The Toys of a Traveller: or The Feast of Fancy. Divided into Three Parts. BY R[obert] T[ofte], Gentleman. Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda. LONDON,
Printed by Valentine Simmes.
1597.
To the no less virtuous than fair, the
Honourable Lady Lucy, sister to
the thrice renowned and noble
Lord, Henry [Percy] Earl
of Northumberland. GOod Madam, I make bold to present unto you a few Toys of mine own travail: [the] most part conceived in Italy, and some of them brought forth in England. By which my imperfections, you may see, as in a lively mirror, your own perfections; and by the follies of my rechlesse [heedless] youth, behold plainly the virtues of your flowering age: hoping your Ladyship will keep them as privately, as I send them unto you most willingly. Neither doubt I at all but that your excellent spirit will judge graciously of this my bare, yet bounden, conceit; and to accept the same, as a mean[s], at idle times, to drive away that self-pleasing, yet ill-easing, humour of never-glad melancholy, which spiteful Fortune, seeking (though in vain) most injuriously to insult over you, laboureth by all means possible to inflict upon you: the virtuous behaviour of yourself being such as, even in the midst of all your crosses, you cross her designs with an invincible heart, and with your honourable carriage carry her, with all her devices, as a slave to follow you, in all your generous and thrice-noble actions; maugre the intricate labyrinth of so many and infinite troubles allotted, most unworthily, unto you, by the irrevocable doom of your too partial and flinty Destiny. All which notwithstanding, you bear and over-bear, with a most resolute staiedness; and a resolved courage of a right PERCY, and of a mind A per se. But additions breed suspicions; and fair words, for the most part are counted the blazons of flattery: therefore I will leave to the temperate judgment of the wise, and to the uncorrupt censure of the worthier sort, your heroical and undaunted mind; and the integrity and never-stained proceedings of your spotless self. Only this, with submission, will I say, that if the richness of the ground is known by the corn; the daintiness of the water, by the sweetness of the fish; and the goodness of the tree, by the rareness of the fruit: then may every man give a guess of the internal habit and excellent qualities of your inward mind, by the outward behaviour and apparent semblance of your exceeding chaste, and more than admirable, demeanour in every respect. And thus, hoping your Honour will as debonairly accept of these Trifles, as I dutifully bequeath them unto you; and with the sun-shining favour of your gracious aspect deign to read these few lines: craving both privilege, and pardon, for all such faults and defects as shall happen to be discovered in the same, I humbly devote myself unto
Your Ladyship's thrice-virtuous and immaculate
disposition and command whatsoever,
Who am bound, as a vassal,
To do homage unto the same for ever,
R. T.
To the Gentle, and Gentlemen, Readers
whatsoever. GEntlemen. As the Fencer first maketh a flourish with his weapon before he cometh to strokes, in playing [for] his prize: so I thought good, pro form only, to use these few lines unto you, before you come to the pith of the matter. What the Gentleman was, that wrote these verses, I know not; and what She is, for whom they are devised, I cannot guess: but thus much I can say, That as they came into the hands of a friend of mine [? the R. B. of page 340] by mere fortune; so happened I upon them by as great a chance. Only in this I must confess we are both to blame, that whereas he having promised to keep private the original; and I, the copy, secret: we have both consented to send it abroad, as common; presuming chiefly upon your accustomed courtesies. Assuring ourselves, if we may have your protections, we shall think ourselves as safe as Ulysses did, when he was shadowed under the shield of Pallas against furious Ajax; so we, by your countenances, shall be sufficiently furnished to encounter against any foul-mouthed Jacks whatsoever. To censure of this Work is for better wits than mine own: and it is for Poets, not Printers [This therefore was written by Valentine Simmes, the Printer of this Book. See also page 340] to give judgement of this matter. Yet, if I may be bold to report what I have heard other Gentlemen affirm, Many have written worse; Some, better; Few, so well. The Work, being so full of Choice and Change as, it is thought, it will rather delight every way than dislike any way. Thus, courteous Gentlemen, building upon my wonted foundation of your friendly acceptance, I rest your debtors; and will study, in what I can, daily to make you amends. Yours always [Valentine Simmes.]
Alla bellissima sua Signora.
E. C. [The Lady's name was E. Caril: see Book II., Poem XXXIII.,
at page 313.] THrough thee, not of thee, Lady fair I write; Through power of Beauty, not of Virtues, thine: With zealous will, though slender be my might, I, weakling, seek an eagle's nest to climb. Then guide my feet! and if to slip I chance, Uphold me by the favour of thy glance!
Accept in gree these verses rudely penned; A sign of duty which to thee I owe: And deign with sweet regard them to defend; Which as condemnÈd else are like to go. In thee, it rests the stamp on them to set: If current, Pass! Suppressed! if counterfeit.
[R and T stand here, and elsewhere, for the initials of the Author. E.A.] And though the note, thy praises only fit, Of sweetest bird, the dulcet nightingale: Disdain not little Robin RedbreasT yet! [A line wanting.] What he doth want in learning or in skill; He doth supply with zeal of his good will
For only Thee, they were devised alone: And unto Thee, they dedicated are. Who knows? Perhaps this kindness, by thee shown, Shall make this glimpse shine like a glittering star. Such is thy virtue in the World his sight; Thy crow though black, may go for swan most white.
Then doubt me not, though parted we remain: In England thou; and I in Italy. As I did part, I will return again, Loyal to thee; or else with shame I'll die! True Lovers, when they travel countries strange, The air, and not their constant minds, do change. Coelum, non animum, mutant, qui trans mare currunt.
Affettionatissimo servid, della
divina Bellezza sua. R.T.
LAURA. I. FOrtune, cross-friend to ever-conquering Love, Our bodies, Lady, hath divided far; But yet our constant minds she cannot move, Which over-strong for her devices are. Woe's me! in England thou dost bide, and I, Scarce shadow of my self, in Italy. But let her do her worst, and what is frail And mortal seek to separate and undo; Yet what immortal is, she never shall! A string too high for her to reach unto. In spite of envious seeds, by malice sown, My heart shall aye be thine; and mine, thine own! Padoa. II. THough I do part, my heart yet doth not part; My poor afflicted body parts in twain, And doth in pieces two divide my heart: One piece my fainting spirit doth sustain, The other part I leave with thee behind, (The better part, and of my heart most dear); Then to that part, so parted, be thou kind! And to the same impart thy loving cheer! That I, returning, may again unite This parted heart; and find for grief, delight. London.
III. LIke to the blacksome Night, I may compare My Mistress' gown, when darkness 'plays his prize: But her sweet face, like to the sun most fair; When he in glory 'ginneth to arise. Yet this no whit the other doth disgrace; But rather doubleth Beauty in the place. Contraries like to these set opposite, So dainty and so pleasing in their show To lookers on, do breed no small delight; And pleasure great thereby to them doth grow. O wonder strange! O solace sweet! to see In one self subject, Night and Day to be. IV. IN the Egean dangerous Sea of Love, In midst of faithless waves and wicked wind; Where, to my cost, most bitter brunts I prove: A new Arion, there, myself I find. And though, as he, I play on harp and sing; Yet cannot cunning mine so high aspire As for to make the skipping fish me bring Unto that wishÈd shore I so desire. Only my Laura, peerless for to see, May, in this troubled flood, my dolphin be!
V. GReat was the strife between the sun on high And my fair Sun, when first she 'gan to 'pear, Who should exceed in brightest majesty; And show in sight of spacious world most clear. The sun did shine; but she did lighten bright, And so his burning beams extinguished quite. Nay more, my Sun on sudden to the sun Sent light; and yet no light at all did want: Where else the other had been quite undone For lack of brightness; which with him was scant. The beauty then the sun doth use to show, My Sun doth give; and from her, it doth grow. VI. TUrned to a stone was he that did bewray, Unwitting, to the crafty thief himself The theft; not thinking he had stolen the prey, In hope to gain a little paltry pelf. So I, who unawares to cruel Thee, The robber of my heart, confessed the theft; A senseless stone like Battus am to see: Only in this unlike that shape bereft, That where to worthless stone he turnÈd was; I for a Touchstone true of Love do pass.
VII. DOwn from the neck unto that dainty Breast, (Which Nature made a Mirror of Delight; And where a World of Beauties sweet do rest) Doth hang a costly Chain of Pearl most bright; And of proportion are so just and round, That such in India rich cannot be found. Besides, their orient brightness is alike; So that mine eyes are dazzled with the same, And, not much used to see so fair a sight (A sight which doth the sun in glory stain), Cannot discern, though them they both do see, If Breast be Pearl, or Pearl in Bosom be. VIII. TO give that life, which had not breath before; Prometheus, from above, stole heavenly fire: For which his boldness he was plaguÈd sore, A just reward for such a high aspire. So whilst I steal from thee, my heaven above, The heat which doth revive my dying sprite: For rashness, mine eternal grief I prove. Yet, though our fault's all one—the plague's not like: He feels of vulture one, alone, the smart; But I have thousands, which still gnaw my heart.
IX. LOve, being blind, hath wrought me damage sore; Thou, blind in this my loving, evil wast; Nor would I see the snare, being blind far more, Wherein myself, I did entangle fast. Yet hath this blindness harm done unto none But unto Beauty's buzzard, me alone. When blinded Boy did catch my harmless heart; Thou didst not see the net so intricate Which bound me (being blind, blind as Thou art!) To be a thrall in this most wretched state. So that, alone to work my misery, Love blind is; blind wert Thou; and blinder, I. X. IF, Laura, thou dost turn 'gainst me in hate; Then me, such busses sweet why dost thou give? Why check'st thou not the Cheeks which give the mate? The vital cause whereby I breathe and live? Perhaps it is, because through too much joy. As in sweet swound [swoon], I might away depart: If so thou do, and think me so to 'noy; Kiss hardly! and with kissing, breed my smart! Content am I to lose this life of mine; Whilst I do kiss that lovely lip of thine.
XI. UPon triumphant chariot, 'passing rare, (In which my Sun doth sit like Majesty: And makes the day shew unto us more fair; Whose cheerfulness delights each mortal eye.) I, rash, like to another Phaeton, With hare-brain haste, too hasty lept thereon. But for my boldness dearly did I pay; And had like plague, as he, for being o'er-brave: Yet though in equal fortune both did stay (For life he lost; and death She to me gave); The punisher of both was not the same, For he, by Jove; and I, by Love; was slain. XII. THe beauty, that in Paradise doth grow, Lively appears in my sweet goddess's Face; From whence, as from a crystal river, flow Favour divine and comeliness of grace. But in her dainty, yet too cruel, Breast, More cruelty and hardness doth abound; Than doth in painful Purgatory rest. So that, at once, She's fair, and cruel, found: When in her Face and Breast, ah, grief to tell! Bright Heaven she shows; and crafty, hides dark Hell.
XIII. WHilst angry Juno, from the scowling skies, Thick swinging showers did downward send amain; My Lady, mounting up in stately wise, From heaven more fast did fiery lightning rain. So that the people, passing, had less harm By water wet, than by the fire o'erwarm. The water only wet their outward skin; A matter small, in which was danger none: But this her fire did burn their hearts within; And forced them, as they went, to sigh and groan. So that their grief was greater, sans all doubt, To have within fire, than water, without. XIV. THe swift Meander, turning, winds so fast, And with his stream in circle-wise so runs; That, wanton-like, from whence he springs, at last, Back to his fountain-head again he comes. In me, a river huge of tears, from heart To watery eyes ascend; from whence they flow, And running down, do from mine eyes depart, Descending to my heart again below. So that, through virtue of most mighty Love, In heart, a new Meander I do prove.
XV. THou stranger, who with wand'ring steps dost wend, Thy gazing eyes turn quickly unto me! And to my speech, with list'ning ear attend! In whom four Elements united be. Mark well; and, as a wonder, tell the same Of Cupid's force! poor Lovers' Tamburlaine! First this my body's Earth, and earth most cold. The Fire within my heart, in covert lies. The Air's my sighs. Mine eyes do Waters hold. Thus for my Saint, he doth me martyrize. Earth is my body; (Strange seems not this same?) The Air, my sighs; eyes, Water; heart, the Flame. XVI. IF lovely Lass, for Fairing thine, of me Gold, in this Fair, thou meanest for to have; Then give me of thy hairs! which golden be. Give unto me! since thou of me dost crave. Nor by this bargain, shalt thou loss sustain; Or ought hereby shalt hindered be, sweet Wench! Since I, to courteous thee, do give again, As thankful, gold; for gold in recompence. Thy treasure, so shall mine be; mine, as thine: Nor shall th' exchange be worse than gold most fine.
XVII. ROcked in a cradle, like as infants be, When I was young, a little wanton child, Two dainty dugs did nourish life in me; Whilst oft on them, with teat in mouth, I smiled. Ah, happy I! thrice happy, might I say; Whilst in that harmless state I then did stay. But now that I am come to man's estate; Such dugs as nursed me in delight and joy Do seek my death, by poisonous sugared bait; Whose sight, without possession, breeds me 'noy. So what, in childhood, caused me to live; Now, in my youth, doth death unto me give. XVIII. IF Sea, no other thing doth shew to be Than most unstable waters moving oft: With pardon, Lady, you this seem to me; So most unstable is your changing thought. I, likewise, hold a River, that o'erwhelms With wat'ry salt, within these eyes of mine. Then let us make a mixture 'mongst ourselves Of this unsteadfastness and wat'ry brine! Let's fashion, both of us, a novel Sea! So heaven, the Haven; and Love, the Bay shall be.
XIX. LAdy, the sun was in Aquarius When thou wert born; which is the reason why The water of my plaints delight thee thus; Without once viewing me with piteous eye. But when as I was born, the Sign I guess In Cancer was; a show of my distress. This is the cause, within my boiling breast Doth burn a hot and unextinguished fire: But contrary these Signs in us do rest; Nor do they well accord to my desire. Far better had it been, Aquarius's Sign Had happed to me; and Cancer's had been thine! XX. WHat time, with brow, the Loveliest 'gins to scowl; Shewing disdain and fury in her face: Methinks I see the clouds wax dark and foul; And gloomy night begins to run his race. But, then again, when She to show begins Her smiling cheer, adorned with favour rare: Straightways the sun, in chariot bright forth springs; Clear are the skies; the gladsome day, most fair. Thus, in one face, I see, against my will, The rising of the sun; and falling, still.
XXI. RAnkle the wound did in my head apace; When fairest She, to play the Surgeon came: And whilst her snow-white hand did me the grace To lay the plaster on, which healed the same, A wonder strange! No sooner did she touch The hurt; but it appeared to be none such. Yet, woe is me, no sooner by that hand Was healed in head my outward fest'ring wound; But that instead of that, as countermand, One mortal scar at inward heart I found. Thus, Love! thou seest is changÈd my estate She checks with Death, that 'fore gave Life for mate. Venice. XXII. IF in the midst of kindling burning fire, That worthy Roman burnt his valiant hand; I like another Mutius in desire, Have scorched my fist likewise, through Love's command, In freshest moisture; where my Lady sweet, Her lily hands, for coolness, divÈd oft. But though desire between us was alike; Yet was the matter diverse which we sought. He chose to burn his hand, with courage bold, In flaming fire; and I, in water cold.
XXIII. THe Gentiles used, in sign of sacrifice, The blood of men to offer; to appease The warlike goddess's wrath, in humble wise; And through the same, her angry mind did please: But Thou, more wicked Warrior far than she, In reason may'st more cruel termed be. On Beauty's altar, to thee dedicate; Thousands of Lovers, mustering on a row, Offer their blood and hearts! yet mitigate Thy hardened mind cannot: which flint doth show. Then is she cruel less than Thou art now: Since blood her pleased; and Thee hearts cannot bow. XXIV. FOr to behold my Sun, I from the sun Did seek my face to shadow with my hand, To shield me from the heat, that 'gan to come In place, where gazing on her I did stand. But I no sooner from that sun was free, But that, in that self instant and that time, I, of mine own Sun, found myself to be Burnt with the heat; a most unlucky sign. So whilst a shade from sun did me defend, A Sun more hot did hurt me in the end.
XXV. WHite was the orient pearl which, on a day, That hand me gave: which scorns the proud compare Of purest white; and bears the palm away As of all pearly Fairs, the orient'st fair. And whilst She offered unto me the same, I knew not which the Pearl was, of the twain. So white the hand was of my peerless Pearl As it did dazzle with delight mine eyes, And pearl seemed to me, giving me the pearl; Which made me, sighing, say in whisp'ring wise, "Ah, why once may I not so happy be, This Pearl to have; which th' other gives to me?" XXVI. WHen you appear, appears the Break of Day; And shews to be most fair and passing bright: But if you keep yourself unseen away, The Day shows not; but keepeth out of sight. Then if again you 'gin yourself to show; Behold the Day to shew itself afresh With sky most clear. So both of you do grow In beauty like: in heat nor are you less. Thus if your beams you ope, or hidden been: The Break of Day appears; else ne'er is seen.
XXVII. JUstly of thee, Love partial, I complain That, at one instant and with one self stroke, Thou dartÈd hast into my heart, with pain, Cold chilly frost; and fiery flaming smoke. Ay me! within me, both I secret hold: And whilst th' one burns me, th' other makes me cold. Then, Cruel, since thou wilt, two contraries, Against my soul, within my heart shall rest: Ah, yet make peace 'twixt them, in loving wise! Or else, sweet Love, do promise this at least! Flame to my frost, and water to my fire; Life to my heart, to comfort my desire. XXVIII. DIana shineth in the heavens clear; Because from purest Sun she takes her light: And Fair, she shews that of Diana here On Earth, doth borrow beauty passing bright. The virtue then that is infused in her, She from Diana hath; or else from none: For other thews do all in her concur; And unto her beholding are alone. O wonder strange of Nature to reveal! She, Dian' gives; yet doth from Dian' steal.
Sienna.
XXIX. AS burnished gold, such are my Sovereign's Hairs; A brace of stars divine, her blackish Eyes; Like to the fairest black the raven bears; Or fairer, if you fairer can devise. So likewise fair's the beauty of her Breasts; Where Pleasure lurks, where joy still dallying rests. This Venus' Bower, you rightly may compare To whitest snow that e'er from heaven fell; Or to the mines of alabaster fair. Woe's me! 'Tis sweet to sleep in Cupid's cell! Whilst he, the heart makes surfeit with delight; Through golden Hair, black Eyes, and Breast most white. XXX. UNto thy favour (which when Nature formed, She went beyond herself with cunning hand), I may compare what is, in world, adorned With beauty most; and with most grace doth stand. But every mortal whiteness, ne'er so white, The ivory white of thy white hand exceeds: So that my soul, which doth fair whiteness like, Rests on fair whiteness, and on whiteness feeds. For this is thought, and hoped of from thee: White as thy hands, so white thy faith shall be.
XXXI. LAdy, thou seemest like Fortune unto me; When I most wistly mark, how thou dost go With golden tresses loose (a joy to see!); Which gentle wind about thy ears doth blow. And as thou her resemblest in this sort; So dost thou in attire, and all thy port. Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand The rolling Wheel: and shadowing Veil to hide Those eyes; which, like Controllers, do command. But if thou long'st of these to be supplied, Take me, thy prisoner, for to play this part! For my desire's the Wheel, the Veil's my heart. XXXII. THou, merry, laugh'st, and pleasantly dost smile: I woeful weep, and mestful sorrow still; Lest this thy mirth increasing, me beguile, And weave a web for me of greater ill. Too well perceive I this thy deep disdain, By this thy feignÈd looks and cloakÈd glee. Thou of disaster mine art glad and fain; And fain my death, as basilisk, would'st see; Since that of war and 'bate this laughter is, And not of gentle peace and calmy bliss.
XXXIII. SInce thou hast changed thy gown and thine attire; Ah, change thy thoughts! not always cruel be! And with new clothes, put on a new desire! That new, in every point, I may thee see: And if thou heretofore unkind hast been; Be courteous now, and gentle be thou seen! Thy glory great, thy praise more shalt thou find; If, of unconstant, constant thou become! And of a foe, a faithful friend and kind! Then change henceforth thy thoughts! else I, undone. Give me that colour which so likes mine eyen! If death, then black: if life, then carnatine [rosy red]. XXXIV. CHanged is my nature in me; where before I like was to a chilly freezing ice; I now a flame am, burning inward sore: And such a flame that burneth in such wise That if Love and my Mistress take no care For this my hurt, my soul must quickly die. Yet one doth see (for both not blinded are!) The fire so hot doth burn, wherein I fry, That fierce Perillus's boiling Bull of brass May unto this for icy substance pass.
XXXV. FAr better had it been, I had been dead, And laid full low in latest home, my grave; Than with that drink myself for to have fed, Which Laura mine in crystal glass me gave. The liquor pleased me, I must needs confess: Yet to my heart, 'twas poison ne'ertheless. So that I had contrary quite effect To my desire; which I so much did wish. Love was in fault, who Reason doth reject. And see my cruel luck, what happed in this! The wine was sweet; yet did his nature turn: It cooled my mouth, but heart within did burn. XXXVI. SWeet sang thy bird, in ebon cage shut fast, And did delight thy dainty ears so much As thou vouchsafedst to give him meat at last; And gently did his feathers stroke and touch. So, Lady, I likewise, in th' ebony Of thy bright eyes am prisoner, and do sing Thy Beauty's praise; and yet not fed am I By thee: yet live through thee; a wondrous thing! Love to my heart thy beauty doth supply For food; which else, through famine starved, would die.
XXXVII. IF white's the Moon, thou Laura seem'st as white; And white's the gown which you on body wear. And if her whitely horns, in calmy night, She, smoothly gliding, shows to us most clear: You, in the daytime, more and brighter far Your beauty show; like bright Aurora's star. Like brightness both of you abroad do cast; Though not effect alike per accidens: You shine, she shines, your powers eternal last; But yet between you is great difference. Her brightness freezeth, causing deadly cold: Yours doth inflame, and lovely fire doth hold. XXXVIII. EVen as the lamp goeth out, that oil doth want, Or as the sun doth fall in th' Occident; So did my heart within me 'gin to pant; My vital spirits away by little went: When, taking on me pity, graciously My Mistress's hem of garment, trailing down, Touched me; and me revivÈd suddenly. Then if such virtue be within her gown; Imagine what doth stay her corpse within! Which who seeth, through sweetness needs must sin.
XXXIX. SEated on marble was my Lady blithe, Holding in hand a crystal looking-glass; Marking of Lovers thousands; who alive, Thanks only to her beauty rare, did pass. To pry in glasses likes her: but afterward She takes the nature of the stone most hard. For whilst she cheerfully doth fix her eyes, Gazing upon the brightness of the one; Her heart, by th' other's made, in strangy wise, Hard as a rock and senseless as a stone: So that if Love this breaketh not in twain; It will a flint become, to others' pain. XL. NO more a man, as once I was, am I: Since this new Circe, moved by fierce disdain, Hath changed me to a Fountain never dry; Wherein myself, with bitter tears I bain [? bathe]. Then am I one who always eyes do bear; And breast of water flowing only full. Take heed, you Lovers all, of her! and fear The sugared baits of this deceitful Trull! Lest by this Circe new, you be deceived, As I have been; and be of shape bereaved.
The Conclusion of the First Part. THe Macedonian Monarch once did deign, In cheerful sort, in kind and loving wise, To feast in village with a homely Swain; Who entertained him, as in country guise, With curds and creams, and such like knacks he had. Whereof the courteous Prince accepted glad.
So, Lady, boldly I presumÈd have To invite you to a sorry banquet base; Nor to disdain the same, of you I crave! Though cates too coarse for you; too poor, the place. I cannot, as I would, give curds and cream; But milk and whey: my fortune is so mean.
Yet (if you shall accept it graciously; And with your favour sweet, this board adorn) The virtue which is in you, presently, The whey, to curds; the milk, to cream shall turn. But if your look (you angry) turn away; The milk shall still be milk; the whey, still whey.
Then as the sun in glorious wise doth shine As well on valley low as mountain high; Vouchsafe one cheerful glimpse of favour thine On poor me, from out that heavenly eye! Unworthy I, such grace! I do confess: Yet worthy thou to do so, ne'ertheless.
R. T.
LAURA. THE SECOND PART. I. IF I somewhile look up into the Skies, I see, fair Lady, that same cheerful light; Which, like to you, doth shine in glorious wise: And if on th' Earth, I chance to cast my sight; The moveless centre firm to me doth show The hardness which within your heart doth grow. If Seas I view, the flowing waves most plain Your fickle faith do represent to me. So as I still behold you, to my pain; When as the Skies, or th' Earth, or Seas I see: For in your seemly self doth plain appear Like faith; like hardness; and like brightness clear. II. MArvel I do not, though thou dost not see My griefs and martyrs; which I still sustain. For thou, the Mole of Love dost seem to me; But if a Mole, th' art only to my pain. How comes it then that, seeing thou art blind, Thou me consum'st, as if thou had'st thy sight? Why, as thy nature by instinct doth bind, Stayest not below? Pack hence, and leave this light! Either those eyes still shut, not me to grieve; Or under ground, in darkness, always live!
III. IF whilom, in times past, that Spartan Lass ("The Flower of Greece," Dan Paris's costly joy) Through her fair feature, the only causer was, So many Knights were slain at Siege of Troy: Thou, Laura, art unlike unto her far! In this our Age, a much more blessed star. For she brought Wars, Strife, Death, and Cruelty; Where thou, alone, bring'st Peace and Pleasure still. Ah, happy thrice, that ligs in love with thee! And if, by chance, un'wares, thou sometimes kill: Thou, with thy smile, the wound canst heal again; And give him life, whom thou before hadst slain Pisa. IV. SHoot forth no more those darts from lightning eyes! Unkind! Why seek'st to stop my fainting breath? Go, and invent some new kind exercise; New weapons seek wherewith me to offend! Play the right Tyrant! Choices use in death; Whereby, I dying, content may rest thy will. But tell me? Wouldst so fain my life should end? And know'st not, Sweet extremes do sudden kill? Cruel, kiss me but once! and thou shalt see Ended my life with that same kiss to be.
V. IF what is heavy craves the Centre base; The earth below, as Nature wills the same: Heavy the woeful griefs are, in this case, Which inward in my heart I do sustain. And if what's light, by kind, aloft doth mount: Then light's my love with thee, of light account. So that in doubtful dangerous extreme, Wretch that I am! myself am sore afraid: And doubt of thee, so far from Golden Mean; Nor know I well out of this depth to wade. Lest that my life be shortened, or I die; Whether it heavy, falls; or light, ascends on high. VI. LAdy, what time I seek in mournful note To show mine agonies and bloody moan, My Voice doth fail; and hoarse and harsh my throat: And this doth come through you, through you alone. The whilst I think, by means of you in Song, To mitigate some part of this my smart; Instead thereof, you do me double wrong: And with a glance you take away my Heart. So that I find great hurt by this your theft: Since where, before but Voice, now Heart, 's bereft.
VII. AS rocks become, exposed 'gainst waves and wind, More hard; such is thy nature, stubborn Dame! Opposed 'gainst waters of my plaints most kind; And winds of mine hot sighs, which inward flame, That hardness such to increase 'bout heart is found, As to it, soft might seem the diamond. Henceforward then, let no man think to move By weeping or lamenting, to his will, This self-willed Saint; which too too well I prove A senseless stone to be unto me still. Since, to my grief, from all good luck debarred; With plaints and sighs, she doth become more hard. VIII. HArk, Lovers! Hark, a strange miracle Of one, deprived of heart; yet death doth 'scape! Mine L. a flower gave me, which sweet did smell; And for the same, away my life did take. So that I only breathe through scent of flower; And without heart, not without life, I live. Then is not this, of might Love his power A wonder strange? which he for sport doth give: When that a flower sustaineth me alone With life; who in my body, heart have none.
IX. WHen I did part from thee the other night; Methought a foul black dog, with ugly shape, Did follow me: and did me sore affright; And all the way did greedy on me gape. Nor I this cur, how he at me did howl, Can well as yet forget, with chaps most foul. Then thinking of his colour, hateful black; Methought some ill, my thought did fear to come, And said within me, "Turn again, turn back! If forward thou dost go, thou art undone!" Then pardon, Lady, if I back again Am come this night, with you for to remain. X. MY mourning Mistress's garments, black doth bear; And I in black, like her, attirÈd am! Yet diverse is the cause why black we wear; She for another's death doth shew the same. I for another reason bear this suit; Only to show by this, my outward weed, Mine inward grief (although my tongue be mute) Of tender heart; which deadly sighs doth bleed. Thrice happy I, if, as in habit [dress] we Are both in one, our minds both one might be.
XI. IF April fresh doth kindly give us flowers; September yields with more increase the fruit. Sweetest, you have in bosom, Beauty's Bowers, Both these sweet tides: whence forth they always shoot Both flower and fruit. All only you, alone, Can give me, when you please; or else can none. O dainty bosom, bosom rich in price, Surmounting mountains huge of beaten gold; Whose whiteness braves the whitest snow that lies On highest hills, whose height none can behold. In you, my soul doth hope, without annoy, Both Spring and Harvest, one day to enjoy.
Roma. XII. DRawn, cunning Painter, hast thou with great art, The Shadow [Image] of my lovely Laura fair; Which object sweet not smally joys my heart: But little didst thou think, nor wast thou 'ware, That where thou thought'st my fancy for to please, Effect contrary sorts to my desire: So that it breeds, in body mine, unease; And, senseless, burns my heart with feeling fire. O strange success! What made was for content Doth most displease; and, lifeless, doth torment.
XIII. WHen first the cruel Fair deigned graciously To look on me with kind and courteous view; And cast on me a lovely glancing eye: She knew not that I was her servant true. But She no sooner 'ware was of the same; But that She turned her back with great disdain. So as the wound I then close bare in breast; I now, through grief, show outward in my face: But if that She, by whom I wounded rest, Lives in compassion cold towards me, sans grace: Hard hearted is She, cruel was She to her friend; And wicked shall be, world withouten end. XIV. WHen first the sun did shine upon her eyes, Who fairest 'mongst her beauteous sex doth show; The heavens her dainty corpse, in courteous wise, Covered with chilly cold and whitest snow. She, through the nature of that humour cold, Both coldest Ice, at once, and purest White Draws to herself. Then none, for strange should hold; Though, to me, fair and cruel is her sight: Since that the heavens, for favours, did impart A snow-white corpse to her, and frozen heart.
XV. THe dusky cloud in sky, with shadow dark, Doth cover oft the sun's most clearest light: So as his beams we cannot see, nor mark; And he himself doth play at least in sight. Ah were I such a cloud on earth to cover My sweetest Sun! as doth that cloud, the other. But if that cloud do vanish soon away, And doth as momentary pass and vade; Eternal would I be to hide her aye, And of a harder mixture would be made. O happy I! O fortunate eclipse! With kissing so to darken those fair lips. XVI. FRom milk of Juno, as the Poets feign, The Lily had its whiteness, passing white: And from Adonis' blood, that lovely Swain, The Rose his colour red, which doth delight. Thou, pretty Soul, hast both the colours rare Of these sweet flowers; which others all exceed. Thy breast's a bed of beauteous Lilies fair; Thy dainty cheeks, pure damask Rose breed. O fruitful garden flow'ring; where appear The Rose and Lily at all times of year!
XVII. OF constant love, I am the wasted fire; The furious wind's my Lady's angry eye: Who whilst She kindles both, through wrathful ire, The flame increaseth, mounting to the sky. In midst is Love, half dead of grievous pain; And, doubtful, winds about like sparkling flame. He fears the heat: and trembles, being turned Unto this blast; which still more sharp doth rise. Nor is his fear in vain, when so he is burned: For one of these must hap, in sudden wise, Either the fire must spoil him as his prey; Or whirling wind else blow him quite away. XVIII. MY Laura wonders that, in visage pale, I bear of Death itself, the lively show: But if She muse at this, her musing's stale; For this sad colour had I long ago. The fire, close burning in my veins, doth make That outward ashes in my face you view: But if that She would on me pity take, Who is the cause of this my palish hue, This kindled heat shall die, which now doth burn; And my first colour shall again return.
XIX. WHilst foaming steed I spur unto the quick, To make him gallop to my Love amain: Love doth my thoughts, through Fancy, forward prick; The end of wishÈd journey mine to gain. But light's his hurt! 'Tis but a little smart! Where mine is mortal, sounding to the heart. Run then, my gelding swift, like Pegasus! Fly hence with wings! for wings hath my desire: Both of us, forced amain, are forward thus, And kindled in us is a burning fire. Thou, through two spurs in flank, provoked art sore: But thousands inwardly, my heart do gore. XX. RIch is the diamond, a gem of price; Yet such the nature strange is of the same, That who the powder thereof drinks, straight dies: And, as if poison 'twere, doth take his bane. So thou another precious jewel art; In name and nature not unmuch alike: Since death thou giv'st unto the loving heart; If but a kiss one sucks from thee most sweet. Whilst he doth swallow down his sugared bait; The joy's so great, it kills him through conceit.
XXI. THe Grecians used to offer up their hair Unto their rivers: whom they did esteem As mighty gods; and them great honour bare, As if no virtue small in them had been. Do thou the like, sweet Laura, unto me! Who, for my love, deserves a greater fee. Thy golden tresses on me do bestow! Who hold whole rivers flowing in mine eyes: Yet would not I, thou off shouldst cut them though. Dost muse? and ask, How this thou may'st devise? I'll tell thee. Give thyself to me for mine! So shalt thou give, uncut, thy tresses fine. XXII. ONe lovely glance, which from the eyes did pass Of Lady mine, hath changed my gentle heart From hardest diamond to brittle glass: And now again (unto my bitter smart), Through dreadful frown, she turns it suddenly As 'twas before, from glass to diamond. So if She will, She may (and presently, As likes her) change me; who to her am bound. If cruel She; my heart is hard to break: If pitiful; 'tis gentle, brittle, weak.
XXIII. TWo winds, one calm, another fierce, to see; Th' one of the Spring, of Winter th' other right: I plainly, Lady, do discern in thee! The first, which makes me joy, breathes from thy sight Such dainty flowers, in diverse coloured show, As makes to blush Dame iris's rainy bow. The second, which makes me to pine away, Blows from thine inward breast, a deadly blast; Where doth eternal hardness always stay, Which I do see eternal aye to last. So as calm Zephyrus, in face, thou art! But rough as boisterous Boreas, in thine heart. XXIV. NO sooner do I earnest fix mine eyes On my fair Sun: but that I her perceive To vanish like a cloud, in darkest wise; As if, eclipsed, her light it did bereave. I know not, If She's troubled thus because She doth disdain I should behold her so: Or if for fear, this shadow to her draws; Lest me her beams should hurt, which glistering show. Say then, sweet Love, for thou know'st best, if still I shall behold her; or no more, thou will.
XXV. O that I were sly Proteus! for to take On me that form which most I like or wish: Then would I change myself unto the shape Of that thy little whelp, thy joy and bliss. Into that little worm thou so dost like; And dallying, play'st with him both day and night. Those savoury smacks, those busses, sweet which be, Which thou to him dost give, should all be mine: And I would make my heart to leap for glee; Whilst I did lick that bosom fair of thine. But since I to despair of this am brought: My wish shall Proteus be; thy dog, my thought! XXVI. "SAy, gentle friend, tell me in courtesy, Before what was I? and what am I now? A senseless Shadow, or a Body, I?" "Neither of both. Mark, and I'll tell thee how. No Body now: for that, by proud disdain Of scornful She, dislived was. Shadow none; For that did underground go with the same, Unwilling it should wander all alone." "What am I then?" "Even one that doth not know What now he is: or what he was, can show."
XXVII. THe Blazing Star foretells the hapless fall, And sudden death of others, soon to come. To me a Face, brighter than Comets all, Doth, with her looks, my fortune hard forerun; And with her shooting darts, from glancing eye, Presageth that, ere long, I needs must die. The Blazing Star death only prophesies; This doth foreshew to me a harder fate: And dares me to mine end, in warlike wise; Nor how this Challenge know I to escape. Ah, cruel Star! of death not only sign; But murderer th' art of this poor life of mine. XXVIII. THe Crow makes war with the Chameleon; And, being hurt, to th' laurel straight doth fly: And, through the fruit he findeth thereupon, Is healed of hurt, finds food, and lives thereby. Love the Chameleon is; the Crow am I: And battle wage with him unto the death. He wounds me deadly; whereupon I his To thee, my Laural! to restore my breath. Thou me reviv'st. Such virtue 's in thee rife As thou, at once, dost give me food and life.
XXIX. AMongst the Parthians is a kind of ground Of nature such as, though it far doth stand From fire: yet fire to take it straight is found; And flying thither, burns it out of hand. This prey so sure of Love am I, fair Dame! And you to me, which burneth me, the flame. So that if I, to you far off do show; You kindle straight in me a quenchless fire: And yet, although within it burn me so, Sweet is the heat whose fuel is desire. For rather I, in fire near you would be: Than freed from flame, you farther off to see. XXX. LOve, ope my heart! Hot fire thou forth shall take Open my Laura's! In it thou shalt find Cold frost. Then of these two contraries make But one; and that same one, frame thou more kind! Of both our hearts, make but one loving heart! And give it unto which thou please, of twain. Give it to her! To her do it impart; Or unto me! It skills not much the same. I'll doubt no more, when but one heart we have Between us both: for this is all I crave.
XXXI. UNto an Image may I right compare My Mistress, since so cruel She's to me: Which standeth for a sign or shadow fair; To which the simple ignorant bow with knee: And though with eyes, mouth, ears, and feet it show; Yet doth it neither see, talk, hear, or go. So plays my Choice, when I appear in sight: Nor see, nor speak, nor hear, nor stay She will. So as an Idol, She resembleth right; Blind, mute, deaf, moveless, senseless standing still. Then am not I worse than a lifeless block; To worship such a painted coloured stock. Fiorenza. XXXII. BOth gems, and pearls, their proper value have; But yet unlike: for not alike's their price. Some sought for are, and each one doth them crave; Others, more base, do pass in worthless wise. A jewel rich, and princelike gem, is She Whom I esteem; and such account of make: Yet in herself no price hath for to see. For it is holden at so high a rate As all the gold, nor silver, which doth lie In th' earth, or sea, the same, at worth, can buy.
XXXIII. IF love, wherein I burn, were but a fire; I quenched it had, with water of my plaints: If water, these my Plaints; I this desire Had dried through inward heat, my heart that taints. But Love, that in my griefs doth take delight, Both fire and water turns, to work me spite. Fly then, this Love! since such is his great power As waves to fire, and fire to waves, he turns: And with an absent Beauty, every hour, My fainting heart with Fancy's fuel burns; And, 'gainst all sense, makes me, of CARe and IL More than of good and comfoRT, to have will. XXXIV. RIvers unto the Sea do tribute pay. A most unconstant moving Sea art thou! And I, within mine eyes, bedewÈd aye, A River hold of bitter tears as now. Receive then, from these moistened cheeks of mine. Into thy lap, the water forth I pour! Of duty mine, and of thy debt, a sign: And mix together with my sweet, thy sour! So shall the water to the water be More precious; and the Sea, more rich to th' Sea.
XXXV. SUch is the virtue of the sunny heat, As seizing on the Cockle Shell (which lies On seaish shore), whereon his beams do beat, It makes it brightly shine, in orient wise: So that, through secret power of radiant sun, Of worthless shell, a pearl it doth become. So, Lady, you, through force of Beauty's power, If you shall deign to glance on me your eye, And rain with grace on me a smiling shower, A jewel rich you make me by and bye: And if no pearl; at least a precious stone. This, only, can you do; or else can none. XXXVI. THe blood of fair Adonis, Venus changed Into a flower: who, whilst he did pursue In forest thick, where as he hunting ranged, The savage boar to kill; the boar him slew. Do thou the like, sweet Love! Do thou the same, Whilst now my life doth languish, through thy power: And whilst my wound makes me for to remain Withouten blood, transform me to a flower! That where I, living, cannot; dead, I may; A lovÈd flower in Laura's bosom stay.
XXXVII. AN ocean Sea of water calm am I; Wherein kind Love the form of Fish doth take, Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly. Then, Lady, of a Fisher don the shape! Ah, what sweet fishing shall you have to like; If Love you chance to catch, while he doth bite? Come then, and naked into this water hie! He cannot 'scape; but, here, perforce must bide! 'Less to my heart, to save himself, he fly. Then quickly strip thyself! Lay fear aside! For of this dainty prey, which thou shalt take; Both Sea, Fish, and Thyself, thou glad shalt make. XXXVIII. RIch Damask Roses in fair cheeks do bide Of my sweet Girl, like April in his prime: But her hard heart, cold chilly snow doth hide; Of bitter Januar, the perfect sign. Her hair of gold shows yellow like the corn In July, when the sun doth scorch the ground; And her fair breast, ripe fruit which doth adorn September rich. So as in her is found Both Harvest, Summer, Winter, Spring to be: Which you in breast, hair, heart, and face may see.
XXXIX. TH' immortal ParcÆ, fatal Sisters three, Of mortal men, do sing the shunless fate: What once Was, what Is now, and what Shall Be; Their life, their death, their fortune, and their state. Our Song let be like theirs! for Three they were; And so our number is. Three are we here. Sing Laura then! Sing Love! and sing will I! Of dreary fortune mine, sing let us all! Let 's sing in doleful tune most mournfully, How 'Tis, how 'Twas, and hapless still Shall fall; The Present, Past, and (which none can mend) What Shall Be, world to come, withouten end. XL. THe heavens, their restless sphere do always move. In thee doth move the faith, which thou didst plight. And I, Ixion-like, still in my love Do roll; and yet I roll my wheel aright. So that, 'twixt us, continual motions wend. But which is worse, unconstant Wench, I see! The heavens will have their motions without end; Which, never ceasing, roll continually: And thou, like them, to roll dost mean thy fill; And since 'tis so, I'll roll too, against my will!
The Conclusion of the Second Part. THUS is the Second Course now servÈd in. A Course too coarse for such a dainty Dame: Yet, Lady, though the cheer be bad and thin; Because it comes of zeal, accept the same! And though not worthy of your grace it be; Yet make it gracious through your courtesy!
Great sumptuous feasts the stomach doth dislike; Which oft, in body dangerous surfeits breed: Where dishes few revive our sense and sprite; And Nature's pleased on little for to feed. This, as a sauce, your appetite to move, Accept! where meat's the heaRT, where cook is Love.
Nor think the worse, though I have spun a thread So fine (I mean your praise) I cannot mend: Since 'tis a Work to ground the wisest head; And mar I should this loom, this cloth not mend. So Venus' matchless shape Apelles drew; But how to finish it, he never knew.
Far more's my mind than is my feeble might. My pencil, for thy picture is too weak. The sun is only for the eagle's flight. My strength's too small, this hardened ice to break. Not painted, scarce I thee have shadowed here: This task 's for such as have in skill no peer.
R. T.
LAURA. THE THIRD PART. I. WHo joys in love? The Heart alone, to see. Who languisheth in love? The Heart alone. Then is 't a thing impossible for me To joy or languish: since I Heart have none. Withouten Heart! Then tell me, What am I? Even bones and flesh united cunningly. The Soul, where is 't? Love that hath ta'en away: My Body only resteth in his place. Deprived of Soul and Heart, how live? I say, I live, maintained by love, in this strange case. O wonder strange, the Body live to see; The Heart and Soul in other place to be.
Napoli. II. THat crimson gown, with drops of blood ywrought, Which Laura wears, a token is most true, How that of blood desirous is her thought: And that 'tis so, I best can tell to you. My wrongÈd heart too well doth find the same; Who, thousand times, not once, hath wrongÈd been By her: and, now, to aggravate my pain, (More cruel in desire for to be seen), By outward habit [dress] covets She to show What, inward, in her mind She hides below.
III. THe flaming torch, a shadow of the light, Put out by hasty hand, doth colour change; And black becomes, which seemed before most bright: Nor so to show is any marvel strange. So was I long a lively fire of Love; The heat whereof my body oft did prove: But I, at last, by one who moaned my woe, Extinguished was, by pitiful Disdain. Then if my colour black in face do show, You need not much to wonder at the same; Since 'tis a sign, by part to know the whole, That Love made me a fire, Disdain a coal. IV. PArdoned of every wicked fact was he, To Hebe's Temple that, with prayers, came: And, of such grace in sign, his bonds, as free, He left hung up on high within the same. I, Lady, errÈd have; and humbly come To thee, who art the Temple fair of Love: Off'ring to thee my prayers, all and some, To free me from my faults, thy heart let move! In token of which gift, with thee I'll leave My jealous thoughts; wherewith I did thee grieve.
V. IF thou art cold, as is the Winter's snow; I, as the Summer, hot am most extreme: Then let's unite thy heart, which cold is so, To mine so warm; and make of both a mean! So th' one a help to th' other still shall be; And linked in concord, as two doves shall 'gree. To form this frame, Love shall the workman play. Then let's with July, January mix! Let's make, between us, an eternal May! An everlasting truce, twain betwix! Thy Winter, with my Summer let us join! My fire so warm, with frost so cold of thine! VI. THe cruel Nero used on golden hook, The harmless fish to catch with sugared bait: So courteous Love, fishing, me quickly took; Whilst he with dainty prey for me did wait. Yet far more fortunate am I in this: For whereas Nero's hooks most sharp did kill; The other hooks revive the taken fish, Whilst they do hold him gently by the gill. But hooks they are none! For hooks they are too fair! Two golden tresses be they of fine hair!
VII. WHen She was born; She came, with smiling eye, Laughing into the world, a sign of glee. When I was born; to her quite contrary, Wailing I came into the world to see. Then mark this wonder strange! What nature gave; From first to th' last, this fashion kept we have. She in my sad laments doth take great joy: I, through her laughing, die; and languish must, Unless that Love, to save me from this 'noy, Do unto me, unworthy, shew so just As for to change her laughter into pain; And my complaints, into her joy again. VIII. IN Love his kingdom great, two Fools there be: My Lady's one; myself the other am. The fond behaviour of both, which to see; Whoso but nicely marks, will say the same. Foolish our thoughts are. Foolish, our desire. Foolish our hearts in Fancy's flame to fry. Foolish to burn in Love's hot scorching fire. But what? Fools are we none. My tongue doth lie. For who most foolish is, and fond, in love; More wiser far than others, oft doth prove.
IX. NO sooner Laura mine appears to me; But that a dainty dye, or blushing red, In both our faces showeth for to be. But who, alas, doth mine so overspread? O'er-fervent Love doth draw this shadow pure; Like cunning'st Painter, long for to endure. Who painteth hers? Disdain, with pencil hard; Which turneth all my sweetness into sour. So that all my designs are quickly marred; Except Love bind Love, by his awful power, In Faith's firm bands. Too high th' exchange will grow. When love, for hate; and not for like, shall go. X. PH?bus had once a bird, his chief delight, Which, only 'cause he had an evil tongue, He made him black; who was before most white. So if all those who, Lovers true have stung With spiteful speech, and have their loves betrayed; Or to their Ladies false be and untrue, Setting at nought the promise they have made; Love would but change into this coal-black hue: Thousands abroad, like sea-coal crows should show; Who, now unknown, for snowy swans do go.
XI. IN silver stream, on shallow fountain's shelf, The lively image saw he in the same; Who was in love with shadow of himself: Through pride forgetful how his likeness came. Such one myself, by chance, I see to be; When as in river I myself did see: Yet I myself, instead of loving, hate. And such strange hatred is this, and so strong; That while he, loving, died by justest Fate, Himself by seeing, whilst he himself did wrong: I die will unto him contrary clean; 'Cause I, hating myself, myself too much have seen. XII. JOy of my soul! My blindfold eyes' clear light! Cordial of heart! Right methridate of love! Fair orient pearl! Bright shining margarite! Pure quintessence of heaven's delight above! When shall I taste, what favour grants me touch; And ease the rage of mine so sharp desire? When shall I free enjoy, what I so much Do covet; but I doubt in vain, to aspire? Ah, do not still my soul thus tantalise; But once, through grace, the same imparadise!
XIII. PAinter, in lively colours draw Disdain! Dost ask, How that may rightly shadowed be? I'll tell thee. If thou, fine, wilt do the same; My Lady paint! and thou Disdain shalt see. Fond man! dost not believe? or think'st I jest? If doubtful thou remain, then hear the rest! Mark her but well; and thou shalt, in her face, See right Disdain: which, coming from her eyes, Makes her to look with most disdainful grace; Then if thou seest it, in so plain a guise, Straight shadow [paint] her! For this one counterfeit [picture] Of her, and of Disdain, shall show the shape. XIV. WIth gold and rubies glistereth her small hand; But if you match them with her lips or hair, They seem withouten brightness for to stand: The others have such lively colours fair. O worthy Beauty! peerless A PER SE! To whom all other Beauties are most vile. O fairness such as fairer none can be! Thou grace itself, of graciousness dost spoil! With rubies, thou right rubies dost disgrace! With gold, bright gold thou stainest in his place!
XV. A gentle tame deer am I, called a Hart: The cruel huntress fierce my Mistress is. With crossbow bent, she comes to me in Park; Paled in with pleasant thoughts of wanton wish. She shoots, and hits me; takes me for her prey: And (having shot, hit, taken) flies her way. Back she retires from me, with pleasant smile; Unloosing me, and heals my wound and pain: When, as afresh incensed (alack the while!) 'Gainst me, desirous me to plague again, She turns towards me, o'ertakes me, strikes me sore: And, binding up my wounds, makes deadly more. XVI. THe golden tresses of a Lady fair; At first beginning were of this my love: But now, at last, unto my double care, To be the end of my sad life I prove. Then did my doubtful spirit live in hope: But now he fears, despairing as it were, Because he doth perceive in sudden broke His hope, which dying heart did help and bear; Since that the hair, that Alpha me did bind In love, of life the Omega I do find.
XVII. "SWeet Laura, in the water look no more, To see if feature thine be fair or no! Look in mine eyes! which tears rain streaming sore Of bitter plaints; whose water clear doth show, As in a looking-glass, most bright to thee, Those favours which in that sweet visage be." So said I to her: when She answered blive, "And thou, my Love! say, Dost thou likewise wish To see thyself in one that is alive? Then in this breast, look where thine image is! Love shall alike in both our bodies rest: Bear thou me in thine eyes; I'll thee in breast!" XVIII. IF, cruel, thou desirous art of blood; Behold how I do bleed in streaming wise! Glut then thyself therewith, if thou think good; And do content, with blood, thy bloody eyes! From breast it comes, where fainting heart doth lie; And for a gift, I it present to thee! Although I know, through this, I soon shall die; And yet to die it little grieveth me: Since 'tis my wish, my blood with soul as one May rest; and that's with thee, or else with none.
XIX. THat ivory hand, a fan most white doth hold; And to the milky breast blows wind apace; And yet is full of chilly ice most cold; Disgrace to others, to herself a grace. But I, who wistly mark these whiteness' three, Vouchsafe, sweet Love, this boon to grant to me! Distil within the rolling of mine eyes, By virtue of thy power, such hidden flame; And let it tempered be, in such strange wise, That, as I cast my look upon the same, It quite may take away her cruelty! Melt straight the ice! and fan burn suddenly! XX. THe snakes, amongst themselves, so carefully Love one another, wonder for to see! As if th' one want, the other straight doth die. Lady, unto these snakes unlike we be! For if I die, thou diest not for my death; But, through my pain revivest! Such is thy spite! And pleasure tak'st to see me void of breath. Ah, yet in love let 's unto them be like! Thou Cupid, work! that I, poor snake in love, This 'sdainful snake for to be kind may move.
XXI. LAura is fair and cruel both in one; And born was of a dainty diamond. Then is it marvel, neither wonder, none; Although her heart as hard as stone be found. Nature that hardness, as a Keeper, gave To her, her beauty thereby so to save. But fond is he, and simple in conceit, That thinks Love will not, one day, burst the same. Then quickly, mighty Lord, quickly this break! Break thou this stony heart, so hard, in twain! Unto thy power, let Nature's force still yield! And be thou Conqueror 'gainst her in Field! XXII. THe snow-white Swan betokens brightsome Day: The coal-black Crow, of darky Night is sign. Thou Day, or Night, bring unto me still may, With those bright lamps, those glistering stars, of thine. But, cruel thou, thy heart is bent so hard, As I that sun can never see with eyes (That wished-for sun, from these my lights debarred): Nor aught discern but mists, in foggy wise. Then since I live in woe; and, blind, nought see: A Crow, not Swan, thou still shalt be to me!
XXIII. SAy, Cupid, since thou wings so swift dost bear; Within my heart, alone, why dost thou lie? Why dost not seek to lodge some other where; And to some other place, why dost not hie? Go unto her, who hath the lily breast! Who though she hates me; yet I love her best. If her, to entertain thee thou shalt find; It is a sign she hateth me no more. Straight then, return again; and show her mind To my desire! who for this news longs sore. Then, prithee, go! No longer ling'ring stay! Lest, when thou wouldst, thou canst not go thy way. XXIV. ON quicksedge wrought with lovely eglantine, My Laura laid her handkercher to dry; Which had before snow-white ywashed been. But after, when she called to memory, That long 'twould be before, and very late, Ere sun could do, as would her glistering eyes: She cast from them such sparkling glances straight, And with such force, in such a strangy guise, As suddenly, and in one selfsame time, She dried her cloth; but burnt this heart of mine.
XXV. GOld upon gold, mine only Joy did plate, Whilst She did dress her head by crystal glass: But whilst She looked on it, it sudden brake; So as, amazed thereat, much grieved She was; To whom I said, "To grieve thus, 'tis in vain: Since what is broke, whole cannot be again. Look steadfastly, with both thine eyes on me! Who have my heart, through love, a glass new made." She on my face looked; and herself did see: Wherewith contented th'roughly, thus She said, "Most happy I! Since for to dress my head, For broken glass, of whole one I am sped." XXVI. THe heavens begin, with thunder, for to break The troubled air; and to the coloured fields, The lightning for to spoil their pride doth threat. Each thing unto the furious tempest yields. And yet, methinks, within me I do hear A gentle voice, hard at my heart, to say: "Fear nothing, thou; but be of merry cheer! Thou only safe, 'fore others all shalt stay. To save thee from all hurt, thy shield shalt be The shadow of the conquering Laural Tree."
Fano.
XXVII. "LOve this fair Lass!" said Love once unto me. I loved her. "Love her now," saith he, "no more!" When thousand darts within my breast there be; And if I love her, he me threateneth sore. He saith, "Himself is fallen in love with her; And that himself, 'fore others, he'll prefer!" His sense is this. He, in her beauteous eyes, Hath found such Amours as ne'er like were seen: But thinks he, this shall serve, in cunning wise, To make me leave? he cozening me so clean? In spite of him, I'll love! sith heart doth 'gree, With Love in love as rival for to be. XXVIII. MY Mistress writing, as her hand did shake, The pen did dash, which on her gown did spurt: One drop, more higher than the rest did take; And to presume to touch her breast it durst. Upon her dainty bosom it did light: Wherewith she blushed, in show like damask rose. Presumptuous black! how dar'dst thou touch that white, Wherein a World of gladsome pleasure grows? Yet, spite of envy, happed it for the best: To the white, more grace; more beauty, 'twas to th' breast.
XXIX. NOne dares now look more on my Laura's face, So dangerous is her beauty to behold: For he no sooner gives to her the gaze; But straight his heart, She takes from him so bold. Such virtue 's locked within those ebon eyes; Where, dallying with Delight, Dan Cupid lies. So sweetly rolleth She that radiant sphere, As She, from whom She lists, robs suddenly: So as to look on her, each one doth fear; And yet to look on her, spare will not I! For though I lose my Heart, and him disease. I like shall my Desire; and her I'll please. XXX. UNbare that ivory Hand! Hide it no more! For though it death brings to my tender heart To see it naked, where is Beauty's store; And where moist pearl with azure doth impart: Yet fear I not to die, in this sweet wise! My fancy, so to see 't, is set on fire. Then leave that glove! (most hateful to mine eyes!) And let me surfeit with this kind desire! So that my looks may have of them their fill; Though heart decay, I'll take it for none ill.
Mantoa.
XXXI. "MY Mistress seems but brown," say you to me. 'Tis very true, and I confess the same: Yet love I her although that brown She be; Because to please me, She is glad and fain. I lovÈd one most beautiful before; Whom now, as death, I deadly do abhor. Because to scorn my service her I found; I gave her o'er, and chose to me this same. Nor to be faithful, think I, I am bound To one, in whom no kindness doth remain. This is the cause, for brown and pitiful; I left a fair, but yet a faithless, Trull. XXXII. WHite art thou, like the mountain-snow to see; I Black, like to the burnÈd coal do show: Then give some of thy purest white to me! And I'll some of my black on thee bestow: So will we these two contraries unite Together; which so joined, will show more fair. Let 's both then make this change, for our delight; Unless to kill me, thou do little care! But why of White or Black, talk I to thee? My blood not black 'tis; which thou fain wouldst see.
XXXIII. AS sacrifice unto a goddess bright, My heart I offered with devotion great: Thinking that She, Love's Temple had been right. But what, un'wares, I spied not then, in heat, I, wary, now discern her for to be: Of hell below, the rightest cruelty. I was deceived, I do confess. That smile, That wanton smile, that bred in me delight, Hid in those lips so fair, did me beguile. O beauty false! O cruelty most right! Flee, flee my heart! flee then, if thou be wise, Thy hurt! my burning heat, her treacheries! XXXIV. STrange is this thing! My horse I cannot make With spur, with speech, nor yet with rod in hand, Force him to go; although great pains I take. Do what I can; he still, as tired, doth stand. No doubt he feels a heavy weight of me; Which is the cause he standeth still as stone: Nor is he 'ware that now he carrieth three; He thinks, poor jade, I am on 's back alone. But three we are, with mine own self I prove: Laura is in my heart; in soul is Love. Pesaro.
XXXV. WHen I, of my sweet Laura leave did take; Fair Fano's city, for a while to leave: She gave to me, to wear it for her sake, Of gold and pearl a dainty woven wreath. Dear was the gift; because for love it came: But dearer more; 'cause She gave me the same. I look on 't still, and kiss it as my joy; Kissing and bussing it, with it I play: Which, at one instant, brings me mirth and 'noy; And sighing oft thus to myself I say: "White pearls are these; yet hath her mouth more fair! Fine gold is this; yet finer is her hair!" Fano. XXXVI. WIth thousand bands of furious inward heat, Love binds my soul; and burns my gentle heart: And, two ways, Laura, death to me doth threat: With Colour fresh; and wanton Eye, like dart. This for reward for all my love I gain. For my goodwill, two enemies I have: Laura and Love. Four plagues conspire my pain, Because I like; and what 's but just, do crave: Fire, roseal Colour, Eyes, and cruel Band. These, at the gaze of Beauty, make me stand.
XXXVII. IF scalding sighs, my faith may testify; And brinish tears, of love may warrant be: Both th' one and th' other thou hast seen with eye! Then what wouldst have, hard hearted! more of me? But thou, perhaps, though much I have endured, Wouldst yet be better of my faith assured. Then with thine eyes, into my breast do peer! Which, for the nonce, I leave to open sight; And that which now thou doubt'st, see shalt thou clear. Ah, mark it then; and view what shows so bright! But too too cruel art thou, and precise; That will not credit give to thine own eyes! XXXVIII. THe hapless Argus, happy in this same, The glory of the sun's surpassing light; The brightness of the stars, the fire which stain: With hundred eyes, behold them always might. But I, alas, who have but only twain, Cannot behold the beauty of my Sun! For which I live as blind, in endless pain; And count myself, for want thereof, undone. I can but wish that I an Argus were! With hundred eyes to view her everywhere.
XXXIX. IN vasty sea, fain would my slender Muse Wade in thy praise! to praise thy beauty right: But, Lady, I for pardon crave excuse. To break such waves, too brittle is her might! Meantime, with lowly verse, in humble show, Along the shallow shore I'll wading go. The time may come, perhaps ere it be long, That this my Quill, more bold, may write thy praise: And venture for to sail in th' ocean strong; Though now, on gravelled shore it fearful stays. And whereas now, to dip his foot he fears: He then shall dive himself o'er head and ears. Fano. XL. WHen I did part, my soul did part from me; And took his Farewell of thy beauteous ey'n: But now that I, returned, do thee see; He is returned, and lives through kindness thine: And of thee looketh for a Welcome Home. I then, not any more, to sorrow need; Now I am come: and if before, alone, On Shadow then; on Substance now I feed. So if my parting bitter was and sad: Sweet 's my return to thee, and passing glad.
The conclusion of the last Part. TImantes, when he saw he could not paint With lively colours, to his lasting fame, Such works he took in hand; and found too faint His cunning: seeking for to hide the same, He over them a subtil Shadow drew; So that his faults, or none, or few, could view.
So, Lady, I finding my wit too weak, With current terms, your beauty forth to blaze; And that to arrive, too blunt is my conceit, Unto the height of your surmounting praise: With silence forcÈd am, against my will, To shadow my defect, the want of skill.
Yet do I hope, the Shadow you'll not scorn: Since Princes, in their stately arbours green, Account of shade, as trees which fruit adorn; Because from heat they welcome shelters been. The Shadow shields, 'gainst sun, your beauty fair; Which else his scorching heat would much impair.
Then though a Shadow without fruit I be; And scarce yield leaves to cover this my bark: Accept these leaves, thy Beauty's Shade, of me! Where wealth doth ebb, goodwill doth flow from heart. Deign me, for all my love, but Shadow thine! Thy Substance 's too too high for fortune mine.
R. T.
A Friend's just Excuse about the Book
and [the] Author; in his absence. WIthout the Author's knowledge, as is before said by the Printer [at pp. 271, 272]; this Poem is made thus publicly known; which, with my best endeavour, the Gentleman himself, suspecting what is now proved too true, at my coming up, earnestly intreated me to prevent. But I came at the last sheet's printing; and find more than thirty Sonnets not his, intermixt with his. Helped it cannot be, but by the well judging Reader: who will, with less pain distinguish between them, than I, on this sudden, possibly can. To him then, I refer that labour. And for the Printer's faults passed in some of the Books; I have gathered them in the next page.[9] With the Author, bear, I pray ye! whom I must intreat to bear with me. R. B.
1589. Est natura hominum novitatis avida. THE SCOTTISH QUEEN's Burial at Peterborough, upon Tuesday, being Lammas Day [1st August] 1587. LONDON. Printed by A. J. [Abel Jeffes] for Edward Venge;
and are to be sold at his shop
without Bishops Gate.
[The unique copy of this Tract is preserved in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh. As it is however, somewhat confusedly written; its information has been corrected and completed from other contemporary sources.
?This is quite incorrect. The following is a truer account: On Sunday, being the 30th of July, 1587, in the 29th year of the reign of Elizabeth the Queen's Majesty of England, there went from Peterborough Master William Dethick, alias Garter Principal King of Arms, and five Heralds, accompanied by 40 horse and men, to conduct the body of Mary, late Queen of Scots, from Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire (which Queen had remained prisoner in England nineteen years): having for that purpose, brought a royal coach drawn by four horses, and covered with black velvet; richly set forth with escutcheons of the Arms of Scotland, and little pennons round about it. The body (being enclosed in lead; and the same coffined in wood) was brought down, and reverently put into the coach. At which time, the Heralds put on their Coats of Arms, and bare-headed, with torches' light, brought the same forth of the Castle, about ten of the clock at night: and so conveyed it to Peterborough [eleven] miles distant from Fotheringhay Castle. Whither being come, about two of the clock on the Monday morning [31st July]; the body was received most reverently at the Minster Door of Peterborough, by the Bishop, Dean and Chapter, and [Robert Cooke] Clarenceux King at Arms. And, in the presence of the Scots which came with the same, it was laid in a Vault prepared for the same, in the Quire of the said Church, on the south side; opposite to the tomb of Queen Katharine [of Arragon], Dowager of Spain, the first wife of King Henry the Eighth. The occasion why the body was forthwith laid into the Vault, and not borne in the Solemnity; was because it was so extreme[ly] heavy, by reason of the lead, that the Gentlemen could not have endured to have carried it, with leisure, in the solemn proceeding: and besides, [it] was feared that the solder might rip; and, [it] being very hot weather, might be found some annoyance. A Remembrance of the Order and Manner of the Burial of Mary, Queen of Scots. Printed in ArchÆologia, I., 155 [for 355], 1770.
The following additional details are given in the Account drawn up by [Doctor Richard Fletcher] the Dean of Peterborough. See S. Gunton, History of the Cathedral of Peterburgh, p. 78. Ed. 1686. The body, with the closures, weighed nine hundred weight; which being carried, and attended orderly by the said persons, was committed to the ground in the Vault appointed: and immediately the Vault was covered, saving a small hole left open for the Staffs to [be] broken into. There were at that time, not any Offices of the Church Service done: the Bishop being ready to have executed therein. But it was by all that were present, as well Scottish as others, thought good and agreed, that it should be done at the day and time of Solemnity.]
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