Sonet 14

To the Soule

That learned Father which so firmly proues The soule of man immortall and diuine, And doth the seuerall offices define, Anima. Giues her that name as shee the body moues, Amor. Then is she loue imbracing Charitie, Animus. Mouing a will in vs, it is the mind, Mens. Retayning knowledge, still the same in kind; Memoria. As intelectuall it is the memorie, Ratio. In judging, Reason onely is her name, Sensus. In speedy apprehension it is sence, Conscientia. In right or wrong, they call her conscience. Spiritus. The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame. These of the soule the seuerall functions bee, Which my hart lightned by thy loue doth see.

Sonet 21

You cannot loue my pretty hart, and why? There was a time, you told me that you would, But now againe you will the same deny, If it might please you, would to God you could; What will you hate? nay, that you will not neither, Nor loue, nor hate, how then? what will you do, What will you keepe a meane then betwixt eyther? Or will you loue me, and yet hate me to? Yet serues not this, what next, what other shift? You will, and will not, what a coyle is heere, I see your craft, now I perceaue your drift, And all this while, I was mistaken there. Your loue and hate is this, I now doe proue you, You loue in hate, by hate to make me loue you.

Sonet 22

An euill spirit your beauty haunts me still, Where-with (alas) I haue been long possest, Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill, Nor giues me once but one pore minutes rest. In me it speakes, whether I sleepe or wake, And when by meanes to driue it out I try, With greater torments then it me doth take, And tortures me in most extreamity. Before my face, it layes all my dispaires, And hasts me on vnto a suddaine death; Now tempting me, to drown my selfe in teares, And then in sighing to giue vp my breath: Thus am I still prouok'd to euery euill, By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel deuill.

Sonet 23

To the Spheares

Thou which do'st guide this little world of loue, Thy planets mansions heere thou mayst behold, My brow the spheare where Saturne still doth moue, Wrinkled with cares: and withered, dry, and cold; Mine eyes the Orbe where Iupiter doth trace, Which gently smile because they looke on thee, Mars in my swarty visage takes his place, Made leane with loue, where furious conflicts bee. Sol in my breast with his hote scorching flame, And in my hart alone doth Venus raigne: Mercury my hands the Organs of thy fame, And Luna glides in my fantastick braine; The starry heauen thy prayse by me exprest, Thou the first moouer, guiding all the rest.

Sonet 24

Love banish'd heauen, in earth was held in scorne, Wandring abroad in neede and beggery, And wanting friends though of a Goddesse borne, Yet crau'd the almes of such as passed by. I like a man, deuout and charitable; Clothed the naked, lodg'd this wandring guest, With sighs and teares still furnishing his table, With what might make the miserable blest; But this vngratefull for my good desart, Entic'd my thoughts against me to conspire, Who gaue consent to steale away my hart, And set my breast his lodging on a fire: Well, well, my friends, when beggers grow thus bold, No meruaile then though charity grow cold.

Sonet 25

O why should nature nigardly restraine, The Sotherne Nations relish not our tongue, Else should my lines glide on the waues of Rhene, And crowne the Pirens with my liuing song; But bounded thus to Scotland get you forth: Thence take you wing vnto the Orcades, There let my verse get glory in the North, Making my sighs to thawe the frozen seas, And let the Bards within the Irish Ile, To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall passe, Call backe the stifneckd rebels from exile, And molifie the slaughtering Galliglasse: And when my flowing numbers they rehearse, Let Wolues and Bears be charmed with my verse.

Sonet 27

I gaue my faith to Loue, Loue his to mee, That hee and I, sworne brothers should remaine, Thus fayth receiu'd, fayth giuen back againe, Who would imagine bond more sure could be? Loue flies to her, yet holds he my fayth taken, Thus from my vertue raiseth my offence, Making me guilty by mine innocence; And surer bond by beeing so forsaken, He makes her aske what I before had vow'd, Giuing her that, which he had giuen me, I bound by him, and he by her made free, Who euer so hard breach of fayth alow'd? Speake you that should of right and wrong discusse, Was right ere wrong'd, or wrong ere righted thus?

Sonet 29

To the Sences

When conquering loue did first my hart assaile, Vnto mine ayde I summond euery sence, Doubting if that proude tyrant should preuaile, My hart should suffer for mine eyes offence; But he with beauty, first corrupted sight, My hearing bryb'd with her tongues harmony, My taste, by her sweet lips drawne with delight, My smelling wonne with her breaths spicerie; But when my touching came to play his part, (The King of sences, greater than the rest) That yeelds loue up the keyes vnto my hart, And tells the other how they should be blest; And thus by those of whom I hop'd for ayde, To cruell Loue my soule was first betrayd.

Sonet 30

To the Vestalls

Those Priests, which first the Vestall fire begun, Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame, Deuisd a vessell to receiue the sunne, Beeing stedfastly opposed to the same; Where with sweet wood laid curiously by Art, Whereon the sunne might by reflection beate, Receiuing strength from euery secret part, The fuell kindled with celestiall heate. Thy blessed eyes, the sunne which lights this fire, My holy thoughts, they be the Vestall flame, The precious odors be my chast desire, My breast the fuell which includes the same; Thou art my Vesta, thou my Goddesse art, Thy hollowed Temple, onely is my hart.

Sonet 31

Me thinks I see some crooked Mimick ieere And taxe my Muse with this fantastick grace, Turning my papers, asks what haue we heere? Making withall, some filthy anticke face; I feare no censure, nor what thou canst say, Nor shall my spirit one iote of vigor lose, Think'st thou my wit shall keepe the pack-horse way, That euery dudgen low inuention goes? Since Sonnets thus in bundles are imprest, And euery drudge doth dull our satiate eare, Think'st thou my loue, shall in those rags be drest That euery dowdie, euery trull doth weare? Vnto my pitch no common iudgement flies, I scorne all earthlie dung-bred scarabies.

Sonet 34

To Admiration

Maruaile not Loue, though I thy power admire, Rauish'd a world beyond the farthest thought, That knowing more then euer hath beene taught, That I am onely staru'd in my desire; Maruaile not Loue, though I thy power admire, Ayming at things exceeding all perfection, To wisedoms selfe, to minister direction, That I am onely staru'd in my desire; Maruaile not Loue, though I thy power admire, Though my conceite I farther seeme to bend, Then possibly inuention can extend, And yet am onely staru'd in my desire; If thou wilt wonder, heers the wonder loue, That this to mee doth yet no wonder proue.

Sonet 43

Whilst thus my pen striues to eternize thee, Age rules my lines with wrincles in my face, Where in the Map of all my misery, Is modeld out the world of my disgrace, Whilst in despight of tyrannizing times, Medea like I make thee young againe, Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rimes, And murther'st vertue with thy coy disdaine; And though in youth, my youth vntimely perrish, To keepe thee from obliuion and the graue, Ensuing ages yet my rimes shall cherrish, Where I entomb'd, my better part shall saue; And though this earthly body fade and die My name shall mount vpon eternitie.

Sonet 44

Muses which sadly sit about my chayre, Drownd in the teares extorted by my lines, With heauy sighs whilst thus I breake the ayre, Paynting my passions in these sad dissignes, Since she disdaines to blesse my happy verse, The strong built Trophies to her liuing fame, Euer hence-forth my bosome be your hearse, Wherein the world shal now entombe her name, Enclose my musick you poor sencelesse walls, Sith she is deafe and will not heare my mones, Soften your selues with euery teare that falls, Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones: Which with my plaints seeme yet with pitty moued, Kinder then she who I so long haue loued.

Sonet 45

Thou leaden braine, which censur'st what I write, And say'st my lines be dull and doe not moue, I meruaile not thou feelst not my delight, Which neuer felt my fiery tuch of loue. But thou whose pen hath like a Pack-horse seru'd, Whose stomack vnto gaule hath turn'd thy foode, Whose sences like poore prisoners hunger-staru'd, Whose griefe hath parch'd thy body, dry'd thy blood. Thou which hast scorned life, and hated death, And in a moment mad, sober, glad, and sorry, Thou which hast band thy thoughts and curst thy breath, With thousand plagues more then in purgatory. Thou thus whose spirit Loue in his fire refines, Come thou and reade, admire, applaud my lines.

Sonet 55

Truce gentle loue, a parly now I craue, Me thinks, 'tis long since first these wars begun, Nor thou nor I, the better yet can haue: Bad is the match where neither party wone. I offer free conditions of faire peace, My hart for hostage, that it shall remaine, Discharge our forces heere, let malice cease, So for my pledge, thou giue me pledge againe. Or if nothing but death will serue thy turne, Still thirsting for subuersion of my state; Doe what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burne, Let the world see the vtmost of thy hate: I send defiance, since if ouerthrowne, Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine owne.

Sonet 56

A Consonet

Eyes with your teares, blind if you bee, Why haue these teares such eyes to see, Poore eyes, if yours teares cannot moue, My teares, eyes, then must mone my loue, Then eyes, since you haue lost your sight, Weepe still, and teares shall lend you light, Till both desolu'd, and both want might. No, no, cleere eyes, you are not blind, But in my teares discerne my mind: Teares be the language which you speake, Which my hart wanting, yet must breake; My tongue must cease to tell my wrongs, And make my sighs to get them tongs, Yet more then this to her belongs.

Sonet 57

To Lucie Countesse of Bedford

Great Lady, essence of my chiefest good, Of the most pure and finest tempred spirit, Adorn'd with gifts, enobled by thy blood, Which by discent true vertue do'st inherit: That vertue which no fortune can depriue, Which thou by birth tak'st from thy gracious mother, Whose royall minds with equall motion striue, Which most in honour shall excell the other; Vnto thy fame my Muse herself shall taske, Which rain'st vpon me thy sweet golden showers, And but thy selfe, no subject will I aske, Vpon whose praise my soule shall spend her powers. Sweet Lady yet, grace this poore Muse of mine, Whose faith, whose zeale, whose life, whose all is thine.

Sonet 58

To the Lady Anne Harington

Madam, my words cannot expresse my mind, My zealous kindnes to make knowne to you, When your desarts all seuerally I find; In this attempt of me doe claim their due, Your gracious kindnes that doth claime my hart; Your bounty bids my hand to make it knowne, Of me your vertues each doe claime a part, And leaue me thus the least part of mine owne. What should commend your modesty and wit, Is by your wit and modesty commended And standeth dumbe, in much admiring it, And where it should begin, it there is ended; Returning this your prayses onely due, And to your selfe say you are onely you.



[from the Edition of 1602]

Sonnet 12

To Lunacie

As other men, so I my selfe doe muse, Why in this sort I wrest Inuention so, And why these giddy metaphors I vse, Leauing the path the greater part doe goe; I will resolue you; I am lunaticke, And euer this in mad men you shall finde, What they last thought on when the braine grew sick, In most distraction keepe that still in minde. Thus talking idely in this bedlam fit, Reason and I, (you must conceiue) are twaine, 'Tis nine yeeres, now, since first I lost my wit Beare with me, then, though troubled be my braine; With diet and correction, men distraught, (Not too farre past) may to their wits be brought.

Sonnet 17

If hee from heauen that filch'd that liuing fire, Condemn'd by Ioue to endlesse torment be, I greatly meruaile how you still goe free, That farre beyond Promethius did aspire? The fire he stole, although of heauenly kinde, Which from aboue he craftily did take, Of liueles clods vs liuing men to make, Againe bestow'd in temper of the mind. But you broke in to heauens immortall store, Where vertue, honour, wit, and beautie lay, Which taking thence, you haue escap'd away, Yet stand as free as ere you did before. But old Promethius punish'd for his rape, Thus poore theeues suffer, when the greater scape.

Sonnet 25

To Folly

With fooles and children good discretion beares, Then honest people beare with Loue and me, Nor older yet, nor wiser made by yeeres, Amongst the rest of fooles and children be; Loues still a Baby, playes with gaudes and toyes, And like a wanton sports with euery feather, And Idiots still are running after boyes, Then fooles and children fitt'st to goe together; He still as young as when he first was borne, No wiser I, then when as young as he, You that behold vs, laugh vs not to scorne, Giue Nature thanks, you are not such as we; Yet fooles and children sometimes tell in play, Some wise in showe, more fooles in deede, then they.

Sonnet 27

I heare some say, this man is not in loue, Who, can he loue? a likely thing they say: Reade but his verse, and it will easily proue; O iudge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray, Because I loosely tryfle in this sort, As one that faine his sorrowes would beguile: You now suppose me, all this time in sport, And please your selfe with this conceit the while. You shallow censures; sometime see you not In greatest perills some men pleasant be, Where fame by death is onely to be got, They resolute, so stands the case with me; Where other men, in depth of passion cry, I laugh at fortune, as in iest to die.

Sonnet 31

To such as say thy loue I ouer-prize, And doe not sticke to terme my praises folly, Against these folkes that think them selues so wise, I thus appose my force of reason wholly, Though I giue more, then well affords my state, In which expense the most suppose me vaine, Would yeeld them nothing at the easiest rate, Yet at this price, returnes me treble gaine, They value not, vnskilfull how to vse, And I giue much, because I gaine thereby, I that thus take, or they that thus refuse, Whether are these deccaued then, or I? In euery thing I hold this maxim still, The circumstance doth make it good or ill.

Sonnet 41

Deare, why should you commaund me to my rest When now the night doth summon all to sleepe? Me thinks this time becommeth louers best, Night was ordained together friends to keepe. How happy are all other liuing things, Which though the day disioyne by seuerall flight, The quiet euening yet together brings, And each returnes vnto his loue at night. O thou that art so curteous vnto all, Why shouldst thou Night abuse me onely thus, That euery creature to his kinde doost call, And yet tis thou doost onely seuer vs. Well could I wish it would be euer day, If when night comes you bid me goe away.

Sonnet 58

To Prouerbe

As Loue and I, late harbour'd in one Inne, With Prouerbs thus each other intertaine; In loue there is no lacke, thus I beginne? Faire words makes fooles, replieth he againe? That spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I) As well (saith he) too forward as too slow. Fortune assists the boldest, I replie? A hasty man (quoth he) nere wanted woe. Labour is light, where loue (quoth I) doth pay, (Saith he) light burthens heauy, if farre borne? (Quoth I) the maine lost, cast the by away: You haue spunne a faire thred, he replies in scorne. And hauing thus a while each other thwarted, Fooles as we met, so fooles againe we parted.

Sonnet 63

To the high and mighty Prince, James, King of Scots

Not thy graue Counsells, nor thy Subiects loue, Nor all that famous Scottish royaltie, Or what thy soueraigne greatnes may approue, Others in vaine doe but historifie, When thine owne glorie from thy selfe doth spring, As though thou did'st, all meaner prayses scorne: Of Kings a Poet, and the Poets King, They Princes, but thou Prophets do'st adorne; Whilst others by their Empires are renown'd, Thou do'st enrich thy Scotland with renowne, And Kings can but with Diadems be crown'd, But with thy Laurell, thou doo'st crowne thy Crowne; That they whose pens, euen life to Kings doe giue, In thee a King, shall seeke them selues to liue.

Sonnet 66

To the Lady L.S.

Bright starre of Beauty, on whose eyelids sit, A thousand Nimph-like and enamoured Graces, The Goddesses of memory and wit, Which in due order take their seuerall places, In whose deare bosome, sweet delicious loue, Layes downe his quiuer, that he once did beare, Since he that blessed Paradice did proue, Forsooke his mothers lap to sport him there. Let others striue to entertaine with words, My soule is of another temper made; I hold it vile that vulgar wit affords, Deuouring time my faith, shall not inuade: Still let my praise be honoured thus by you, Be you most worthy, whilst I be most true.



[from the Edition of 1605]

Sonnet 43

Why should your faire eyes with such soueraine grace, Dispearse their raies on euery vulgar spirit, Whilst I in darknes in the selfesame place, Get not one glance to recompence my merit: So doth the plow-man gaze the wandring starre, And onely rests contented with the light, That neuer learnd what constellations are, Beyond the bent of his vnknowing sight. O why should beautie (custome to obey) To their grosse sence applie her selfe so ill? Would God I were as ignorant as they When I am made vnhappy by my skill; Onely compeld on this poore good to boast, Heauens are not kind to them that know them most.

Sonnet 46

Plain-path'd Experience the vnlearneds guide, Her simple followers euidently shewes, Sometime what schoolemen scarcely can decide, Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knowes: In making triall of a murther wrought, If the vile actor of the heinous deede, Neere the dead bodie happily be brought, Oft hath been prou'd the breathlesse coarse will bleed; She comming neere that my poore hart hath slaine, Long since departed, (to the world no more) The auncient wounds no longer can containe, But fall to bleeding as they did before: But what of this? should she to death be led, It furthers iustice, but helpes not the dead.

Sonnet 47

In pride of wit, when high desire of fame Gaue life and courage to my labouring pen, And first the sound and vertue of my name, Won grace and credit in the eares of men: With those the thronged Theaters that presse, I in the circuite for the Lawrell stroue, Where the full praise I freely must confesse, In heate of blood a modest minde might moue: With showts and daps at euerie little pawse, When the prowd round on euerie side hath rung, Sadly I sit vnmou'd with the applawse, As though to me it nothing did belong: No publique glorie vainely I pursue, The praise I striue, is to eternize you.

Sonnet 50

As in some Countries far remote from hence, The wretched creature destined to die, Hauing the iudgement due to his offence, By Surgeons begg'd, their Art on him to trie: Which on the liuing worke without remorce, First make incision on each maistring vaine, Then stanch the bleeding, then transperce the coarse, And with their balmes recure the wounds againe, Then poison and with Phisicke him restore, Not that they feare the hopelesse man to kill, But their experience to encrease the more; Euen so my Mistresse works vpon my ill, By curing me, and killing me each howre, Onely to shew her beauties soueraigne powre.

Sonnet 51

Calling to minde since first my loue begunne, Th' incertaine times oft varying in their course, How things still vnexpectedly haue runne, As please the fates, by their resistlesse force: Lastly, mine eyes amazedly haue scene, Essex great fall, Tyrone his peace to gaine, The quiet end of that long-liuing Queene, This Kings faire entrance, and our peace with Spaine, We and the Dutch at length our selues to seuer. Thus the world doth, and euermore shall reele, Yet to my goddesse am I constant euer; How ere blind fortune turne her giddy wheele: Though heauen and earth proue both to mee vntrue, Yet am I still inuiolate to you.

Sonnet 57

You best discern'd of my interior eies, And yet your graces outwardly diuine, Whose deare remembrance in my bosome lies, Too riche a relique for so poore a shrine: You in whome Nature chose herselfe to view, When she her owne perfection would admire, Bestowing all her excellence on you; At whose pure eies Loue lights his halowed fire, Euen as a man that in some traunce hath scene, More than his wondring vttrance can vnfolde, That rapt in spirite in better worlds hath beene, So must your praise distractedly be tolde; Most of all short, when I should shew you most, In your perfections altogether lost.

Sonnet 58

In former times, such as had store of coyne, In warres at home, or when for conquests bound, For feare that some their treasures should purloyne, Gaue it to keepe to spirites within the ground; And to attend it, them so strongly tide, Till they return'd, home when they neuer came, Such as by art to get the same haue tride, From the strong spirits by no means get the same, Neerer you come, that further flies away, Striuing to holde it strongly in the deepe: Euen as this spirit, so she alone doth play, With those rich Beauties heauen giues her to keepe: Pitty so left, to coldenes of her blood, Not to auaile her, nor do others good.

To Sir Walter Aston, Knight of the honourable order of the Bath, and my most worthy Patron

I will not striue m' inuention to inforce, With needlesse words your eyes to entertaine, T' obserue the formall ordinarie course That euerie one so vulgarly doth faine: Our interchanged and deliberate choise, Is with more firme and true election sorted, Then stands in censure of the common voice. That with light humor fondly is transported: Nor take I patterne of another's praise, Then what my pen may constantly avow. Nor walke more publique nor obscurer waies Then vertue bids, and iudgement will allow; So shall my tone, and best endeuours serue you, And still shall studie, still so to deserue you. Michaell Drayton.



[from the Edition of 1619]

1

Like an aduenturous Sea-farer am I, Who hath some long and dang'rous Voyage beene, And call'd to tell of his Discouerie, How farre he sayl'd, what Countries he had seene, Proceeding from the Port whence he put forth, Shewes by his Compasse, how his Course he steer'd, When East, when West, when South, and when by North, As how the Pole to eu'ry place was rear'd, What Capes he doubled, of what Continent, The Gulphes and Straits, that strangely he had past, Where most becalm'd, wherewith foule Weather spent, And on what Rocks in perill to be cast? Thus in my Loue, Time calls me to relate My tedious Trauels, and oft-varying Fate.

6

How many paltry, foolish, painted things, That now in Coaches trouble eu'ry Street, Shall be forgotten, whom no Poet sings, Ere they be well wrap'd in their winding Sheet? Where I to thee Eternitie shall giue, When nothing else remayneth of these dayes, And Queenes hereafter shall be glad to liue Vpon the Almes of thy superfluous prayse; Virgins and Matrons reading these my Rimes, Shall be so much delighted with thy story, That they shall grieve, they liu'd not in these Times, To haue seene thee, their Sexes onely glory: So shalt thou flye aboue the vulgar Throng, Still to suruiue in my immortall Song.

8

There's nothing grieues me, but that Age should haste, That in my dayes I may not see thee old, That where those two deare sparkling Eyes are plac'd, Onely two Loope-holes, then I might behold. That louely, arched, yuorie, pollish'd Brow, Defac'd with Wrinkles, that I might but see; Thy daintie Hayre, so curl'd, and crisped now, Like grizzled Mosse vpon some aged Tree; Thy Cheeke, now flush with Roses, sunke, and leane, Thy Lips, with age, as any Wafer thinne, Thy Pearly teeth out of thy head so cleane, That when thou feed'st, thy Nose shall touch thy Chinne: These Lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee, Then would I make thee read, but to despight thee.

15

His Remedie for Loue

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted, I haue a Med'cine that shall cure my Loue, The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead, That Gold nor Honour ne'r had power to moue; Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Loue crost, Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride, Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giuing vp the Ghost, That for her late deceased Husband dy'd; Into the same then let a Woman breathe, That being chid, did neuer word replie, With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath A Legacie to stale Virginitie. If this Receit haue not the pow'r to winne me, Little Ile say, but thinke the Deuill's in me.

21

A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd, (Yet his dull Spirit her not one iot could moue) Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good, To write him but one Sonnet to his Loue: When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot, Powr'd out what first from quicke Inuention came; Nor neuer stood one word thereof to blot, Much like his Wit, that was to vse the same: But with my Verses he his Mistres wonne, Who doted on the Dolt beyond all measure. But soe, for you to Heau'n for Phraze I runne, And ransacke all APOLLO'S golden Treasure; Yet by my Troth, this Foole his Loue obtaines, And I lose you, for all my Wit and Paines.

27

Is not Loue here, as 'tis in other Clymes, And diff'reth it, as doe the seu'rall Nations? Or hath it lost the Vertue, with the Times, Or in this land alt'reth with the Fashions? Or haue our Passions lesser pow'r then theirs, Who had lesse Art them liuely to expresse? Is Nature growne lesse pow'rfull in their Heires, Or in our Fathers did the more transgresse? I am sure my Sighes come from a Heart as true, As any Mans, that Memory can boast, And my Respects and Seruices to you Equall with his, that loues his Mistris most: Or Nature must be partiall in my Cause, Or onely you doe violate her Lawes.

36

Cupid coniured

Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast been so slacke To wound her Heart, whose Eyes haue wounded me, And suff'red her to glory in my Wracke, Thus to my aid, I lastly coniure thee; By Hellish Styx (by which the THUND'RER sweares) By thy faire Mothers vnauoided Power, By HECAT'S Names, by PROSERPINE'S sad Teares, When she was rapt to the infernall Bower, By thine own loued PSYCHES, by the Fires Spent on thine Altars, flaming vp to Heau'n; By all the Louers Sighes, Vowes, and Desires, By all the Wounds that euer thou hast giu'n; I coniure thee by all that I haue nam'd, To make her loue, or CUPID be thou damn'd.

48

Cupid, I hate thee, which I'de haue thee know, A naked Starueling euer may'st thou be, Poore Rogue, goe pawne thy Fascia and thy Bow, For some few Ragges, wherewith to couer thee; Or if thou'lt not, thy Archerie forbeare, To some base Rustick doe thy selfe preferre, And when Corne's sowne, or growne into the Eare, Practise thy Quiuer, and turne Crow-keeper; Or being Blind (as fittest for the Trade) Goe hyre thy selfe some bungling Harpers Boy; They that are blind, are Minstrels often made, So may'st thou liue, to thy faire Mothers Ioy: That whilst with MARS she holdeth her old way, Thou, her Blind Sonne, may'st sit by them, and play.

52

What dost thou meane to Cheate me of my Heart, To take all Mine, and giue me none againe? Or haue thine Eyes such Magike, or that Art, That what They get, They euer doe retaine? Play not the Tyrant, but take some Remorse, Rebate thy Spleene, if but for Pitties sake; Or Cruell, if thou can'st not; let vs scorse, And for one Piece of Thine, my whole heart take. But what of Pitty doe I speake to Thee, Whose Brest is proofe against Complaint or Prayer? Or can I thinke what my Reward shall be From that proud Beauty, which was my betrayer? What talke I of a Heart, when thou hast none? Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one.

61

Since there 's no helpe, Come let vs kisse and part, Nay, I haue done: You get no more of Me, And I am glad, yea glad withall my heart, That thus so cleanly, I my Selfe can free, Shake hands for euer, Cancell all our Vowes, And when we meet at any time againe, Be it not scene in either of our Browes, That We one iot of former Loue reteyne; Now at the last gaspe of Loues latest Breath, When his Pulse fayling, Passion speechlesse lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of Death, And Innocence is closing vp his Eyes, Now if thou would'st, when all haue giuen him ouer, From Death to Life, thou might'st him yet recouer.



ODES

[from the Edition of 1619]

TO HIMSELFE AND THE HARPE

And why not I, as hee That's greatest, if as free, (In sundry strains that striue, Since there so many be) Th' old Lyrick kind reuiue?

I will, yea, and I may; Who shall oppose my way? For what is he alone, That of himselfe can say, Hee's Heire of Helicon? 10

APOLLO, and the Nine, Forbid no Man their Shrine, That commeth with hands pure; Else be they so diuine, They will not him indure.

For they be such coy Things, That they care not for Kings, And dare let them know it; Nor may he touch their Springs, That is not borne a Poet. 20

Pyreneus, King The Phocean it did proue, of Phocis, Whom when foule Lust did moue, attempting to Those Mayds vnchast to make, rauish the Muses. Fell, as with them he stroue, His Neck and iustly brake.

That instrument ne'r heard, Strooke by the skilfull Bard, It strongly to awake; But it th' infernalls skard, And made Olympus quake. 30

Sam. lib. 1. As those Prophetike strings cap. 16. Whose sounds with fiery Wings, Draue Fiends from their abode, Touch'd by the best of Kings, That sang the holy Ode.

Orpheus the So his, which Women slue, Thracian Poet. And it int' Hebrus threw, Caput, Hebre, Such sounds yet forth it sent, lyramque Excipis. The Bankes to weepe that drue, &c. Ouid. lib. 11. As downe the streame it went. 40 Metam. Mercury inuentor That by the Tortoyse shell, of the Harpe, as To MAYAS Sonne it fell, Horace Ode 10. The most thereof not doubt lib. 1. curuaq; But sure some Power did dwell, lyra parente. In Him who found it out.

Thebes fayned The Wildest of the field, to haue beene And Ayre, with Riuers t' yeeld, raysed by Which mou'd; that sturdy Glebes, Musicke. And massie Oakes could weeld, To rayse the pyles of Thebes. 50

And diuersly though Strung, So anciently We sung, To it, that Now scarce knowne, If first it did belong To Greece, or if our Owne.

The ancient The Druydes imbrew'd, British Priests With Gore, on Altars rude so called of With Sacrifices crown'd, their abode in In hollow Woods bedew'd, woods. Ador'd the Trembling sound. 60

Pindar Prince of Though wee be All to seeke, the Greeke Of PINDAR that Great Greeke, lyricks, of whom To Finger it aright, Horace: Pindarum The Soule with power to strike, quisquis studet, His hand retayn'd such Might. &c. Ode 2. lib. 4. Horace first of Or him that Rome did grace the Romans in Whose Ayres we all imbrace, that kind. That scarcely found his Peere, Nor giueth PHOEBVS place, For Strokes diuinely cleere. 70

The Irish The Irish I admire, Harpe. And still cleaue to that Lyre, As our Musike's Mother, And thinke, till I expire, APOLLO'S such another.

As Britons, that so long Haue held this Antike Song, And let all our Carpers Forbeare their fame to wrong, Th' are right skilfull Harpers. 80

Southerne, an Southerne, I long thee spare, English Lyrick. Yet wish thee well to fare, Who me pleased'st greatly, As first, therefore more rare, Handling thy Harpe neatly.

To those that with despight Shall terme these Numbers slight, Tell them their Iudgement's blind, Much erring from the right, It is a Noble kind. 90

An old English Nor is 't the Verse doth make, Rymer. That giueth, or doth take, 'Tis possible to clyme, To kindle, or to slake, Although in SKELTON'S Ryme.

TO THE NEW YEERE

Rich Statue, double-faced, With Marble Temples graced, To rayse thy God-head hyer, In flames where Altars shining, Before thy Priests diuining, Doe od'rous Fumes expire.

Great IANVS, I thy pleasure, With all the Thespian treasure, Doe seriously pursue; To th' passed yeere returning, 10 As though the old adiourning, Yet bringing in the new.

Thy ancient Vigils yeerely, I haue obserued cleerely, Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee; Since all thy store abroad is, Giue something to my Goddesse, As hath been vs'd by thee.

Giue her th' Eoan brightnesse, Wing'd with that subtill lightnesse, 20 That doth trans-pierce the Ayre; The Roses of the Morning The rising Heau'n adorning, To mesh with flames of Hayre.

Those ceaselesse Sounds, aboue all, Made by those Orbes that moue all, And euer swelling there, Wrap'd vp in Numbers flowing, Them actually bestowing, For Iewels at her Eare. 30

O Rapture great and holy, Doe thou transport me wholly, So well her forme to vary, That I aloft may beare her, Whereas I will insphere her, In Regions high and starry.

And in my choise Composures, The soft and easie Closures, So amorously shall meet; That euery liuely Ceasure 40 Shall tread a perfect Measure Set on so equall feet.

That Spray to fame so fertle, The Louer-crowning Mirtle, In Wreaths of mixed Bowes, Within whose shades are dwelling Those Beauties most excelling, Inthron'd vpon her Browes.

Those Paralels so euen, Drawne on the face of Heauen, 50 That curious Art supposes, Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse Farre off amaze by neerenesse, Each Globe such fire incloses.

Her Bosome full of Blisses, By Nature made for Kisses, So pure and wond'rous cleere, Whereas a thousand Graces Behold their louely Faces, As they are bathing there. 60

O, thou selfe-little blindnesse, The kindnesse of vnkindnesse, Yet one of those diuine; Thy Brands to me were leuer, Thy Fascia, and thy Quiuer, And thou this Quill of mine.

This Heart so freshly bleeding, Vpon it owne selfe feeding, Whose woundes still dropping be; O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70 Her coldnesse so abounding, And yet such heat in me.

Yet if I be inspired, Ile leaue thee so admired, To all that shall succeed, That were they more then many, 'Mongst all, there is not any, That Time so oft shall read.

Nor Adamant ingraued, That hath been choisely 'st saued, 80 IDEA'S Name out-weares; So large a Dower as this is, The greatest often misses, The Diadem that beares.

TO HIS VALENTINE

Muse, bid the Morne awake, Sad Winter now declines, Each Bird doth chuse a Make, This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S; For that good Bishop's sake Get vp, and let vs see, What Beautie it shall bee, That Fortune vs assignes.

But lo, in happy How'r, The place wherein she lyes, 10 In yonder climbing Tow'r, Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise; O IOVE! that in a Show'r, As once that Thund'rer did, When he in drops lay hid, That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw, With spangled Plumes bedight, No Mortall euer saw So rauishing a sight; 20 That it the Gods might awe, And pow'rfully trans-pierce The Globie Vniuerse, Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke, Dy'd like the dawning Day, As polish'd Iuorie sleeke: And in her Eare Ile say; O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30 'Tis I that come so farre, My Valentine to seeke.

Each little Bird, this Tyde, Doth chuse her loued Pheere, Which constantly abide In Wedlock all the yeere, As Nature is their Guide: So may we two be true, This yeere, nor change for new, As Turtles coupled were. 40

The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue, Though VENVS Birds they be, Yet are they not for Loue So absolute as we: For Reason vs doth moue; They but by billing woo: Then try what we can doo, To whom each sense is free.

Which we haue more then they, By liuelyer Organs sway'd, 50 Our Appetite each way More by our Sense obay'd: Our Passions to display, This Season vs doth fit; Then let vs follow it, As Nature vs doth lead.

One Kisse in two let's breake, Confounded with the touch, But halfe words let vs speake, Our Lip's imploy'd so much, 60 Vntill we both grow weake, With sweetnesse of thy breath; O smother me to death: Long let our Ioyes be such.

Let's laugh at them that chuse Their Valentines by lot, To weare their Names that vse, Whom idly they haue got: Such poore choise we refuse, Saint VALENTINE befriend; 70 We thus this Morne may spend, Else Muse, awake her not.

THE HEART

If thus we needs must goe, What shall our one Heart doe, This One made of our Two?

Madame, two Hearts we brake, And from them both did take The best, one Heart to make.

Halfe this is of your Heart, Mine in the other part, Ioyn'd by our equall Art.

Were it cymented, or sowne, 10 By Shreds or Pieces knowne, We each might find our owne.

But 'tis dissolu'd, and fix'd, And with such cunning mix'd, No diffrence that betwixt.

But how shall we agree, By whom it kept shall be, Whether by you, or me?

It cannot two Brests fill, One must be heartlesse still, 20 Vntill the other will.

It came to me one day, When I will'd it to say, With whether it would stay?

It told me, in your Brest, Where it might hope to rest: For if it were my Ghest,

For certainety it knew, That I would still anew Be sending it to you. 30

Neuer, I thinke, had two Such worke, so much to doo, A Vnitie to woo.

Yours was so cold and chaste, Whilst mine with zeale did waste, Like Fire with Water plac'd.

How did my Heart intreat, How pant, how did it beat, Till it could giue yours heat!

Till to that temper brought, 40 Through our perfection wrought, That blessing eythers Thought.

In such a Height it lyes, From this base Worlds dull Eyes, That Heauen it not enuyes.

All that this Earth can show, Our Heart shall not once know, For it too vile and low.

THE SACRIFICE TO APOLLO

Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome, For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome, How braue soe'r he bee, Attempt to enter; But of the Muses free, None here may venter; This for the Delphian Prophets is prepar'd: The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

And since the Feast so happily begins, Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins; 10 They are begot by IOVE, Then let vs place them, Where no Clowne in may shoue, That may disgrace them: But let them neere to young APOLLO sit; So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three? In any hand they may not absent bee: They to the Gods are deare, And they can humbly 20 Teach vs, our Selues to beare, And doe things comely: They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem, They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.

Bring forth your Flaggons (fill'd with sparkling Wine) Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine, Is grauen, and fill out, It well bestowing, To eu'ry Man about, In Goblets flowing: 30 Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound; To our God PHOEBVS let the Health goe Round.

Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall: Not tending to disgrace, But fayrely giuen, Becomming well the place, Modest, and euen; That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke. 40

Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse, Let them be sung in so well-ord'red Verse, That each word haue his weight, Yet runne with pleasure; Holding one stately height, In so braue measure, That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake, And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speake.

And if yee list to exercise your Vayne, Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strayne, 50 Let Art and Nature goe One with the other; Yet so, that Art may show Nature her Mother; The thick-brayn'd Audience liuely to awake, Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.

Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear'd, Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear'd; From him the Muse we haue, From him proceedeth 60 More then we dare to craue; 'Tis he that feedeth Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.

TO CVPID

Maydens, why spare ye? Or whether not dare ye Correct the blind Shooter? Because wanton VENVS, So oft that doth paine vs, Is her Sonnes Tutor.

Now in the Spring, He proueth his Wing, The Field is his Bower, And as the small Bee, 10 About flyeth hee, From Flower to Flower.

And wantonly roues, Abroad in the Groues, And in the Ayre houers, Which when it him deweth, His Fethers he meweth, In sighes of true Louers.

And since doom'd by Fate, (That well knew his Hate) 20 That Hee should be blinde; For very despite, Our Eyes be his White, So wayward his kinde.

If his Shafts loosing, (Ill his Mark choosing) Or his Bow broken; The Moane VENVS maketh, And care that she taketh, Cannot be spoken. 30

To VULCAN commending Her loue, and straight sending Her Doues and her Sparrowes, With Kisses vnto him, And all but to woo him, To make her Sonne Arrowes.

Telling what he hath done, (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne) In her Armes she him closes, Sweetes on him fans, 40 Layd in Downe of her Swans, His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

And feeds him with Kisses; Which oft when he misses, He euer is froward: The Mothers o'r-ioying, Makes by much coying, The Child so vntoward.

Yet in a fine Net, That a Spider set, 50 The Maydens had caught him; Had she not beene neere him, And chanced to heare him, More good they had taught him.

AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK

Most good, most faire, Or Thing as rare, To call you's lost; For all the cost Words can bestow, So poorely show Vpon your prayse, That all the wayes Sense hath, come short: Whereby Report 10 Falls them vnder; That when Wonder More hath seyzed, Yet not pleased, That it in kinde Nothing can finde, You to expresse: Neuerthelesse, As by Globes small, This Mightie ALL 20 Is shew'd, though farre From Life, each Starre A World being: So wee seeing You, like as that, Onely trust what Art doth vs teach; And when I reach At Morall Things, And that my Strings 30 Grauely should strike, Straight some mislike Blotteth mine ODE. As with the Loade, The Steele we touch, Forced ne'r so much, Yet still remoues To that it loues, Till there it stayes; So to your prayse 40 I turne euer, And though neuer From you mouing, Happie so louing.

LOVES CONQVEST

Wer't granted me to choose, How I would end my dayes; Since I this life must loose, It should be in Your praise; For there is no Bayes Can be set aboue you.

S' impossibly I loue You, And for you sit so hie, Whence none may remoue You In my cleere Poesie, 10 That I oft deny You so ample Merit.

The freedome of my Spirit Maintayning (still) my Cause, Your Sex not to inherit, Vrging the Salique Lawes; But your Vertue drawes From me euery due.

Thus still You me pursue, That no where I can dwell, 20 By Feare made iust to You, Who naturally rebell, Of You that excell That should I still Endyte,

Yet will You want some Ryte. That lost in your high praise I wander to and fro, As seeing sundry Waies: Yet which the right not know To get out of this Maze. 30

TO THE VIRIGINIAN VOYAGE

You braue Heroique minds, Worthy your Countries Name; That Honour still pursue, Goe, and subdue, Whilst loyt'ring Hinds Lurke here at home, with shame.

Britans, you stay too long, Quickly aboard bestow you, And with a merry Gale Swell your stretch'd Sayle, 10 With Vowes as strong, As the Winds that blow you.

Your Course securely steere, West and by South forth keepe, Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Sholes, When EOLVS scowles, You need not feare, So absolute the Deepe.

And cheerefully at Sea, Successe you still intice, 20 To get the Pearle and Gold, And ours to hold, VIRGINIA, Earth's onely Paradise.

Where Nature hath in store Fowle, Venison, and Fish, And the Fruitfull'st Soyle, Without your Toyle, Three Haruests more, All greater then your Wish. 30

And the ambitious Vine Crownes with his purple Masse, The cedar reaching hie To kisse the Sky The Cypresse, Pine And vse-full Sassafras.

To whome, the golden Age Still Natures lawes doth giue, No other Cares that tend, But Them to defend 40 From Winters rage, That long there doth not liue.

When as the Lushious smell Of that delicious Land, Aboue the Seas that flowes, The cleere Wind throwes, Your Hearts to swell Approaching the deare Strande.

In kenning of the Shore (Thanks to God first giuen,) 50 O you the happy'st men, Be Frolike then, Let Cannons roare, Frighting the wide Heauen.

And in Regions farre Such Heroes bring yee foorth, As those from whom We came, And plant Our name, Vnder that Starre Not knowne vnto our North. 60

And as there Plenty growes Of Lawrell euery where, APOLLO'S Sacred tree, You may it see, A Poets Browes To crowne, that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend, Industrious HACKLVIT, Whose Reading shall inflame Men to seeke Fame, 70 And much commend To after-Times thy Wit.

AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAKE

This while we are abroad, Shall we not touch our Lyre? Shall we not sing an ODE? Shall that holy Fire, In vs that strongly glow'd, In this cold Ayre expire?

Long since the Summer layd Her lustie Brau'rie downe, The Autumne halfe is way'd, And BOREAS 'gins to frowne, 10 Since now I did behold Great BRVTES first builded Towne.

Though in the vtmost Peake, A while we doe remaine, Amongst the Mountaines bleake Expos'd to Sleet and Raine, No Sport our Houres shall breake, To exercise our Vaine.

What though bright PHOEBVS Beames Refresh the Southerne Ground, 20 And though the Princely Thames With beautious Nymphs abound, And by old Camber's Streames Be many Wonders found;

Yet many Riuers cleare Here glide in Siluer Swathes, And what of all most deare, Buckston's delicious Bathes, Strong Ale and Noble Cheare, T' asswage breeme Winters scathes. 30

Those grim and horrid Caues, Whose Lookes affright the day, Wherein nice Nature saues, What she would not bewray, Our better leasure craues, And doth inuite our Lay.

In places farre or neere, Or famous, or obscure, Where wholesome is the Ayre, Or where the most impure, 40 All times, and euery-where, The Muse is still in vre.

HIS DEFENCE AGAINST THE IDLE CRITICK

The Ryme nor marres, nor makes, Nor addeth it, nor takes, From that which we propose; Things imaginarie Doe so strangely varie, That quickly we them lose.

And what 's quickly begot, As soone againe is not, This doe I truely know: Yea, and what 's borne with paine, 10 That Sense doth long'st retaine, Gone with a greater Flow.

Yet this Critick so sterne, But whom, none must discerne, Nor perfectly haue seeing, Strangely layes about him, As nothing without him Were worthy of being.

That I my selfe betray To that most publique way, 20 Where the Worlds old Bawd, Custome, that doth humor, And by idle rumor, Her Dotages applaud.

That whilst he still prefers Those that be wholly hers, Madnesse and Ignorance, I creepe behind the Time, From spertling with their Crime, And glad too with my Chance. 30

O wretched World the while, When the euill most vile, Beareth the fayrest face, And inconstant lightnesse, With a scornefull slightnesse, The best Things doth disgrace.

Whilst this strange knowing Beast, Man, of himselfe the least, His Enuie declaring, Makes Vertue to descend, 40 Her title to defend, Against him, much preparing.

Yet these me not delude, Nor from my place extrude, By their resolued Hate; Their vilenesse that doe know; Which to my selfe I show, To keepe aboue my Fate.

TO HIS RIVALL

Her lou'd I most, By thee that 's lost, Though she were wonne with leasure; She was my gaine, But to my paine, Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.

The Ship full fraught With Gold, farre sought, Though ne'r so wisely helmed, May suffer wracke 10 In sayling backe, By Tempest ouer-whelmed.

But shee, good Sir, Did not preferre You, for that I was ranging; But for that shee Found faith in mee, And she lou'd to be changing.

Therefore boast not Your happy Lot, 20 Be silent now you haue her; The time I knew She slighted you, When I was in her fauour.

None stands so fast, But may be cast By Fortune, and disgraced: Once did I weare Her Garter there, Where you her Gloue haue placed. 30

I had the Vow That thou hast now, And Glances to discouer Her Loue to mee, And she to thee Reades but old Lessons ouer.

She hath no Smile That can beguile, But as my Thought I know it; Yea, to a Hayre, 40 Both when and where, And how she will bestow it.

What now is thine, Was onely mine, And first to me was giuen; Thou laugh'st at mee, I laugh at thee, And thus we two are euen.

But Ile not mourne, But stay my Turne, 50 The Wind may come about, Sir, And once againe May bring me in, And help to beare you out, Sir.

A SKELTONIAD

The Muse should be sprightly, Yet not handling lightly Things graue; as much loath, Things that be slight, to cloath Curiously: To retayne The Comelinesse in meane, Is true Knowledge and Wit. Not me forc'd Rage doth fit, That I thereto should lacke Tabacco, or need Sacke, 10 Which to the colder Braine Is the true Hyppocrene; Nor did I euer care For great Fooles, nor them spare. Vertue, though neglected, Is not so deiected, As vilely to descend To low Basenesse their end; Neyther each ryming Slaue Deserues the Name to haue 20 Of Poet: so the Rabble Of Fooles, for the Table, That haue their Iests by Heart, As an Actor his Part, Might assume them Chayres Amongst the Muses Heyres. Parnassus is not clome By euery such Mome; Vp whose steep side who swerues, It behoues t' haue strong Nerues: 30 My Resolution such, How well, and not how much To write, thus doe I fare, Like some few good that care (The euill sort among) How well to liue, and not how long.

THE CRYER

Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre, But helpe me to a Cryer; For my poore Heart is runne astray After two Eyes, that pass'd this way. O yes, O yes, O yes, If there be any Man, In Towne or Countrey, can Bring me my Heart againe, Ile please him for his paine; And by these Marks I will you show, 10 That onely I this Heart doe owe. It is a wounded Heart, Wherein yet sticks the Dart, Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it, Faith, and Troth, writ round about it: It was a tame Heart, and a deare, And neuer vs'd to roame; But hauing got this Haunt, I feare 'Twill hardly stay at home. For Gods sake, walking by the way, 20 If you my Heart doe see, Either impound it for a Stray, Or send it backe to me.

TO HIS COY LOVE

A CANZONET

I pray thee leaue, loue me no more, Call home the Heart you gaue me, I but in vaine that Saint adore, That can, but will not saue me: These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite; Was euer man thus serued? Amidst an Ocean of Delight, For Pleasure to be sterued.

Shew me no more those Snowie Brests, With Azure Riuerets branched, 10 Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts, Yet is my Thirst not stanched. O TANTALVS, thy Paines n'er tell, By me thou art preuented; 'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell, But thus in Heauen tormented.

Clip me no more in those deare Armes, Nor thy Life's Comfort call me; O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes, And doe but more inthrall me. 20 But see, how patient I am growne, In all this coyle about thee; Come nice thing, let my Heart alone, I cannot liue without thee.

A HYMNE TO HIS LADIES BIRTH-PLACE

Couentry, that do'st adorne The Countrey wherein I was borne, Yet therein lyes not thy prayse Why I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes: Couentry finely 'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds walled. Thy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds, The Shoulder-bone Nor thy Trophies of the Bore, of a hare of But that Shee which I adore, mighty bignesse. Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre, First their breathing blest thy Ayre; 10 IDEA, in which Name I hide Her, in my heart Deifi'd, For what good, Man's mind can see, Onely her IDEAS be; She, in whom the Vertues came In Womans shape, and tooke her Name, She so farre past Imitation, As but Nature our Creation Could not alter, she had aymed, More then Woman to haue framed: 20 She, whose truely written Story, To thy poore Name shall adde more glory, Then if it should haue beene thy Chance, T' haue bred our Kings that Conquer'd France. Had She beene borne the former Age, Two famous That house had beene a Pilgrimage, Pilgrimages, the And reputed more Diuine, one in Norfolk, Then Walsingham or BECKETS Shrine. the other in That Princesse, to whom thou do'st owe Kent. Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow, 30 Godiua, Duke The enuious Sunne saw, when as she Leofricks wife, Naked rode to make Thee free, who obtained the Was but her Type, as to foretell, Freedome of the Thou should'st bring forth one, should excell city, of her Her Bounty, by whom thou should'st haue husband, by riding More Honour, then she Freedome gaue; thorow it naked. And that great Queene, which but of late Queene Rul'd this Land in Peace and State, Elizabeth. Had not beene, but Heauen had sworne, A Maide should raigne, when she was borne. 40 A noted Streete Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best, in Couentry. And most frequent of the rest, Happy Mich-Parke eu'ry yeere, His Mistresse On the fourth of August there, birth-day. Let thy Maides from FLORA'S bowers, With their Choyce and daintiest flowers Decke Thee vp, and from their store, With braue Garlands crowne that dore. The old Man passing by that way, To his Sonne in time shall say, 50 There was that Lady borne, which long To after-Ages shall be sung; Who vnawares being passed by, Back to that House shall cast his Eye, Speaking my Verses as he goes, And with a Sigh shut eu'ry Close. Deare Citie, trauelling by thee, When thy rising Spyres I see, Destined her place of Birth; Yet me thinkes the very Earth 60 Hallowed is, so farre as I Can thee possibly descry: Then thou dwelling in this place, Hearing some rude Hinde disgrace Thy Citie with some scuruy thing, Which some Iester forth did bring, Speake these Lines where thou do'st come, And strike the Slaue for euer dumbe.

TO THE CAMBRO-BRITANS and their Harpe, his Ballad of AGINCOVRT

Faire stood the Wind for France, When we our Sayles aduance, Nor now to proue our chance, Longer will tarry; But putting to the Mayne, At Kaux, the Mouth of Sene, With all his Martiall Trayne, Landed King HARRY.

And taking many a Fort, Furnish'd in Warlike sort, 10 Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt, In happy howre; Skirmishing day by day, With those that stop'd his way, Where the French Gen'rall lay, With all his Power.

Which in his Hight of Pride, King HENRY to deride, His Ransome to prouide To the King sending. 20 Which he neglects the while, As from a Nation vile, Yet with an angry smile, Their fall portending.

And turning to his Men, Quoth our braue HENRY then, Though they to one be ten, Be not amazed. Yet haue we well begunne, Battels so brauely wonne, 30 Haue euer to the Sonne, By Fame beene raysed.

And, for my Selfe (quoth he), This my full rest shall be, England ne'r mourne for Me, Nor more esteeme me. Victor I will remaine, Or on this Earth lie slaine, Neuer shall Shee sustaine, Losse to redeeme me. 40

Poiters and Cressy tell, When most their Pride did swell, Vnder our Swords they fell, No lesse our skill is, Than when our Grandsire Great, Clayming the Regall Seate, By many a Warlike feate, Lop'd the French Lillies.

The Duke of Yorke so dread, The eager Vaward led; 50 With the maine, HENRY sped, Among'st his Hench-men. EXCESTER had the Rere, A Brauer man not there, O Lord, how hot they were, On the false French-men!

They now to fight are gone, Armour on Armour shone, Drumme now to Drumme did grone, To heare, was wonder; 60 That with the Cryes they make, The very Earth did shake, Trumpet to Trumpet spake, Thunder to Thunder.

Well it thine Age became, O Noble ERPINGHAM, Which didst the Signall ayme, To our hid Forces; When from a Medow by, Like a Storme suddenly, 70 The English Archery Stuck the French Horses,

With Spanish Ewgh so strong, Arrowes a Cloth-yard long, That like to Serpents stung, Piercing the Weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing Manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together. 80

When downe their Bowes they threw, And forth their Bilbowes drew, And on the French they flew, Not one was tardie; Armes were from shoulders sent, Scalpes to the Teeth were rent, Downe the French Pesants went, Our Men were hardie.

This while our Noble King, His broad Sword brandishing, 90 Downe the French Hoast did ding, As to o'r-whelme it; And many a deepe Wound lent, His Armes with Bloud besprent, And many a cruell Dent Bruised his Helmet.

GLOSTER, that Duke so good, Next of the Royall Blood, For famous England stood, With his braue Brother; 100 CLARENCE, in Steele so bright, Though but a Maiden Knight, Yet in that furious Fight, Scarce such another,

WARWICK in Bloud did wade, OXFORD the Foe inuade, And cruell slaughter made, Still as they ran vp; SVFFOLKE his Axe did ply, BEAVMONT and WILLOVGHBY 110 Bare them right doughtily, FERRERS and FANHOPE.

Vpon Saint CRISPIN'S day Fought was this Noble Fray, Which Fame did not delay, To England to carry; O, when shall English Men With such Acts fill a Pen, Or England breed againe, Such a King HARRY? 120



[from the Edition of 1606]

Ode 4

To my worthy frend, Master John Sauage of the Inner Temple

Vppon this sinfull earth If man can happy be, And higher then his birth, (Frend) take him thus from me.

Whome promise not deceiues That he the breach should rue, Nor constant reason leaues Opinion to pursue.

To rayse his mean estate That sooths no wanton's sinne, 10 Doth that preferment hate That virtue doth not winne.

Nor brauery doth admire, Nor doth more loue professe To that he doth desire, Then that he doth possesse.

Loose humor nor to please, That neither spares nor spends, But by discretion weyes What is to needfull ends. 20

To him deseruing not Not yeelding, nor doth hould What is not his, doing what He ought not what he could.

Whome the base tyrants will Soe much could neuer awe As him for good or ill From honesty to drawe.

Whose constancy doth rise 'Boue vndeserued spight 30 Whose valewr's to despise That most doth him delight.

That earely leaue doth take Of th' world though to his payne For virtues onely sake And not till need constrayne.

Noe man can be so free Though in imperiall seate Nor Eminent as he That deemeth nothing greate. 40

Ode 8

Singe wee the Rose Then which no flower there growes Is sweeter: And aptly her compare With what in that is rare A parallel none meeter.

Or made poses, Of this that incloses Suche blisses, That naturally flusheth 10 As she blusheth When she is robd of kisses.

Or if strew'd When with the morning dew'd Or stilling, Or howe to sense expos'd All which in her inclos'd, Ech place with sweetnes filling.

That most renown'd By Nature richly crownd 20 With yellow, Of that delitious layre And as pure, her hayre Vnto the same the fellowe,

Fearing of harme Nature that flower doth arme From danger, The touch giues her offence But with reuerence Vnto her selfe a stranger. 30

That redde, or white, Or mixt, the sence delyte Behoulding, In her complexion All which perfection Such harmony infouldinge.

That deuyded Ere it was descided Which most pure, Began the greeuous war 40 Of York and Lancaster, That did many yeeres indure.

Conflicts as greate As were in all that heate I sustaine: By her, as many harts As men on either parts That with her eies hath slaine.

The Primrose flower The first of Flora's bower 50 Is placed, Soo is shee first as best Though excellent the rest, All gracing, by none graced.



ELEGIES VPON SVNDRY OCCASIONS

[from the Edition of 1627]

Of his Ladies not Comming to London

That ten-yeares-trauell'd Greeke return'd from Sea Ne'r ioyd so much to see his Ithaca, As I should you, who are alone to me, More then wide Greece could to that wanderer be. The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe, And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe, The Sunne's to vs a niggard of his Rayes, But reuelleth with our Antipodes; And seldome to vs when he shewes his head, Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed. 10 In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snowe Maketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe; Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale, And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle; Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost, My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost, Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither, Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither. How many a time, hath Phebe from her wayne, With Phoebus fires fill'd vp her hornes againe; 20 Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range, But you keep yours still, nor for me will change. The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back, Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack, But still you keepe your station, which confines You, nor regard him trauelling the signes. Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea, Both to our Groenland, and Virginia, Are now return'd, and Custom'd haue their fraught, Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought. 30 The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare, As is my bosome, with the chilly feare Of your not comming, which on me doth light, As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night. Of euery tedious houre you haue made two, All this long Winter here, by missing you: Minutes are months, and when the houre is past, A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last, When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke, And I should Swound to see an Almanacke, 40 To reade what silent weekes away are slid, Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid. I hate him who the first Deuisor was Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse, And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele, With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feele Your slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban, Him that these Dialls against walles began, Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand, (Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand; 50 As though at Adam it had first set out And had been stealing all this while about, And when it backe to the first point should come, It shall be then iust at the generall Doome. The Seas into themselues retract their flowes. The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes, Declining Winter in the Spring doth call, The Starrs rise to vs, as from vs they fall; Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime, Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime. 60 Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made, Or you delight else to be Retrograde. But I perceiue by your attractiue powers, Like an Inchantresse you haue charm'd the bowers Into short minutes, and haue drawne them back, So that of vs at London, you doe lack Almost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonne There where you liue, and Autumne almost done. With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise, By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall rise 70 Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares You'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares. Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loue To grauell'd Walkes, or to a stupid Groue, Now your companions; and that you the while (As you are cruell) will sit by and smile, To make me write to these, while Passers by, Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I See Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way, 80 And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne Vp to the Guards, or Ariadnes Crowne; Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell. Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a Spell; Or him some piece from Creet, or Marcus show, In all his life which till that time ne'r saw Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall Done by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall. Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe conceale 90 From me I pray you, you haue now inur'd Me to your absence, and I haue endur'd Your want this long, whilst I haue starued bine For your short Letters, as you helde it sinne To write to me, that to appease my woe, I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe, Which are to me, as though they had bin made, Long time before the first Olympiad. For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then To tatling Women, and to things like men, 100 And be more foolish then the Indians are For Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware, That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay, So I would not haue you but come away.

To Master GEORGE SANDYS

Treasurer for the English Colony in VIRGINIA

Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie You, with some strange omitted Noueltie, Which others Letters yet haue left vntould, You take me off, before I can take hould Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea, For two monthes Voyage to Virginia, With newes which now, a little something here, But will be nothing ere it can come there. I feare, as I doe Stabbing; this word, State, I dare not speake of the Palatinate, 10 Although some men make it their hourely theame, And talke what's done in Austria, and in Beame, I may not so; what Spinola intends, Nor with his Dutch, which way Prince Maurice bends; To other men, although these things be free, Yet (GEORGE) they must be misteries to mee. I scarce dare praise a vertuous friend that's dead, Lest for my lines he should be censured; It was my hap before all other men To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen: 20 When King IAMES entred; at which ioyfull time I taught his title to this Ile in rime: And to my part did all the Muses win, With high-pitch Paeans to applaud him in: When cowardise had tyed vp euery tongue, And all stood silent, yet for him I sung; And when before by danger I was dar'd, I kick'd her from me, nor a iot I spar'd. Yet had not my cleere spirit in Fortunes scorne, Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne; 30 He next my God on whom I built my trust, Had left me troden lower then the dust: But let this passe; in the extreamest ill, Apollo's brood must be couragious still, Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death, Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath. And (worthy GEORGE) by industry and vse, Let's see what lines Virginia will produce; Goe on with OVID, as you haue begunne, With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers run 40 Glib as the former, so shall it liue long, And doe much honour to the English tongue: Intice the Muses thither to repaire, Intreat them gently, trayne them to that ayre, For they from hence may thither hap to fly, T'wards the sad time which but to fast doth hie, For Poesie is follow'd with such spight, By groueling drones that neuer raught her height, That she must hence, she may no longer staye: The driery fates prefixed haue the day, 50 Of her departure, which is now come on, And they command her straight wayes to be gon; That bestiall heard so hotly her pursue, And to her succour, there be very few, Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redresse, But she must wander in the wildernesse, Like to the woman, which that holy IOHN Beheld in Pathmos in his vision. As th' English now, so did the stiff-neckt Iewes, Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse, 60 And of these men such poore opinions had; They counted Esay and Ezechiel mad; When Ieremy his Lamentations writ, They thought the Wizard quite out of his wit, Such sots they were, as worthily to ly, Lock't in the chaines of their captiuity, Knowledge hath still her Eddy in her Flow, So it hath beene, and it will still be so. That famous Greece where learning flourisht most, Hath of her muses long since left to boast, 70 Th' vnlettered Turke, and rude Barbarian trades, Where HOMER sang his lofty Iliads; And this vaste volume of the world hath taught, Much may to passe in little time be brought. As if to Symptoms we may credit giue, This very time, wherein we two now liue, Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more, Then all the old English ignorance before; Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought, And those braue numbers are put by for naught, 80 Which rarely read, were able to awake, Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shake The wandring clouds, and to our men at armes, 'Gainst pikes and muskets were most powerfull charmes. That, but I know, insuing ages shall, Raise her againe, who now is in her fall; And out of dust reduce our scattered rimes, Th' reiected iewels of these slothfull times, Who with the Muses would misspend an hower, But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoure 90 These feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record, But to be euerlastingly abhord. If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quill With naturall bountyes, and impart your skill, In the description of the place, that I, May become learned in the soyle thereby; Of noble Wyats health, and let me heare, The Gouernour; and how our people there, Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent, Which I confesse shall giue me much content; 100 But you may saue your labour if you please, To write to me ought of your Sauages. As sauage slaues be in great Britaine here, As any one that you can shew me there And though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst, Yet I should like it well to be the first, Whose numbers hence into Virginia flew, So (noble Sandis) for this time adue.

To my noble friend Master WILLIAM BROWNE, of the euill time

Deare friend, be silent and with patience see, What this mad times Catastrophe will be; The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistooke Themselues, and spoke things quite beside the booke, And that which they haue of said of God, vntrue, Or else expect strange iudgement to insue. This Isle is a meere Bedlam, and therein, We all lye rauing, mad in euery sinne, And him the wisest most men use to call, Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all; 10 He whom the master of all wisedome found, For a marckt foole, and so did him propound, The time we liue in, to that passe is brought, That only he a Censor now is thought; And that base villaine, (not an age yet gone,) Which a good man would not haue look'd vpon; Now like a God, with diuine worship follow'd, And all his actions are accounted hollow'd. This world of ours, thus runneth vpon wheeles, Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles; 20 Which makes me thinke of what the Ethnicks told Th' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold, Wander That the immortall soule doth transmigrate; From body Then I suppose by the strong power of fate, to body. And since that time now many a lingering yeare, Through fools, and beasts, and lunatiques haue past, Are heere imbodyed in this age at last, And though so long we from that time be gone, Yet taste we still of that confusion. For certainely there's scarse one found that now, 30 Knowes what t' approoue, or what to disallow, All arsey varsey, nothing is it's owne, But to our prouerbe, all turnd vpside downe; To doe in time, is to doe out of season, And that speeds best, thats done the farth'st from reason, Hee 's high'st that 's low'st, hee 's surest in that 's out, He hits the next way that goes farth'st about, He getteth vp vnlike to rise at all, He slips to ground as much vnlike to fall; Which doth inforce me partly to prefer, 40 Zeno. The opinion of that mad Philosopher, Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue, (As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loue To him at all, but only as a thing, To make them sport with, which they vse to bring As men doe munkeys, puppets, and such tooles Of laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles. Such are by titles lifted to the sky, As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why; The vertuous man depressed like a stone, 50 For that dull Sot to raise himselfe vpon; He who ne're thing yet worthy man durst doe, Neuer durst looke vpon his countrey's foe, Nor durst attempt that action which might get Him fame with men: or higher might him set Then the base begger (rightly if compar'd;) This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd, Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares grow To any title Empire can bestow; For this beleeue, that Impudence is now 60 A Cardinall vertue, and men it allow Reuerence, nay more, men study and inuent New wayes, nay, glory to be impudent. Into the clouds the Deuill lately got, And by the moisture doubting much the rot, A medicine tooke to make him purge and cast; Which in short time began to worke so fast, That he fell too 't, and from his backeside flew, A rout of rascall a rude ribauld crew Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light, 70 Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight, They spread this Ile, and as Deucalion once Ouer his shoulder backe, by throwing stones They became men, euen so these beasts became, Owners of titles from an obscure name. He that by riot, of a mighty rent, Hath his late goodly Patrimony spent, And into base and wilfull beggery run This man as he some glorious acte had done, With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd, 80 When he that hath by industry atchieu'd Some noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd, In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd, As though that God had carelessely left all That being hath on this terrestriall ball, To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doe With man, nor aught that doth belong him to, Or at the least God hauing giuen more Power to the Deuill, then he did of yore, Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hate 90 The vertuous man; maligning his estate, All noble things, and would haue by his will, To be damn'd with him, vsing all his skill, By his blacke hellish ministers to vexe All worthy men, and strangely to perplexe Their constancie, there by them so to fright, That they should yeeld them wholely to his might. But of these things I vainely doe but tell, Where hell is heauen, and heau'n is now turn'd hell; Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin, 100 Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin; And a long while I greatly meruail'd why Buffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply, Till that of late I construed it that they To present thrift had got the perfect way, When I concluded by their odious crimes, It was for vs no thriuing in these times. As men oft laugh at little Babes, when they Hap to behold some strange thing in their play, To see them on the suddaine strucken sad, 110 As in their fancie some strange formes they had, Which they by pointing with their fingers showe, Angry at our capacities so slowe, That by their countenance we no sooner learne To see the wonder which they so discerne: So the celestiall powers doe sit and smile At innocent and vertuous men the while, They stand amazed at the world ore-gone, So farre beyond imagination, With slauish basenesse, that the silent sit 120 Pointing like children in describing it. Then noble friend the next way to controule These worldly crosses, is to arme thy soule With constant patience: and with thoughts as high As these be lowe, and poore, winged to flye To that exalted stand, whether yet they Are got with paine, that sit out of the way Of this ignoble age, which raiseth none But such as thinke their black damnation To be a trifle; such, so ill, that when 130 They are aduanc'd, those few poore honest men That yet are liuing, into search doe runne To finde what mischiefe they haue lately done, Which so preferres them; say thou he doth rise, That maketh vertue his chiefe exercise. And in this base world come what euer shall, Hees worth lamenting, that for her doth fall.

Vpon the three Sonnes of the Lord SHEFFIELD, drowned in HVMBER

Light Sonnets hence, and to loose Louers flie, And mournfull Maydens sing an Elegie On those three SHEFFIELDS, ouer-whelm'd with waues, Whose losse the teares of all the Muses craues; A thing so full of pitty as this was, Me thinkes for nothing should not slightly passe. Treble this losse was, why should it not borrowe, Through this Iles treble parts, a treble sorrowe: But Fate did this, to let the world to knowe, That sorrowes which from common causes growe, 10 Are not worth mourning for, the losse to beare, But of one onely sonne, 's not worth one teare. Some tender-hearted man, as I, may spend Some drops (perhaps) for a deceased friend. Some men (perhaps) their Wifes late death may rue; Or Wifes their Husbands, but such be but fewe. Cares that haue vs'd the hearts of men to tuch So oft, and deepely, will not now be such; Who'll care for loss of maintenance, or place, Fame, liberty, or of the Princes grace; 20 Or sutes in law, by base corruption crost, When he shall finde, that this which he hath lost, Alas, is nothing to his, which did lose, Three sonnes at once so excellent as those: Nay, it is feard that this in time may breed Hard hearts in men to their owne naturall seed; That in respect of this great losse of theirs, Men will scarce mourne the death of their owne heires. Through all this Ile their losse so publique is, That euery man doth take them to be his, 30 And as a plague which had beginning there, So catching is, and raigning euery where, That those the farthest off as much doe rue them, As those the most familiarly that knew them; Children with this disaster are wext sage, And like to men that strucken are in age; Talke what it is, three children at one time Thus to haue drown'd, and in their very prime; Yea, and doe learne to act the same so well, That then olde folke, they better can it tell. 40 Inuention, oft that Passion vs'd to faine, In sorrowes of themselves but slight, and meane, To make them seeme great, here it shall not need, For that this Subiect doth so farre exceed All forc'd Expression, that what Poesie shall Happily thinke to grace it selfe withall, Falls so belowe it, that it rather borrowes Grace from their griefe, then addeth to their sorrowes, For sad mischance thus in the losse of three, To shewe it selfe the vtmost it could bee: 50 Exacting also by the selfe same lawe, The vtmost teares that sorrowe had to drawe All future times hath vtterly preuented Of a more losse, or more to be lamented. Whilst in faire youth they liuely flourish'd here, To their kinde Parents they were onely deere: But being dead, now euery one doth take Them for their owne, and doe like sorrowe make: As for their owne begot, as they pretended Hope in the issue, which should haue discended 60 From them againe; nor here doth end our sorrow, But those of vs, that shall be borne to morrowe Still shall lament them, and when time shall count, To what vast number passed yeares shall mount, They from their death shall duly reckon so, As from the Deluge, former vs'd to doe. O cruell Humber guilty of their gore, I now beleeue more then I did before The Brittish Story, whence thy name begun Of Kingly Humber, an inuading Hun, 70 By thee deuoured, for't is likely thou With blood wert Christned, bloud-thirsty till now. The Ouse, the Done, and thou farre clearer Trent, To drowne the SHEFFIELDS as you gaue consent, Shall curse the time, that ere you were infus'd, Which haue your waters basely thus abus'd. The groueling Boore yee hinder not to goe, And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro. The very best part of whose soule, and bloud, Compared with theirs, is viler then your mud. 80 But wherefore paper, doe I idely spend, On those deafe waters to so little end, And vp to starry heauen doe I not looke, In which, as in an euerlasting booke, Our ends are written; O let times rehearse Their fatall losse, in their sad Aniuerse.

To the noble Lady, the Lady I.S. of worldly crosses

Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine, Neither that I would haue you entertaine The time in reading me, which you would spend In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend, I write not to you. Nay, and which is more, My powerfull verses striue not to restore, What time and sicknesse haue in you impair'd, To other ends my Elegie is squar'd. Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts That haue drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts, 10 Of me get little, I am so much man, That let them doe their vtmost that they can, I will resist their forces: and they be Though great to others, yet not so to me. The first time I beheld you, I then sawe That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe My stayd affection, and thought to allowe You some deale of my heart; but you have now Got farre into it, and you haue the skill (For ought I see) to winne vpon me still. 20 When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne, And how neglectfull you have seem'd to be, Of that which hath seem'd terrible to me, I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt Those griefes which (often) I haue scene to melt Another woman into sighes and teares, A thing but seldome in your sexe and yeares, But when in you I haue perceiu'd agen, (Noted by me, more then by other men) 30 How feeling and how sensible you are Of your friends sorrowes, and with how much care You seeke to cure them, then my selfe I blame, That I your patience should so much misname, Which to my vnderstanding maketh knowne Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne. When straight me thinkes, I heare your patience say, Are you the man that studied Seneca: Plinies most learned letters; and must I Read you a Lecture in Philosophie, 40 T'auoid the afflictions that haue vs'd to reach you; I'le learne you more, Sir, then your bookes can teach you. Of all your sex, yet neuer did I knowe, Any that yet so actually could showe Such rules for patience, such an easie way, That who so sees it, shall be forc'd to say, Loe what before seem'd hard to be discern'd, Is of this Lady, in an instant learn'd. It is heauens will that you should wronged be By the malicious, that the world might see 50 Your Doue-like meekenesse; for had the base scumme, The spawne of Fiends, beene in your slander dumbe, Your vertue then had perish'd, neuer priz'd, For that the same you had not exercised; And you had lost the Crowne you haue, and glory, Nor had you beene the subiect of my Story. Whilst they feele Hell, being damned in their hate, Their thoughts like Deuils them excruciate, Which by your noble suffrings doe torment Them with new paines, and giues you this content 60 To see your soule an Innocent, hath suffred, And vp to heauen before your eyes be offred: Your like we in a burning Glasse may see, When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be Bent on some obiect, which is purely white, We finde that colour doth dispierce the light, And stands vntainted: but if it hath got Some little sully; or the least small spot, Then it soon fiers it; so you still remaine Free, because in you they can finde no staine. 70 God doth not loue them least, on whom he layes The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise Himselfe most in them, and will make them fit, Near'st to himselfe who is the Lambe to sit: For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them, Who are not his, vntill the world denies them. And your example may work such effect, That it may be the beginning of a Sect Of patient women; and that many a day All Husbands may for you their Founder pray. 80 Nor is to me your Innocence the lesse, In that I see you striue not to suppresse Their barbarous malice; but your noble heart Prepar'd to act so difficult a part, With vnremoued constancie is still The same it was, that of your proper ill, The effect proceeds from your owne selfe the cause, Like some iust Prince, who to establish lawes, Suffers the breach at his best lou'd to strike, To learne the vulgar to endure the like. 90 You are a Martir thus, nor can you be Lesse to the world so valued by me: If as you haue begun, you still perseuer Be euer good, that I may loue you euer.