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Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. Was used in giving gentle doom; That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
And taught it thus a-new to greet:
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
I hate from hate away she threw,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Why dost thou pine within, and sudler dearth, Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? To any sensual feast with thee alone:
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, But my five wits, nor my five senses can Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Who leaves nosway'd the likeness of a man, Eut up thy change? Is this thy body's end ?
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, Only my plague thus far I count my gain, And let that pine to aggravate thy store: That she that makes me sin, awards ne pain. Bay terms divine in selling hours of dross; CXLII.
Within be fed, without be rich no more : Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
And, death once dead, there's no more dyiog then. o but with mine compare thou thine own state,
CXLVII. And thou shalt find, it merits not reproving,
My love is as a fever, longing still Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
For that which longer nurseth the disease ; That have profaned their scarlet ornaments,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine;
The uncertain sickly appetite to please. Robb’d others' beds revenues of their rents. My reason, the physician to my love,
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, Root pity in thy lieart, that when it grows,
Desire is death, which physic did except. Thy pity muy deserve to pitied be.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care, If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
And frautic mad with evermore unrest; By self-example may'st thou be denied ! My thoughts and iny discourse as mad men's are,
At random froin the truth vaiuly express'd; CXLIII.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Lo as a careful house-wife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
CXLVIII. Sets down her babe, and makes all swist dispatch
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, Or, if they have, where is my judgment fied,
Which have no correspondence with true sight! Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face,
That censures falsely what they see aright? Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, If it be not, then love doth well denote
What ineans the world to say it is not so?
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind!
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? So will I pray that thou may'st have thy will,
No marvel then though I mistake niy view; If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. CXLIV.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind; Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find. Which, like two spirits, do suggest me still;
CXLIX. The better angel is a man right fair,
Canst thoa, O cruel! say I love thee not, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
When I, against myself, with thee partake? To win me soon to hell, my female evil Do I not think on thee, when I, forgot, Tempteth my better angel from my side,
Am of myself, all tyraut, for thy sake? And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? Wooing his purity with her fool pride.
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Nay, if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
That is so proud thy service to despise,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? CXLV.
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind. Breathed forth the sound that said, I hate,
CL. To me that languish'd for her sake;
O from what power hast thou this powerful might, But when she saw my woefal state,
With insufficiency my heart to sway? Straight in her heart did mercy come, To make me give the lie to my true sight, Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, That in the very refuse of thy deeds
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; There is such strength and warrantise of skill, And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blinduess, That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? Or made them swear against the thing they see; Who taught thee how to make me love thee For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I, more,
To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie! The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
CLIII. 0, though I love what others do abhor,
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; For thou betraying me, I do betray
I sick withal, the help of bath desired,
But found no cure; the bath for my help lies, Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason; Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hcarts had warm’d:
Dut why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, Growing a bath and healthful remedy When I break twenty? I am perjured most; For men diseased; but l, my mistress' thrall, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, Came there for cure, and this, by that I prove. And all my honest faith in thee is lost:
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer :
and Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
toward; Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to
love? Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: My vow was earthly, thon a heavenly love;
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: Thy grace being gaiu’d, cnres all disgrace in me.
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
prove; Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers
bow'd. Exhalest this vapour vow; in thee it is; If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
eyes, To break an oath, to win a paradise ?
Where all those pleasures live, that art can com
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall
suffice; Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook,
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee comWith young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
mend; Did court the lad with many a lovely look, All ignorant that soul that sees thee without Such looks, as none could look but beauty's queen.
wonder; She told him stories to delight his ear; Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts adShe show'd him favonrs to allure his eye :
mire ; To win his heart, she toach'd him here and there : Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
VIII. Celestial as thou art, o do not love that wrong. Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plack'd soon To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! IV.
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded ! Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
sting! When Cytherea all in love forlorn,
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should Under an osier growing by a brook,
be. A brook, where Adon used to cool his spleen.
weep for thee, and yet no cause I have; Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will. For his approach, that often there had been.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; Anon he comes and throws his mantle by,
For why? I craved nothing of thee still: And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee; The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him:
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him :
And as he fell to her, she fell to him. Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle, ‘E’en thus,' quoth she, “the warlike god emSofter than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty; A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
And then she clipt Adonis in her arms: None fairer, nor one falser to deface her.* “E'en thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
As if the boy should use like loving charms. How many tales to please me hath she coin'd,
'E'en thus,' quoth she, ‘he seized on my lips,' Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! And with her lips on his did act the seizure; Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
And as she fetched breath, away he skips, Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were
And would not take her meaning nor her pleajestings. She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth, To kiss and clip me till I run away!
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
Crabbed age and youth,
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn, As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Age like winter weather; Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Youth like summer brave, Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Age like winter bare. Downland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Youth is full of sport, Upon the late doth ravish human sense;
Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble, age is lame; Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
Youth is hot and bold, As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound, Age is weak and cold; That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes :
Youth is wild, and age is tame. And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
Age, I do abhor thee; When as himself to singing he betakes.
Youth, I do adore thee; One god is god of both, as poets feign;
0, my love, my love is young: One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.
Age, i do defy thce;
O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill; A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
• Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth and as goods lost are seld or never found, “Here in these brakes deep wounded with a boar, As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh, Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth! "See in my thigh,' quoth she, ‘here was the As broken glass no cement can redress ;,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground, She showed hers; he saw more wounds than one,
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost, And blushing iled, and left her all alone.
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
Good night, good rest! Ah! neither be my share: *) By Richard Barnefielde.
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang’d with care, Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alas ! my hand hath sworn
Vow, alach, for youth uumeet, Farewell, I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me, Yet at my parting sweetly she did smile,
That I am forsworn for thee; In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear 'Tmay be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
Juno but an Ethiope were ; 'Tmay be, again to make me wander thither: Wander, à word for shadows like myself,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
My rums speed not,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark; Heart's denying,
One silly cross
O frowning fortune, cursed fickle dame!
For now I see, But now are minutes added to the hours;
More in women than in men remain.
Love hath forloru me,
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
Fraughted with gall.
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; Long was the combat doubtful that love with With sighs so deep,
love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. knight:
How sighs resound
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! But one must be refused morn mickle was the clear wells spriog not, pain,
Sweets birds sing not, That nothing could be used, to turn them both to Green plants bring not gain,
Forth; they die: For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with Herds stand weeping, disdain.
Flocks all sleeping, Alas, she could not help it!
Nymphs back peeping Thus art with arms coutending was victor of the
All our pleasure known to us poor swains, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid All our merry meetings ou the plains, away;
All our evening sport from us is fled, Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady All our love is lost, for love is dead. gay ;
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was
For sweet content, the cause of all my moan: On a day (alack the day!)
Poor Coridon Love, whose month was ever May,
Must live alone, Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Other help for him I see that there is none. Playing in the wanton air;
"When as thine eye hath chose the dame, That the lover, sick to death,
And stallid the deer that thou wouldst strike, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath:
Let reason rule things worthy blame, 'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow;
As well as fancy, partial tike:
Procures to weep,
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee : Neither ton yotig, nor yet unwed.'
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; And when thon comest thy tale to tell,
King Pandion, he is dead; Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : Lest she some subule practice smell;
All thy fellow birds do sing, (a cripple soon can find a halt :)
Careless of thy sorrowing. But plainly say thou lovest her well,
Even so, poor bird, like thee, And set her person forth to sell.
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle fortune smiled What though her frowning brows be bent,
Thou and I were both beguiled, Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
Every one that flatters thee, And then too late she will repent,
Is no friend in misers. That she dissembled her delight;
Words are easy; like the wind, And twice desire, ere it be day,
Faithful friends are hard to find. That which such scorn she put away.
Every man, will be thy friend, What though she strive to try her strength, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; And ban and brawl, and say ihee nay,
But if store of crowns be scant, Her feeble force will yield at length,
No man will supply thy want, When craft hath taught her thus to say;
If that one be prodigal, • Had women been so strong as men,
Bountiful they will him call; In faith you had not had it then.'
And with such like buttering, And to her will frame all thy ways;
* Pity but he were a king.' Spare not to spend—and chiefly there
If he be addict to vice, Where thy desert may merit praise,
Quickly him they will entice,
It' to women he be bent,
But if fortune once do f'rown,
Then farewell his great renown: Aud in thy suit be humble, true;
They that fawn'd on him before, Unless thy lady prove unjnst,
Use his company no more. Press thou never to choose anew:
He that is thy friend indeed, When time shall serve, be thon not slack He will help thee in thy need; To proffer, though she pat thee back.
If'thou sorrow, he will weep;
II thou wake, he cannot sleep: The wiles and guiles that women work,
Thus of every grief in heart
De with thee doch bear thee part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe. Have you not heard it said full oft,
XIX. A woman's pay doth stand for nought?
Take, oh, take those lips away, Think women still to strive with men,
That so sweetly were forsworn; To sin, and never for to saint:
And those eyes, the break of day, There is no heaven, by holy then,
Lights that do mislead the morn; When time with age shall them attaint.
But by my kisses bring again, Were kisses all the joys in bed,
Seals of love, but seal'd in rain. One woman would another wed.
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow But sost; enough too much I fear,
Which thy frozen bosom bears, Lest that my mistress hear my song;
On whose tops the pinks that grow, She'll not stick to round me i' th' var,
Are of those that April wears. To teach my tongue to he so long:
But first set my poor heart free, Yet will she blush, here be it said,
Pound in those icy chains by thee. To hear her secrets so bewrayed.
Let the bird of londest lay,
Ou the sole Arabian tree, In the merry month of May,
llerald sad and trumpet be, Sitring in a pleasant shade
To whose sound chaste wings obey. Which a grove of myrtles mide,
But thou shrieking harbinger, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Foul pre-curor of the fiend, Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Augur of the fever's end, Every thing did banish moan,
To this troop come thou not near!
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king; That to hear it was great pity:
Keep the obsequy so strict. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Let the priest in surplice white, Teru, Teru, by and by:
That defunctive music can, That to hear her so complain,
Be the death divining swan, Scarce I could from tears refrain;
Lest the requiem lack his right. For her griefs, so lively shewn,
And thou, treble-dated crow, Made me think upon mine owo.
That thy sable gender makest Ah! (thonght I) thou mouru'st in vain;
With the breath thou givest and takest, Nuue take pity on thy pain:
l’Mengst our mouruers shalt thou go.