silly Bark Was Tossed Sore, I Doe At Length Descry The Happy Shore, In Which I Hope Ere Long For To Arryve: Fayre Soyle It Seemes From Far, And Fraught With Store Of All That Deare And Daynty Is Alyve. Most Happy He That Can At Last Atchyve The Ioyous Safety Of So Sweet A Rest; Whose Least Delight Sufficeth To Deprive Remembrance Of All Paines Which Him Opprest. All Paines Are Nothing In Respect Of This; All Sorrowes Short That Gaine Eternall Blisse. Lxiv. Comming To Kisse Her Lyps, (Such Grace I Found,) Me Seemd I Smelt A Gardin Of Sweet Flowres, That Dainty Odours From Them Threw Around, For Damzels Fit To Decke Their Lovers Bowres. Her Lips Did Smell Lyke Unto Gillyflowers; Her Ruddy Cheekes Lyke Unto Roses Red; Her Snowy Browes Lyke Budded Bellamoures; Her Lovely Eyes Lyke Pincks But Newly Spred; Her Goodly Bosome Lyke A Strawberry Bed; Her Neck Lyke To A Bounch Of Cullambynes; Her Brest Lyke Lillyes, Ere Their Leaves Be Shed; Her Nipples Lyke Young Blossomd Jessemynes. Such Fragrant Flowres Doe Give Most Odorous Smell; But Her Sweet Odour Did Them All Excell. [Footnote: Lxiv. 7.--Bellamoures. I Have Not Discovered What Flower Is Here Meant. C.] Lxv. The Doubt Which Ye Misdeeme, Fayre Love, Is Vaine, That Fondly Feare To Lose Your Liberty, When, Losing One, Two Liberties Ye Gayne, And Make Him Bond That Bondage Earst Did Fly. Sweet Be The Bands The Which True Love Doth Tye, Without Constraynt Or Dread Of Any Ill: The Gentle Birde Feeles No Captivity Within Her Cage, But Sings, And Feeds Her Fill. There Pride Dare Not Approch, Nor Discord Spill The League Twixt Them That Loyal Love Hath Bound, But Simple Truth And Mutual Good-Will Seeks With Sweet Peace To Salve Each Others Wound: There Fayth Doth Fearless Dwell In Brasen Towre, And Spotlesse Pleasure Builds Her Sacred Bowre. Lxvi. To All Those Happy Blessings Which Ye Have With Plenteous Hand By Heaven Upon You Thrown, This One Disparagement They To You Gave, That Ye Your Love Lent To So Meane A One. Ye, Whose High Worths Surpassing Paragon Could Not On Earth Have Found One Fit For Mate, Ne But In Heaven Matchable To None, Why Did Ye Stoup Unto So Lowly State? But Ye Thereby Much Greater Glory Gate, Then Had Ye Sorted With A Princes Pere: For Now Your Light Doth More It Selfe Dilate, And, In My Darknesse, Greater Doth Appeare. Yet, Since Your Light Hath Once Enlumind Me, With My Reflex Yours Shall Encreased Be. Lxvii. Lyke As A Huntsman, After Weary Chace, Seeing The Game From Him Escapt Away, Sits Downe To Rest Him In Some Shady Place, With Panting Hounds, Beguiled Of Their Pray, So, After Long Pursuit And Vaine Assay, When I All Weary Had The Chace Forsooke, The Gentle Deer Returnd The Selfe-Same Way, Thinking To Quench Her Thirst At The Next Brooke. There She, Beholding Me With Mylder Looke, Sought Not To Fly, But Fearlesse Still Did Bide, Till I In Hand Her Yet Halfe Trembling Tooke, And With Her Own Goodwill Her Fyrmely Tyde. Strange Thing, Me Seemd, To See A Beast So Wyld So Goodly Wonne, With Her Owne Will Beguyld. Lxviii Most Glorious Lord Of Lyfe! That On This Day Didst Make Thy Triumph Over Death And Sin, And, Having Harrowd* Hell, Didst Bring Away Captivity Thence Captive, Us To Win, This Ioyous Day, Dear Lord, With Ioy Begin; And Grant That We, For Whom Thou Diddest Dy, Being With Thy Deare Blood Clene Washt From Sin, May Live For Ever In Felicity; And That Thy Love We Weighing Worthily, May Likewise Love Thee For The Same Againe, And For Thy Sake, That All Lyke Deare Didst Buy. With Love May One Another Entertayne! So Let Us Love, Deare Love, Lyke As We Ought: Love Is The Lesson Which The Lord Us Taught. [* Harrowd, Despoiled.] Lxix. The Famous Warriors Of The Anticke World Us'D Trophees To Erect In Stately Wize, In Which They Would The Records Have Enrold Of Theyr Great Deeds And Valorous Emprize. What Trophee Then Shall I Most Fit Devize, In Which I May Record The Memory Of My Loves Conquest, Peerlesse Beauties Prise, Adorn'D With Honour, Love, And Chastity! Even This Verse, Vowd To Eternity, Shall Be Thereof Immortall Moniment, And Tell Her Praise To All Posterity, That May Admire Such Worlds Rare Wonderment; The Happy Purchase Of My Glorious Spoile, Gotten At Last With Labour And Long Toyle. Lxx. Fresh Spring, The Herald Of Loves Mighty King, In Whose Cote-Armour Richly Are Displayd All Sorts Of Flowres The Which On Earth Do Spring, In Goodly Colours Gloriously Arrayd, Goe To My Love, Where She Is Carelesse Layd, Yet In Her Winters Bowre Not Well Awake: Tell Her The Ioyous Time Wil Not Be Staid, Unlesse She Doe Him By The Forelock Take; Bid Her Therefore Her Selfe Soone Ready Make, To Wayt On Love Amongst His Lovely Crew, Where Every One That Misseth Then Her Make* Shall Be By Him Amearst With Penance Dew. Make Haste Therefore, Sweet Love, While It Is Prime**; For None Can Call Againe The Passed Time. [* Make, Mate.] [** Prime, Spring.] Lxxi. I Ioy To See How, In Your Drawen Work, Your Selfe Unto The Bee Ye Doe Compare, And Me Unto The Spyder, That Doth Lurke In Close Awayt, To Catch Her Unaware. Right So Your Selfe Were Caught In Cunning Snare Of A Deare Foe, And Thralled To His Love; In Whose Streight Bands Ye Now Captived Are So Firmely, That Ye Never May Remove. But As Your Worke Is Woven All About With Woodbynd Flowers And Fragrant Eglantine, So Sweet Your Prison You In Time Shall Prove, With Many Deare Delights Bedecked Fyne: And All Thensforth Eternall Peace Shall See Betweene The Spyder And The Gentle Bee. Lxxii. Oft When My Spirit Doth Spred Her Bolder Winges, In Mind To Mount Up To The Purest Sky, It Down Is Weighd With Thought Of Earthly Things, And Clogd With Burden Of Mortality: Where, When That Soverayne Beauty It Doth Spy, Resembling Heavens Glory In Her Light, Drawn With Sweet Pleasures Bayt It Back Doth Fly, And Unto Heaven Forgets Her Former Flight. There My Fraile Fancy, Fed With Full Delight, Doth Bathe In Blisse, And Mantlcth Most At Ease; Ne Thinks Of Other Heaven, But How It Might Her Harts Desire With Most Contentment Please. Hart Need Not Wish None Other Happinesse, But Here On Earth To Have Such Hevens Blisse. Lxxiii Being My Self Captyved Here In Care, My Hart, (Whom None With Servile Bands Can Tye, But The Fayre Tresses Of Your Golden Hayre,) Breaking His Prison, Forth To You Doth Fly. Like As A Byrd, That In Ones Hand Doth Spy Desired Food, To It Doth Make His Flight, Even So My Hart, That Wont On Your Fayre Eye To Feed His Fill, Flyes Backe Unto Your Sight. Doe You Him Take, And In Your Bosome Bright Gently Encage, That He May Be Your Thrall: Perhaps He There May Learne, With Rare Delight, To Sing Your Name And Prayses Over All: That It Hereafter May You Not Repent, Him Lodging In Your Bosome To Have Lent. Lxxiv Most Happy Letters! Fram'D By Skilfull Trade, With Which That Happy Name Was First Desynd The Which Three Times Thrise Happy Hath Me Made, With Guifts Of Body, Fortune, And Of Mind. The First Ray Being To Me Gave By Kind, From Mothers Womb Deriv'D By Dew Descent: The Second Is My Sovereigne Queene Most Kind, That Honour And Large Richesse To Me Lent: The Third My Love, My Lives Last Ornament, By Whom My Spirit Out Of Dust Was Raysed, To Speake Her Prayse And Glory Excellent, Of All Alive Most Worthy To Be Praysed. Ye Three Elizabeths! For Ever Live, That Three Such Graces Did Unto Me Give. Lxxv. One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon The Strand, But Came The Waves And Washed It Away: Agayne I Wrote It With A Second Hand; But Came The Tyde, And Made My Paynes His Pray. "Vayne Man," Sayd She, "That Doest In Vaine Assay A Mortall Thing So To Immortalize; For I My Selve Shall Lyke To This Decay, And Eke My Name Bee Wyped Out Lykewize." "Not So," Quod I; "Let Baser Things Devize To Dy In Dust, But You Shall Live By Fame: My Verse Your Vertues Rare Shall Eternize, And In The Hevens Wryte Your Glorious Name. Where, When As Death Shall All The World Subdew, Our Love Shall Live, And Later Life Renew." Lxxvi Fayre Bosome! Fraught With Vertues Richest Tresure, The Neast Of Love, The Lodging Of Delight, The Bowre Of Blisse, The Paradice Of Pleasure, The Sacred Harbour Of That Hevenly Spright, How Was I Ravisht With Your Lovely Sight, And My Frayle Thoughts Too Rashly Led Astray, Whiles Diving Deepe Through Amorous Insight, On The Sweet Spoyle Of Beautie They Did Pray, And Twixt Her Paps, Like Early Fruit In May, Whose Harvest Seemd To Hasten Now Apace, They Loosely Did Theyr Wanton Winges Display, And There To Rest Themselves Did Boldly Place. Sweet Thoughts! I Envy Your So Happy Rest, Which Oft I Wisht, Yet Never Was So Blest. Lxxvii. Was It A Dreame, Or Did I See It Playne? A Goodly Table Of Pure Yvory, All Spred With Juncats Fit To Entertayne The Greatest Prince With Pompous Roialty: Mongst Which, There In A Silver Dish Did Ly Two Golden Apples Of Unvalewd* Price, Far Passing Those Which Hercules Came By, Or Those Which Atalanta Did Entice; Exceeding Sweet, Yet Voyd Of Sinfull Vice; That Many Sought, Yet None Could Ever Taste; Sweet Fruit Of Pleasure, Brought From Paradice By Love Himselfe, And In His Garden Plaste. Her Brest That Table Was, So Richly Spredd; My Thoughts The Guests, Which Would Thereon Have Fedd. [* Unvalewd, Invaluable] Lxxviii Lackyng My Love, I Go From Place To Place, Lyke A Young Fawne That Late Hath Lost The Hynd, And Seeke Each Where Where Last I Sawe Her Face, Whose Ymage Yet I Carry Fresh In Mynd. I Seeke The Fields With Her Late Footing Synd; I Seeke Her Bowre With Her Late Presence Deckt; Yet Nor In Field Nor Bowre I Can Her Fynd, Yet Field And Bowre Are Full Of Her Aspect. But When Myne Eyes I Therunto Direct, They Ydly Back Return To Me Agayne; And When I Hope To See Theyr Trew Obiect, I Fynd My Self But Fed With Fancies Vayne. Cease Then, Myne Eyes, To Seeke Her Selfe To See, And Let My Thoughts Behold Her Selfe In Mee. Lxxix Men Call You Fayre, And You Doe Credit It, For That Your Selfe Ye Daily Such Doe See: But The Trew Fayre, That Is The Gentle Wit And Vertuous Mind, Is Much More Praysd Of Me. For All The Rest, How Ever Fayre It Be, Shall Turne To Nought And Lose That Glorious Hew; But Onely That Is Permanent, And Free From Frayle Corruption That Doth Flesh Ensew. That Is True Beautie: That Doth Argue You To Be Divine, And Born Of Heavenly Seed, Deriv'D From That Fayre Spirit From Whom All True And Perfect Beauty Did At First Proceed. He Only Fayre, And What He Fayre Hath Made; All Other Fayre, Lyke Flowres, Untymely Fade. Lxxxx After So Long A Race As I Have Run Through Faery Land, Which Those Six Books Compile, Give Leave To Rest Me Being Half Foredonne, And Gather To My Selfe New Breath Awhile. Then, As A Steed Refreshed After Toyle, Out Of My Prison I Will Break Anew, And Stoutly Will That Second Work Assoyle*, With Strong Endevour And Attention Dew. Till Then Give Leave To Me In Pleasant Mew** To Sport My Muse, And Sing My Loves Sweet Praise, The Contemplation Of Whose Heavenly Hew My Spirit To An Higher Pitch Will Rayse. But Let Her Prayses Yet Be Low And Meane, Fit For The Handmayd Of The Faery Queene. [* Assoyle, Discharge.] [** Mew, Prison, Retreat.] Lxxxi. Fayre Is My Love, When Her Fayre Golden Haires With The Loose Wynd Ye Waving Chance To Marke; Fayre, When The Rose In Her Red Cheekes Appeares, Or In Her Eyes The Fyre Of Love Does Sparke; Fayre, When Her Brest, Lyke A Rich Laden Barke, With Pretious Merchandize She Forth Doth Lay; Fayre, When That Cloud Of Pryde, Which Oft Doth Dark Her Goodly Light, With Smiles She Drives Away. But Fayrest She, When So She Doth Display The Gate With Pearles And Rubyes Richly Dight, Throgh Which Her Words So Wise Do Make Their Way, To Beare The Message Of Her Gentle Spright. The Rest Be Works Of Natures Wonderment; But This The Worke Of Harts Astonishment. Lxxxii. Ioy Of My Life! Full Oft For Loving You I Blesse My Lot, That Was So Lucky Placed: But Then The More Your Owne Mishap I Rew, That Are So Much By So Meane Love Embased. For Had The Equall Hevens So Much You Graced In This As In The Rest, Ye Mote Invent* Some Hevenly Wit, Whose Verse Could Have Enchased Your Glorious Name In Golden Moniment. But Since Ye Deignd So Goodly To Relent To Me Your Thrall, In Whom Is Little Worth, That Little That I Am Shall All Be Spent In Setting Your Immortal Prayses Forth: Whose Lofty Argument, Uplifting Me, Shall Lift You Up Unto An High Degree. [* Invent, Light Upon, Find.] Lxxxiii Let Not One Sparke Of Filthy Lustfull Fyre Breake Out, That May Her Sacred Peace Molest; Ne One Light Glance Of Sensuall Desyre Attempt To Work Her Gentle Mindes Unrest: But Pure Affections Bred In Spotlesse Brest, And Modest Thoughts Breathd From Well-Tempred Spirits, Goe Visit Her In Her Chaste Bowre Of Rest, Accompanyde With ?Ngelick Delightes. There Fill Your Selfe With Those Most Ioyous Sights, The Which My Selfe Could Never Yet Attayne: But Speake No Word To Her Of These Sad Plights, Which Her Too Constant Stiffnesse Doth Constrayn. Onely Behold Her Rare Perfection, And Blesse Your Fortunes Fayre Election. Lxxxiv. The World, That Cannot Deeme Of Worthy Things, When I Doe Praise Her, Say I Doe But Flatter: So Does The Cuckow, When The Mavis* Sings, Begin His Witlesse Note Apace To Clatter. But They, That Skill Not Of So Heavenly Matter, All That They Know Not, Envy Or Admyre; Rather Then Envy, Let Them Wonder At Her, But Not To Deeme Of Her Desert Aspyre. Deepe In The Closet Of My Parts Entyre**, Her Worth Is Written With A Golden Quill, That Me With Heavenly Fury Doth Inspire, And My Glad Mouth With Her Sweet Prayses Fill: Which When As Fame In Her Shril Trump Shall Thunder, Let The World Chuse To Envy Or To Wonder. [* Mavis, Song-Thrush.] [** Entyre, Inward.] Lxxxv. Venemous Tongue, Tipt With Vile Adders Sting, Of That Self Kynd With Which The Furies Fell, Their Snaky Heads Doe Combe, From Which A Spring Of Poysoned Words And Spightfull Speeches Well, Let All The Plagues And Horrid Paines Of Hell Upon Thee Fall For Thine Accursed Hyre, That With False Forged Lyes, Which Thou Didst Tell. In My True Love Did Stirre Up Coles Of Yre: The Sparkes Whereof Let Kindle Thine Own Fyre, And, Catching Hold On Thine Own Wicked Bed, Consume Thee Quite, That Didst With Guile Conspire In My Sweet Peace Such Breaches To Have Bred! Shame Be Thy Meed, And Mischiefe Thy Reward, Due To Thy Selfe, That It For Me Prepard! Lxxxvi. Since I Did Leave The Presence Of My Love, Many Long Weary Dayes I Have Outworne, And Many Nights, That Slowly Seemd To Move Theyr Sad Protract From Evening Untill Morn. For, When As Day The Heaven Doth Adorne, I Wish That Night The Noyous Day Would End: And When As Night Hath Us Of Light Forlorne, I Wish That Day Would Shortly Reascend. Thus I The Time With Expectation Spend, And Faine My Griefe With Chaunges To Beguile, That Further Seemes His Terme Still To Extend, And Maketh Every Minute Seem A Myle. So Sorrowe Still Doth Seem Too Long To Last; But Ioyous Houres Do Fly Away Too Fast. Lxxxvii. Since I Have Lackt The Comfort Of That Light The Which Was Wont To Lead My Thoughts Astray, I Wander As In Darknesse Of The Night, Affrayd Of Every Dangers Least Dismay. Ne Ought I See, Though In The Clearest Day, When Others Gaze Upon Theyr Shadowes Vayne, But Th'Only Image Of That Heavenly Ray Whereof Some Glance Doth In Mine Eie Remayne. Of Which Beholding The Idaea Playne, Through Contemplation Of My Purest Part, With Light Thereof I Doe My Self Sustayne, And Thereon Feed My Love-Affamisht Hart. But With Such Brightnesse Whylest I Fill My Mind, I Starve My Body, And Mine Eyes Doe Blynd. Lxxxviii. Lyke As The Culver* On The Bared Bough Sits Mourning For The Absence Of Her Mate, And In Her Songs Sends Many A Wishful Vow For His Returns, That Seemes To Linger Late, So I Alone, How Left Disconsolate, Mourne To My Selfe The Absence Of My Love; And Wandring Here And There All Desolate, Seek With My Playnts To Match That Mournful Dove Ne Ioy Of Ought That Under Heaven Doth Hove**, Can Comfort Me, But Her Owne Ioyous Sight, Whose Sweet Aspect Both God And Man Can Move, In Her Unspotted Pleasauns To Delight. Dark Is My Day, Whyles Her Fayre Light I Mis, And Dead My Life That Wants Such Lively Blis. [* Culver, Dove.] [** Hove, Hover, Exist.] * * * * * Epithalamion. Ye Learned Sisters, Which Have Oftentimes Beene To Me Ayding, Others To Adorne Whom Ye Thought Worthy Of Your Gracefull Rymes, That Even The Greatest Did Not Greatly Scorne To Heare Theyr Names Sung In Your Simple Layes, But Ioyed In Theyr Praise, And When Ye List Your Own Mishaps To Mourne, Which Death, Or Love, Or Fortunes Wreck Did Rayse, Your String Could Soone To Sadder Tenor Turne, And Teach The Woods And Waters To Lament Your Dolefull Dreriment, Now Lay Those Sorrowfull Complaints Aside, And Having All Your Heads With Girlands Crownd, Helpe Me Mine Owne Loves Prayses To Resound: Ne Let The Same Of Any Be Envide: So Orpheus Did For His Owne Bride; So I Unto My Selfe Alone Will Sing; The Woods Shall To Me Answer, And My Eccho Ring. Early, Before The Worlds Light-Giving Lampe His Golden Beame Upon The Hils Doth Spred, Having Disperst The Nights Unchearfull Dampe, Doe Ye Awake, And, With Fresh Lustyhed, Go To The Bowre Of My Beloved Love, My Truest Turtle Dove. Bid Her Awake; For Hymen Is Awake, And Long Since Ready Forth His Maske To Move, With His Bright Tead* That Flames With Many A Flake, And Many A Bachelor To Waite On Him, In Theyr Fresh Garments Trim. Bid Her Awake Therefore, And Soone Her Dight**, For Loe! The Wished Day Is Come At Last, That Shall For All The Paynes And Sorrowes Past Pay To Her Usury Of Long Delight: And Whylest She Doth Her Dight, Doe Ye To Her Of Ioy And Solace Sing, That All The Woods May Answer, And Your Eccho Ring. [* Tead, Torch.] [** Dight, Deck.] Bring With You All The Nymphes That You Can Heare, Both Of The Rivers And The Forrests Greene, And Of The Sea That Neighbours To Her Neare, All With Gay Girlands Goodly Wel Beseene*. And Let Them Also With Them Bring In Hand Another Gay Girland, For My Fayre Love, Of Lillyes And Of Roses, Bound Truelove Wize With A Blew Silke Riband. And Let Them Make Great Store Of Bridale Poses, And Let Them Eke Bring Store Of Other Flowers, To Deck The Bridale Bowers: And Let The Ground Whereas Her Foot Shall Tread, For Feare The Stones Her Tender Foot Should Wrong, Be Strewd With Fragrant Flowers All Along, And Diapred** Lyke The Discolored Mead. Which Done, Doe At Her Chamber Dore Awayt, For She Will Waken Strayt; The Whiles Do Ye This Song Unto Her Sing, The Woods Shall To You Answer, And Your Eccho Ring;. [* Beseene, Adorned.] [** Diapred, Variegated.] Ye Nymphes Of Mulla, Which With Carefull Heed The Silver Scaly Trouts Do Tend Full Well, And Greedy Pikes Which Use Therein To Feed, (Those Trouts And Pikes All Others Doe Excell,) And Ye Likewise Which Keepe The Rushy Lake, Where None Doo Fishes Take, Bynd Up The Locks The Which Hang Scatterd Light, And In His Waters, Which Your Mirror Make, Behold Your Faces As The Christall Bright, That When You Come Whereas My Love Doth Lie, No Blemish She May Spie. And Eke, Ye Lightfoot Mayds Which Keepe The Dere That On The Hoary Mountayne Use To Towre, And The Wylde Wolves, Which Seeke Them To Devoure, With Your Steele Darts Doe Chace From Coming Neer, Be Also Present Heere, To Helpe To Decke Her, And To Help To Sing, That All The Woods May Answer, And Your Eccho Ring. Wake Now, My Love, Awake! For It Is Time: The Rosy Morne Long Since Left Tithons Bed, All Ready To Her Silver Coche To Clyme, And Phoebus Gins To Shew His Glorious Hed. Hark! How The Cheerefull Birds Do Chaunt Theyr Laies, And Carroll Of Loves Praise: The Merry Larke Hir Mattins Sings Aloft; The Thrush Replyes; The Mavis* Descant** Playes; The Ouzell@ Shrills; The Ruddock$ Warbles Soft; So Goodly All Agree, With Sweet Consent, To This Dayes Meriment. Ah! My Deere Love, Why Doe Ye Sleepe Thus Long, When Meeter Were That Ye Should Now Awake, T'Awayt The Comming Of Your Ioyous Make,% And Hearken To The Birds Love-Learned Song, The Deawy Leaves Among! For They Of Ioy And Pleasance To You Sing, That All The Woods Them Answer, And Theyr Eccho Ring. [* Mavis, Song-Thrush.] [** Descant, Variation.] [@ Ouzell, Blackbird.] [$ Ruddock, Redbreast.] [% Make, Mate.] My Love Is Now Awake Out Of Her Dreame, And Her Fayre Eyes, Like Stars That Dimmed Were With Darksome Cloud, Now Shew Theyr Goodly Beams More Bright Then Hesperus His Head Doth Rere. Come Now, Ye Damzels, Daughters Of Delight, Helpe Quickly Her To Dight. But First Come, Ye Fayre Houres, Which Were Begot, In Ioves Sweet Paradice, Of Day And Night, Which Doe The Seasons Of The Year Allot, And All That Ever In This World Is Fayre Do Make And Still Repayre: And Ye Three Handmayds Of The Cyprian Queene, The Which Doe Still Adorn Her Beauties Pride, Helpe To Adorne My Beautifullest Bride: And, As Ye Her Array, Still Throw Betweene Some Graces To Be Scene; And, As Ye Use To Venus, To Her Sing, The Whiles The Woods Shal Answer, And Your Eccho Ring. Now Is My Love All Ready Forth To Come: Let All The Virgins Therefore Well Awayt, And Ye Fresh Boyes, That Tend Upon Her Groome, Prepare Your Selves, For He Is Comming Strayt. Set All Your Things In Seemely Good Aray, Fit For So Ioyfull Day, The Ioyfulst Day That Ever Sunne Did See. Fair Sun! Shew Forth Thy Favourable Ray, And Let Thy Lifull* Heat Not Fervent Be, For Feare Of Burning Her Sunshyny Face, Her Beauty To Disgrace. O Fayrest Phoebus! Father Of The Muse! If Ever I Did Honour Thee Aright, Or Sing The Thing That Mote Thy Mind Delight, Doe Not Thy Servants Simple Boone Refuse, But Let This Day, Let This One Day, Be Mine; Let All The Rest Be Thine. Then I Thy Soverayne Prayses Loud Wil Sing, That All The Woods Shal Answer, And Theyr Eccho Ring. [* Lifull, Life-Full.] Harke! How The Minstrils Gin To Shrill Aloud Their Merry Musick That Resounds From Far, The Pipe, The Tabor, And The Trembling Croud*, That Well Agree Withouten Breach Or Iar. But Most Of All The Damzels Doe Delite, When They Their Tymbrels Smyte, And Thereunto Doe Daunce And Carrol Sweet, That All The Sences They Doe Ravish Quite; The Whyles The Boyes Run Up And Downe The Street, Crying Aloud With Strong Confused Noyce, As If It Were One Voyce, "Hymen, I? Hymen, Hymen," They Do Shout; That Even To The Heavens Theyr Shouting Shrill Doth Reach, And All The Firmament Doth Fill; To Which The People, Standing All About, As In Approvance, Doe Thereto Applaud, And Loud Advaunce Her Laud; And Evermore They "Hymen, Hymen," Sing, That All The Woods Them Answer, And Theyr Eccho Ring. [* Croud, Violin] Loe! Where She Comes Along With Portly Pace, Lyke Phoebe, From Her Chamber Of The East, Arysing Forth To Run Her Mighty Race, Clad All In White, That Seems A Virgin Best. So Well It Her Beseems, That Ye Would Weene Some Angell She Had Beene. Her Long Loose Yellow Locks Lyke Golden Wyre, Sprinckled With Perle, And Perling Flowres Atweene, Doe Lyke A Golden Mantle Her Attyre, And, Being Crowned With A Girland Greene, Seem Lyke Some Mayden Queene. Her Modest Eyes, Abashed To Behold So Many Gazers As On Her Do Stare, Upon The Lowly Ground Affixed Are, Ne Dare Lift Up Her Countenance Too Bold, But Blush To Heare Her Prayses Sung So Loud,-- So Farre From Being Proud. Nathlesse Doe Ye Still Loud Her Prayses Sing, That All The Woods May Answer, And You