With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, 3 Alas! how oft in dreams I see Those eyes that were my food; Whose absent flame did make me burn: 4 When other lovers in arms across, Rejoice their chief delight; Before the winds how the clouds flee: 5 And in green waves when the salt flood A thousand fancies in that mood Alas! now drencheth 2 my sweet foe, 6 And when the seas wax calm again, My doubtful hope doth cause me plain ; Port of his availe :' port where he intends to lower his sails.—2 ‹ Drencheth' drowneth. Thus is my wealth' mingled with woe : COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER REFUSED UPON HIS LADY'S UNJUST MISTAKING OF HIS WRITING. In winter's just return, when Boreas 'gan his reign, Under a palm I heard one cry as he had lost his wits, this woe; A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee so. 10 Thy pleasures past have wrought thy woe without redress; If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been the less.' And, reckless of his life, he 'gan both sigh and groan : A rueful thing methought it was, to hear him make such moan. 'Thou cursed pen,' said he, 'woe-worth the bird thee bare; The man, the knife, and all that made thee, woe be to their share: Woe-worth the time and place where I so could indite; And woe be it yet once again, the pen that so can write. 1 Wealth' well-being. Unhappy hand! it had been happy time for me, 19 If when to write thou learnèd first, unjointed hadst thou be.' Thus cursed he himself, and every other wight, Save her alone whom love him bound to serve both day and night. Which when I heard, and saw how he himself for-did,1 Had been my heart of flint, it must have melted tho,2 With tears for his redress I rashly to him ran, And in my arms I caught him fast, and thus I spake him than: 'What woful wight art thou, that in such heavy case Torments thyself with such despite, here in this desert place?' 30 Wherewith, as all aghast, fulfill'd with ire and dread, He cast on me a staring look, with colour pale and dead: 'Nay, what art thou,' quoth he, ' that in this heavy plight Dost find me here, most woful wretch, that life hath in despite ?' 'I am,' quoth I, 'but poor, and simple in degree, A shepherd's charge I have in hand, unworthy though With that he gave a sigh, as though the sky should fall, he call, 'Come, hie thee fast at once, and print it in thy heart, So thou shalt know, and I shall tell thee, guiltless how I smart.' 40 His back against the tree, sore feebled all with faint, With weary sprite he stretch'd him up, and thus he told his plaint: 'For-did:' destroyed.-Tho' then. 'Once in my heart,' quoth he, 'it chanced me to love 43 Such one, in whom hath Nature wrought, her cunning for to prove; And sure I cannot say, but many years were spent, With such good will so recompensed, as both we were content. Whereto then I me bound, and she likewise also, The sun should run his course awry, ere we this faith forego. Who joyèd then but I? who had this worldès bliss? Who might compare a life to mine, that never thought on this? But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest joy, 50 Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy. band: And for my just excuse availeth no defence. Now know'st thou all; I can no more; but, shepherd, hie thee hence, And give him leave to die, that may no longer live: Whose record, lo! I claim to have, my death I do forgive; And eke, when I am gone, be bold to speak it plain, 59 Thou hast seen die the truest man that ever love did pain.' Wherewith he turn'd him round, and gasping oft for breath, Into his arms a tree he raught, and said: Welcome my death! Welcome, a thousandfold now dearer unto me Than should, without her love to live, an emperor to be.' Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost; And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath lost. Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right For pity through my heart did bleed, to see so piteous sight; My blood from heat to cold oft changed wonders sore; 60 A thousand troubles there I found I never knew before; 'Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought in fear, That long it was ere I could call to mind what I did there. But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of mine: The furies pass'd, and I my wits restored by length of time. Then as I could devise, to seek I thought it best Where I might find some worthy place for such a corse to rest; And in my mind it came, from thence not far away, Where Cressid's love, King Priam's son, the worthy Troilus lay: By him I made his tomb, in token he was true, And as to him belongèd well, I cover'd it with blue.1 80 COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER, BEING UPON THE SEA. GOOD ladies! ye that have your pleasure in exile, Step in your foot, come, take a place, and mourn with me awhile: And such as by their lords do set but little price, Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance comes on the dice. 1 Blue: the colour of constancy. Burns says, "The hyacinth for constancy, as the unchanging blue.' Each colour was held significant of character. |