Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent

POEMS BY WILL . SHAKESPEARE Gent.

The glory of beautie . AH wherefore with infection should he live , And with his presence grace impietie , That sinne by him advantage should achieve , And lace it selfe with his societie ? Why should false painting imitate his cheeke , And steale dead seeing of his living hew ? Why should poore beautie indirectly seeke , Roses of shaddow , since his Rose is true ? Why should he live , now nature banckrout is , Beggerd of blood to blush through lively veines , For shee hath no exchecker now but his , And proud of many , lives upon his gaines ? O him she stores , to show what wealth she had , In dares long since , before these last so bad . Thus is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne , When beauty liv'd and dy'd as flowers do now , Before these bastard signes of faire were borne , Or durst inhabit on a living brow : Before the goulden tresses of the dead , The right of sepulchers were shorne away , To live a second life on second head , Ere beauties dead fleece made another gay : In him those holy antique howers are seene , Without all ornament , it selfe and true , Making no summer of an others greene , Robbing no old to dresse his beautie new , And him as for a map doth Nature store , To show false Art what beautie was of yore , Those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view , Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend : All tongues ( the voice of soules ) give thee that end , Vttring bare truth , even so as foes Commend . Their outward thus with outward praise is crownd , But those same tongues that give thee so thine owne , In other accents doe this praise confound By seeing farther then the eye hath showne . They looke into the beautie of thy mind , And that in guesse they measure by thy deeds , Then churls their thoughts ( although their eyes were kind ) To thy faire flower adde the ranke smell of weeds , But why thy odor matcheth not thy show , The soyle is this , that thou doest common grow .

Injurious Time . LIke as the waves make towards the pibled shore , So doe our minutes hasten to their end , Each changing place with that which goes before , In sequent toile all forwards do contend . Nativitie once in the maine of light . Crawles to maturitie , wherewith being crown'd , Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight , And time that gave , doth now his gift confound , Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth , And delves the paralels in beauties brow , Feedes on the rarities of natures truth , And nothing stands but for his Sithe to mow , And yet to times in hope , my verse shall stand Praysing thy worth , dispight his cruell hand . Against my love shall be as I am now With times injurious hand chrusht and ore-worne , When houres have dreind his blood and fild his brow With lines and wrincles , when his youthfull morne Hath travaild on to Ages steepie night , And all those beauties whereof now he 's King Are vanishing , or vanisht out of sight , Stealing away the treasure of his Spring . For such a time doe I now fortifie Against confounding Ages cruell knife , That he shall never cut from memory My sweet loves beautie , though my lovers life . His beautie shall in these blacke lines be seene , And they shall live , and he in them still greene . When I have seene by times fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworne buried age , When sometime loftie towers I see downe rased , And brasle eternall slave to mortall rage . When I have seene the hungry Ocean gaine Advantage on the Kingdome of the shoare , And the firme soile win of the watry maine , Increasing store with losse , and losse with store , When I have seene such interchange of state , Or state it selfe confounded , to decay , Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate That time will come and take my love away . This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weepe to have , that which it feares to loose . Since brasse , nor stone , nor earth , nor boundlesse sea , But sad mortallity ore-swaies their power , How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea , Whose action is no stronger then a flower ? O how shall sommers hungry breath hold out , Against the wrackfull siedge of battring dayes , When rocks impregnable are not so stoute , Nor gates of steele so strong but time decayes ? O fearefull meditation , where alack Shall times best Iewell from times chest lie hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foote back , Or who his spoile or beautie can forbid ? O none , unlesse this miracle have might , That in black inck my love may still shine bright . Tyr'd with all these for restfull death I cry , As to behold desart a begger borne , And needie Nothing trimd in jollitie , And purest faith unhappily forsworne , And gilded honour shamefully misplast , And maiden vertue rudely strumpeted , And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd , And strength by limping sway disabled , And Art made tung-tide by authoritie , And Folly ( Doctor-like ) controuling skill , And simple-Truth miscalde Simplicitie , And captive-good attending Captaine ill . Tyr'd with all these , from these would I be gone , Save that to dye , I leave my love alone .

True Admiration . WHat is your substance , whereof are you made , That millions of strange shaddowes on you tend ? Since every one , hath every one , one shade , And you but one , can every shaddow lend : Discribe Adonis and the counterfet , Is poorely imitated after you , On Hellens cheeke all art of beautie set , And you in Grecian tires are painted new : Speake of the spring , and foyzen of the yeare , The one doth shaddow of your beautie show , The other as your bountie doth appeare , And you in every blessed shape we know . In all externall grace you have some part , But you like none , none you for constant heart . O how much more doth beautie beautious seeme , By that sweet ornament which truth doth give , The Rose lookes faire , but fairer we it deeme For that sweet odor , which doth in it live : The Canker-bloomes have full as deepe a die , As the perfumed tincture of the Roses , Hang on such thornes , and play as wantonly , When summers breath their masked buds discloses : But for their vertue onely in their show , They live unmoov'd , and unrespected fade , Die to themselves . Sweet Roses doe not so , Of their sweet deathes , are sweetest odors made : And so of you , beautious and lovely youth , When that shall vade , by verse distils your truth .

The sorce of love . BEing your slave what should I doe but tend , Vpon the houres , and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend , Nor services to doe till you require . Nor dare I chide the world without end houre , Whilst I ( my soveraigne ) watch the clock for you , Nor thinke the bitternesse of absence sowre , When you have bid your servant once adue . Nor dare I question with my jealous thought , Where you may be , or your affaires suppose , But like a sad slave stay and thinke of nought Save where you are , how happy you make those . So true a foole is love , that in your Will , ( Though you doe any thing ) he thinkes no ill . That God for bid , that made me first your slave , I should in thought controule your times of pleasure , Or at your hand th' account of houres to crave , Being your vassa●le bound to stay your leisure . Oh let me suffer ( being at your beck ) Th' imprison'd absence of your libertie , And patience tame , to sufferance bide each check , Without accusing you of injury . Be where you list , your charter is so strong , That you your selfe may priviledge your time To what you will , to you it doth belong , Your selfe to pardon of selfe-doing crime . I am to waite , though waiting so be hell , Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well .

The beautie of Nature . IF there be nothing new , but that which is , Hath beene before , how are our braines beguild , Which labouring for invention beare amisse The second burthen of a former child ? O that record could with a back-ward looke , Even of five hundreth courses of the Sunne , Show me your image in some antique booke , Since mine at first in character was done . That I might see what the old world could say , To this composed wonder of your frame , Whether we are mended , or where better they , Or whether revolution be the same . Oh sure I am the wits of former dayes , To subjects worse have given admiring praise .

Loves crueltie . FRom fairest creatures we desire increase , That thereby beauties Rose might never die , But as the riper should by time decease , His tender heire might beare his memory : But thou contracted to thine owne bright eyes , Feedst thy lights flame with selfe substantiall fewell , Making a famine where aboundance lies , Thy selfe thy foe , to thy sweet selfe too cruell : Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament , And only herauld to the gaudy spring , Within thine owne bud buriest thy content , And tender chorle makst wast in niggarding : Pitty the world , or else this glutton be , To eate the worlds due , by the grave and thee . When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow , And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field , Thy youthes proud livery so gaz'd on now , Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held : Then being askt , where all thy beautie lies , Where all the treasure of thy lusty dayes ; To say within thine owne deepe sunken eyes , Were an all-eating shame , and thriftlesse praise . How much more praise deserv'd thy beauties use , If thou couldst answere this faire child of mine Shall sum my count , and make my old excuse . Prooving his beautie by succession thine . This were to be new made when thou art old , And see thy blood warme when thou feel'st it cold . Looke in thy glasse and tell the face thou vewest , Now is the time that face should forme an other , Whose fresh repaine if now thou not renewest , Thou doo'st beguile the world , unblesse some mother . For where is she so faire whose un-eard wombe Disdaines the tillage of thy husbandry ? Or who is he so fond will be the tombe , Of his selfe love to stop posteritie ? Thou art thy mothers glasse and she in thee Calls backe the lovely Aprill of her prime , So thou through windowes of thine age shalt see , Dispight of wrinkles this thy goulded time . But if thou live remember not to be , Die single and thine Image dies with thee .

Youthfull glory . O That you were your selfe , but love you are No longer yours , then you your selfe here live , Against this comming end you should prepare , And your sweet semblance to some other give . So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination , then you were Your selfe again after your selfes decease , When your sweet issue your sweete forme should beare . Who lets so faire a house fall to decay , Which husbandry in honour might uphold , Against the stormy gusts of winters day And barren rage of deaths eternall cold ? O none but unthrifts , dare my love you know , You had a Father , let your Son say so . Not from the stars doe I my judgement plucke , And yet me thinkes I have Astronomy , But not to tell of good , or evill lucke , Of plagues , of dearths , or seasons qualitie , Nor can I fortune to breefe minuts tell ; Pointing to each his thunder , raine and winde , Or say with Princes if it shall goe well By oft predict that I in heaven finde . But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive , And constant stars in them I read such art As truth and beautie shall together thrive If from thy selfe , to store thou wouldst convert : Or else of thee this I prognosticate , Thy end is Truths and Beauties doome and date . When I consider every thing that growes Holds in perfection but a little moment . That this huge stage presenteth nought but showe● Whereon the Stars in secret influence comment . When I perceive that men as plants increase , Cheated and checkt even by the selfe-same skie : Vaunt in their youthfull sap , at height decrease , And were their brave state out of memory . Then the conceit of this inconstant stay , Sets you most rich in youth before my sight . Where wa●tfull time debateth with decay To change your day of youth to sullied night , And all in war with Time for love of you As he takes from you , I ingraft you new .

Good Admonition . Vt wherefore doe not you a mightier way Make warre upon this bloudy tirant time ? And fortifie your selfe in your decay With meanes more blessed then my barren time ? Now stand you on the top of happy houres , And many maiden gardens yet unset , With vertuous wish would beare your living flowers , Much liker then your painted counterfeit : So should the lines of life that life repaire Which this ( Times pensell or my pupill pen ) Neither in inward worth nor outward faire Can make you live your selfe in eyes of men , To give away your selfe , keeps your selfe still , And you must live drawne by your owne sweet skill . Who will beleeve my verse in time to come If it were fild with your most high deserts ? Though yet heaven knowes it is but as a tombe Which hides your life , and showes not halfe your parts : If I could write the beautie of your eyes , And in fresh numbers number all your graces , The age to come would say this Poet lies , Such heavenly touches nere toucht earthly faces . So should my papers ( yellowed with their age ) Be scorn'd , like old men of lesse truth then tongue , And your true rights be termd a Poets rage , And stretched miter of an Antique song . But were some childe of yours alive that time You should live twise in it , and in my rime .

Quicke prevention . LOe in the Orient when the gracious light , Lifts up his burning head each under eye Doth homage to his new appearing sight , Serving with lookes his sacred majestie , And having climb'd the steepe up heavenly hill , Resembling strong youth in his middle age , Yet mortall lookes adore his beautie still , Attending on his golden pilgrimage : But when from high-most pitch with weary care , Like feeble age he reeleth from the day , The eyes ( fore dutious ) now converted are From his low tract and looke another way : So thou , thy selfe out-going in thy noon : Vnlok'd on diest unlesse thou get a sonne .

Magazine of beautie . VNthriftie lovelinesse why dost thou spend , Vpon thy selfe thy beauties legacy ? Natures bequest gives nothing but doth lend , And being frank she lends to those are free : Then beautious niggard why doost thou abuse , The bountious larges●e given thee to give ? Profitles Vsurer , why dost thou use So great a summe of summes yet can'st not live ? For having traffike with thy selfe alone , Thou of thy selfe thy sweet selfe dost deceive , Then how when nature calls thee to be gone , What acceptable Audit can'st thou leave ? Thy unus'd beautie must be tomb'd with thee , Which used lives th' executor to be . Those howres that with gentle worke did frame , The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell Will play the tirants to the very same , And that unfaire which fairely doth excell : For never resting time leads Summer on , To hidious winter and confounds him there , Sap checkt with frost and lustie leav's quite gon . Beautie ore-snow'd and barenesse every where , Then were not summers distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glasse , Beauties effect with beautie were bere●t , Nor it nor no remembrance what it was . But flowers distil'd though they with winter meete , Leese but their show , their substance still lives sweet . Then let not winters wragged hand deface , In thee thy summer ere thou be distil'd : Make sweet some viall ; treasure thou some place , With beauties treasure ere it be selfe kil'd : That use is not forbidden usury , Which happies those that pay the willing lone ; That 's for thy selfe to breed another thee , Or ten times happier be it ten for one , Ten times thy selfe were happier then thou art , If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee , Then what could death doe if thou should'st depart , Leaving thee living in posterity ? Be not selfe-wild for thou art much too faire , To be deaths conquest and make wormes thine heire .

An invitation to Marriage . MVsick to heare , why hear'st thou musick sadly , Sweets with sweets warre not , joy delights in joy : Why lov'st thou that which thou receavst not gladly , Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy ? If the true concord of well tuned sounds , By unions married do offend thine eare , They do but sweetly chide thee , who confounds In singlenesse the parts that thou should'st beare : Marke how one string sweet husband to another , Strikes each in each by mutuall ordering ; Resembling sier , and child , and happy mother , Who all in one , one pleasing note do sing : Whose speechlesse song being many , seeming one , Sings this to thee thou single wilt prove none . It is for feare to wet a widdowes eye That thou consum'st thy selfe in single life ? Ah ! if thou issule●●e shalt hap to die , The world will waile thee like a makelesse wife , The world will be thy widdow and still weepe , That thou no forme of thee hast left behind , When every privat widdow well may keepe , By childrens eyes , her husbands shape in minde : Looke what an unthrift in the world doth spend Shifts but his place , for still the world enjoyes it But beauties waste hath in the world an end , And kept unus'd the user so destroyes it : No love toward others in that bosome sits That on himselfe such murdrous shame commits . For shame d●●y that thou bear'st love to any Who for thy selfe art so unprovident Grant , if thou wilt , thou art belov'd of many , But that thou none lov'st is most evident : For thou art so possest with murdrous hate , That gainst thy selfe thou stickst not to conspire , Seeking that beautious roofe to ruinate Which to repaire should be thy chiefe desire : O change thy thought , that I may change my minde , Shall hate be fairer log'd then gentle love ? Be as thy presence is gracious and kind , Or to thy selfe at least kind hearted prove , Make thee another selfe for love of me , That beautie still may live in thine or thee . As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st , In one of thine , from that which thou departest , And that fresh blood which yongly thou bestow'st , Thou maist call thine , when thou from youth convertest , Herein lives wisedome , beautie , and increase , Without this folly , age , and cold decay , If all were minded so , the times should cease , And threescore yeares would make the world away : Let those who● nature hath not made for store , Harsh , featurelesse , and rude , barrenly perish , Looke whom she best indow'd , she gave the more ; Which bountious gift thou shouldst in bountie cherrish , She carv'd thee for her se●le , and ment thereby , Thou shouldst print more , not let that coppy die . When I doe count the clock that tels the time , And see the brave day sunck in hidious night , When I behold the violet past prime , And sable curls or silver'd ore with white : When loftie trees I see barren of leaves , Which erst from heat did canopi● the herd And Sommers greene all girded up in sheaves Borne on the beare with white and bristly beard : Then of thy beautie doe I question make That thou among the wasts of time must goe , Since sweets and beauties doe themselves forsake , And die as fast as they see others grow , And nothing gainst Times sithe can make defence Save bread to brave him , when he takes thee hence .

False beleefe . WHen my Love sweares that she is made of truth , I doe beleeve her ( though I know she lies ) That she might thinke me some untutor'd youth , Vnskilfull in the worlds false forgeries . Thus vainly thinking that she thinkes me young . Although I know my yeares be past the best : I smiling , credit her false speaking tongue , Outfacing faults in Love , with loves ill rest . But wherefore sayes my love that shee is young ? And wherefore say not I , that I am old ? O , Loves best habit is a soothing tongue , And Age ( in love ) loves not to have yeares told . Therefore I le lie with Love , and Love with me , Since that our faults in Love thus smother'd be .

A Temptation . TWo loves I have , of Comfort , and Despaire , That like two Spirits doe suggest me still : My better Angell is a Man ( right faire ) My worser spirit a Woman ( colour'd ill . ) To winne me soone to hell , my Female evill Tempteth my better Angell from my side , And would corrupt my Saint to be a Divell , Wooing his puritie , with her faire pride . And whether that my Angell be turnd feend , Suspect I may ( yet not directly tell : ) For being both to me : both to each friend , I ghesse one Angell in anothers hell . The truth I shall not know , but live in doubt , Till my bad Angell fire my good one out .

Fast and loose . DId not the heavenly Rhetoricke of thine eye , Gainst whom the world could not hold argument , Perswade my heart to this false perjurie : Vowes for thee broke deserve not punishment , A woman I forswore : but I will proue Thou being a Goddesse , I forswore not thee : My vow was earthly , thou a heavenly love , Thy grace being gaind , cures all disgrace in me . My vow was breath , and breath a vapour is , Then thou faire Sun , that on this earth doth shine , Exhale this vapour vow , in thee it is : If broken , th●n it is no fault of mine . If by me broke what foole is not so wise To breake an Oath , to win a Paradise ?

True content . SO is it not with me as with that Muse , Stird by a painted beautie to his verse , Who heaven it selfe for ornament doth use , And every faire with his faire doth reherse , Making a cooplement of proud compare With Sunne and Moone , with earth and seas rich gems : With Aprills first borne flowers and all things rare , That heavens ayre in this huge rondure hems , O let me true in love but truly write , And then beleeve me , my love is as faire , As any mothers childe , though not so bright As those gold candells fixt in heavens aye● : Let them say more that like of heare-say well , I will not prayse that purpose not to sell .

A bashfull Lover . AS an unperfect actor on the stage , Who with his feare is put besides his part , Or some fierce thing repleat with too much rage , Whose strengths abnndance , weakens his owne heart ; So I for feare of trust , forget to say , The perfect ceremony of loves right , And in mine owne loves strength seeme to decay , Ore-charg'd with burthen of mine owne loves might , O let my books be then the eloquence , And domb presagers of my speaking brest , Who pleade for love , and looke for recompence , More then that tongue that more hath more exprest . O learne to read what silent love hath writ , To heare with eyes belongs to loves fine wit .

Strong conceite . MY glasse shall not perswade me I am old , So long as youth and thou art of one date , But when in thee times sorrowes I behold , Then looke I death my dayes should expiate . For all that beautie that doth cover thee , Is but the seemely rayment of my heart , Which in thy brest doth live , as thine in me , How can I then be elder then thou art ? O therefore love be of thy selfe so wary , As I not for my selfe , but for thee will , Bearing thy heart which I will keepe so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill , Presume not on thy heart when mine is slaine , Thou gav'st me thine not to give backe againe .

A sweet provocation . SWeet Cytheria , sitting by a Brooke , With young Adonis , lovely , fresh and greene , Did court the Lad with many a lovely looke , Such lookes as none could looke but beauties Queene . She told him stories , to delight his eares : She show'd him favors , to allure his eye : To win his heart , she toucht him here and there , Touches so soft , still conquer chastitie . But whether unripe yeares did want conceit , Or he refus'd to take her figured proffer , The tender nibler would not touch the bait , But smile , and jest , at every gentle offer : Then fell she on her backe , faire Queene , and toward He rose and ran away , ah foole too froward .

A constant vow . IF love make me forsworne how shall I sweare to love ? O , never faithcould hold , if not to beautie vowed : Though to my selfe forsworne , to thee I le constant prove , Those thoughts to me like Okes , to thee like O●iers bowed , Studdy his byas leaves , and makes his booke thine eyes , Where all those pleasures lives , that Art can comprehend : If knowledge be the marke , to know thee shall suffice : Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend , All ignorant that soule , that sees thee without wonder , Which is to me some prayse , that I thy parts admire : Thine eye Ioves lightning seemes , thy voyce his dreadfull thunder Which ( not to anger bent ) is musick and sweet fire . Celestiall as thou art , O , doe not love that wrong : To sing heavens prayse , with such an earthly tongue .

The Exchange . A Womans face with natures owne hand painted , Hast thou the Master Mistris of my passion , A womans gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false womens fashion , An eye more bright then theirs , lesse false in rowling : Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth , A man in hew all Hews in his controuling , Which steales mens eyes , and womens soules amazeth : And for a woman went thou first created , Till nature as she wrought thee fell a doting , And by addition me of thee defeated , By adding one thing to my purpose nothing . But since she prickt thee out for womens pleasure , Mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure .

A disconsolation . WEary with toyle , I haste me to my bed , The deare repose for lims with travaile tired , But then begins a journey in my head To worke my minde , when bodies work 's expired . For then my thoughts ( from far where I abide ) Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee , And keepe my drooping eye-lids open wide , Looking on darkenesse which the blind doe see . Save that my soules imaginary sight Presents their shaddow to my sightlesse view , Which like a jewell ( hunge in gastly night ) Makes blacke night beautious and her old face new . Loe thus by day my lims , by night my mind , For thee , and for my selfe , no quiet finde . How can I then returne in happy plight That am debard the benefit of rest ? When dayes oppression is not eazd by night , But day by night and night by day opprest . And each ( though enemies to others raigne ) Doe in consent shake hands to torture me , The one by toyle , the other to complaine How far I toyle , still farther off from thee . I tell the Day to please him thou art bright , And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heaven : So flatter I the swart complexiond night , When sparkling stars twire , not thou guil'st th' even . But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer , And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme stronger . When in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes , I all alone be weepe my out-cast state , And trouble deafe heaven with my bootlesse cries , And looke upon my selfe and curse my fate . Wishing me like to one more rich in hope , Featur'd like him , like him with friends possest , Desiring this mans art , and that mans skope , With what I most injoy contented least , Yet in these thoughts my selfe almost despising , Haply I thinke on thee , and then my state , ( Like to the Larke at breake of day arising ) From sullen earth sings himns at Heavensgate , For thy sweet love remembred such wealth brings , That then I scorne to change my state with Kings .

Cruell Deceit . SCarse had the Sunne dride up the deawy morne , And scarse the herd gone to the hedge for shade : When Cytherea ( all in love forlorne ) A longing tariance for Adonis made Vnder an Osyer growing by a brooke , A brooke , where Adon us'd to coole his spleene : Hot was the day , she hotter that did looke For his approach , that often there had beene . Anon he comes , and throwes his Mantle by , And stood starke naked on the brookes greene brim : The Sunne look't on the world with glorious eye , Yet not so wistly , as this Queene on him : He spying her , bounst in ( whereas he stood ) Oh Iove ( quoth she ) why was not I a flood ?

The unconstant Lover . FAire is my love , but not so faire as fickle , Milde as a Dove , but neither true nor trustie , Brighter then glasse , and yet as glasse is brittle , Softer then wax , and yet as Iron rusty ; A lilly pale , with damaske die to grace her , None fairer , nor none falser to deface her . Her lips to mine how often hath she joyned , Betweene each kisse her oathes of true love swearing : How many tales to please me hath she coyned , Dreading my love , the losse thereof still fearing . Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings , Her faith , her oathes , her teares , and all were jeastings . She burnt with love , as straw with fire flameth , She burnt out love , as soone as straw out burneth ; She fram'd the love , and yet she foyld the framing , She bad love last , and yet she fell a turning . Was this a lover , or a Letcher whether ? Bad in the best , though excellent in neither .

The benefit of Friendship . WHen to the Sessions of sweet silent thought , I summon up remembrance of things past , I sigh the lacke of many a thing I sought , And with old woes new waile my deare times waste : Then can I drowne an eye ( unus'd to flow ) For precious friends hid in deaths datelesse night , And weepe a fresh loves long since canceld woe , And moane th' expence of many a vanisht sight . Then can I greeve at greevances fore gone , And heavily from woe to woe tell ore The sad account of fore-bemoned mone , Which I new pay , as if not payd before . But if the while I thinke on thee ( deare friend ) All losses are restor'd , and sorrowes end . Thy bosome is indeared with all hearts , Which I by lacking have supposed dead , And there raignes Love and all Loves loving parts , And all those friends which I thought buried . How many a holy and obsequious teare Hath deare religious love stolne from mine eye , As interest of the dead , which now appeare , But things remov'd that hidden in there lye . Thou art the grave where buried love doth live . Hung with the trophies of my lovers gon , Who all their parts of me to thee did give , That due of many , now is thine alone , Their images I lov'd , I view in thee , And thou ( all they ) hast all the all of me . If thou survive my well contented day , When that churle death my bones with dust shall cover And shalt by fortune once more re-survay : These poore rude lines of thy deceased Lover : Compare them with the bett'ring of the time , And though they be out-stript by every pen , Reserve them for my love , not for their rime , Exceeded by the hight of happier men . Oh then vouchsafe me but this loving thought , Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age , A dearer birth then this his love had brought To march in ranckes of better equipage : But since he dyed and Poets better prove , Theirs for their stile i le read , his for his love .

Friendly concord . IF Musicke and sweet Poetrie agree , As they must needs ( the Sister and the brother ) Then must the love be great twixt thee and me , Because thou lov'st the one , and I the other . Dowland to thee is deare , whose heavenly touch Vpon the Lute , doth ravish humane sense : Spencer to me , whose deepe Conceit is such , As passing all conceit , needs no defence . Thou lov'st to heare the sweet melodious sound , That Phoebus Lute ( the Queene of Musicke ) makes And I in deepe delight am chiefly drownd , When as himselfe to singing he betakes . One God is God of both ( as Poets faine ) One Knight loves Both , and both in thee remaine .

Inhumanitie . FAire was the morne , when the faire Queene of Love , Paler for sorrow then her milke white Dove , For Adons sake , a youngster proud and wilde , Her stand she takes upon a steepe up hill . Anon Adonis comes with horne and hounds , She silly Queene , with more then loves good will , Forbad the boy he should not passe those grounds , Once ( quoth she ) did I see a faire sweet youth Here in these brakes , deepe wounded with a Boare , Deepe in the thigh a spectacle of ruth , See in my thigh ( quoth she ) here was the sore , She shewed hers , he saw more wounds then one , And blushing fled , and left her all alone .

A congratulation . HOw can my Muse want subject to invent While thou dost breath that powr'st into my verse , Thine owne sweet argument , too excellent , For every vulgar paper to rehearse : Oh give thy selfe the thankes if ought in me , Worthy perusall stand against thy sight , For who 's so dumbe that cannot write to thee , When thou thy selfe dost give invention light ? Be thou the tenth Muse , ten times more in worth Then those old nine which rimers invocate , And he that cals on thee , let him bring forth Eternall numbers to out-live long date . If my slight Muse doe please these curious dayes , The paine be mine , but thine shall be the praise . Oh how thy worth with manners may I sing , When thou art all the better part of me ? What can mine owne praise to mine owne selfe bring ; And what is 't but mine owne when I praise thee , Even for this , let us devided live , And our deare love loose name of single one , That by this separation I may give : That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone : Oh absence what a torment wouldst thou prove , Were it not thy soure leisure gave sweet leave , To entertaine the time with thoughts of love , Which time and thoughts so sweetly dost deceive . And that thou teachest how to make one twaine , By praysing him here who doth hence remaine . Take all my loves , my love , yea take them all , What hast thou then more then thou hadst before ? No love , my love , that thou mayst true love call , All mine was thine , before thou hadst this more : Then if for my love , thou my love receivest . I cannot blame thee , for my love thou usest , But yet be blam'd , if thou this selfe deceavest By wilfull taste of what thy selfe refusest . I doe forgive thy robb'ry gentle theefe Although thou steale thee all my povertie : And yet love knowes it is a greater griefe To beare loves wrong , then hates knowne injury . Lascivious grace , in whom all ill well showes ▪ Kill me with spights yet we must not be foes

Losse and gaine . THose pretty wrongs that libertie commits , When I am sometimes absent from thy heart , Thy beautie , and thy yeares full well befits , For still temptation followes where thou art . Gentle thou art , and therefore to be wonne , Beautious thou art , therefore to be assailed . And when a woman wooes , what womans sonne , Will sourely leave her till he have prevailed . Aye me , but yet thou might●● my seate forbeare , And chide thy beautie , and thy straying youth , Who lead thee in their ryot even there Where thou art for●'t to break a twofold truth : Hers by thy beautie tempting her to thee , Thine by thy beautie being false to me . That thou hast her it is not all my griefe , And yet it may be sayd I lov'd her dearely , That she hath thee is of my wayling cheefe , A losse in love that touches me more neerely . Loving offendors thus I will excuse yee , Thou doest love her , because thou knowst I love her , And for my sake even so doth she abuse me , Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her , If I loose thee , my losse is my loves gaine , And loosing her , my friend hath found that losse ; Both finde each other , and I loose both ●waine , And both for my sake lay on me this crosse , But here 's the joy , my friend and I are one , Sweet flattery , then shee loves but me alone .

Foolish disdaine . VEnus with Adonis sitting by her , Vnder a Mirtle shade began to wooe him , She told the youngling how god Mars did try her , And as he fell to her , she fell to him , Even thus ( quoth she ) the warlike god embrac't me , And then she clipt Adonis in her armes : Even thus ( quoth she ) the warlike god unlac't me , As if the boy should use like loving charmes : Even thus ( quoth she ) he seized on my lippes , And with her lips on his did act the seizure : And as she fetched breath , away he skips , And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure . Ah , that I had my Lady at this bay : To kisse and clip me till I run away .

Ancient Antipothy . CRabbed age and youth cannot live together , Youth is full of pleasance , Age is full of care , Youth like summer morne , Age like winter weather , Youth like summer brave , Age like winter bare . Youth is full of sport , Ages breath is short , Youth is nimble , Age is lame , Youth is hot and bold , Age is weake and cold , Youth is wild , and age is tame . Age I doe abhor thee , Youth I doe adore thee , O my love my love is young : Age I doe defie thee , Oh sweet Shepheard hie thee : For me thinks thou staies too long .

Beauties valuation . BEautie is but a vaine and doubtfull good , A shining glosse , that vadeth suddainly , A flower that dies , when first it gins to bud , A brittle glasse , that 's broken presently . A doubtfull good , a glosse , a glasse , a flower , Lost , vaded , broken , dead within an houre . And as goods lost , are ●eld or never found , As vaded glosse no rubbing will refresh , As flowers dead , lie withered on the ground , As broken glasse no symant can redresse . So beautie blemisht once , for ever lost , Inspite of phisicke , painting , paine and cost .

Melancholy thoughts . IF the dull substance of my flesh were thought , Injurious distance should not stop my way , For then dispight of space I would be brought , From limits farre remote , where thou doost stay , No matter then although my foote did stand Vpon the farthest earth remoov'd from thee , For nimble thought can jumpe both sea and land , As soone as thinke the place where he would be . But ah , thought kills me that I am not thought To leape large lengths of miles when thou art gone , But that so much of earth and water wrought , I must attend , times leasure with my mone . Receiving naughts by elements so sloe , But heavy teares , badges of eithers woe . The other two , slight ayre , and purging fire , Are both with thee , where ever I abide , The first my thought , the other my desire , These present absent with swift motion slide . For when these quicker Elements are gone In tender Embassie of love to thee , My life being made of foure , with two alone , Sinkes downe to death , opprest with melancholy . Vntill lives composition be recured , By those swift messengers return'd from thee , Who even but now come backe againe assured , Of their faire health , recounting it to me . This told , I joy , but then no longer glad , I send them back againe and straight grow sad .

Loves Losse . SWeet Rose , faire flower , untimely pluckt , soone vaded , Plukt in the bud , and vaded in the spring : Bright Orient pearle , alacke too timely shaded , Faire creature , kild too soone by Deaths sharpe sting : Like a greene plumbe that hangs upon a tree : And fals ( through winde ) before the fall should be . I weepe for thee , and yet no cause I have , For why ; thou lefts me nothing in thy Will , And yet thou lefts me more then I did crave , For why : I craved nothing of thee still : O yes ( deare friend ) I pardon crave of thee , Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me .

Loves Releefe . FVll many a glorious morning have I seene , Flatter the mountaine tops with soveraigne eye , Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene ; Gilding pale streames with heavenly alcumy : Anon permit the basest clouds to ride , With ougly rack on his celestiall face , And from the forlorne world his visage hide Stealing unseene to west with this disgrace : Even so my Sunne one early morne did shine , With all triumphant splender on my brow , But out alack , he was but one houre mine , The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now . Yet him for this , my love no whit disdaineth , Suns of the world may staine , when heavens sun stayne● . Why didst thou promise such a beautious day , And make me travaile forth without my cloake , To let base clouds ore take me in my way , Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke . T is not enough that through the cloude thou breake , To dry the raine on my storme-beaten face , For no man well of such a salve can speake , That heales the wound , and cures not the disgrace : Nor can thy shame give phisicke to my griefe , Though thou repent , yet I have still the losse , Th' offenders sorrow lends but weake reliefe To him that beares the strong offences losse . Ah but those teares are pearle which thy love sheeds , And they are rich , and ransome all ill deeds . No more be greev'd at that which thou hast done , Roses have thornes , and silver fountaines mud , Clouds and eclipses staine both Moone and Sunne , And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud . All men make faults , and even I in this , Authorizing thy trespas with compare , My selfe corrupting salving thy amisse , Excusing their sins more then their sins are : For to thy sensuall fault I bring in sence , Thy adverse partie is thy Advocate , And gainst my selfe a lawfull plea commence , Such civill war is in my love and hate , That I an accessar● needs must be , To that sweet theefe which sourely robs from me .

Vnanimitie . LEt me confesse that we two must be twaine . Although our undevided loves are one : So shall those blots that do with me remaine , Without thy helpe , by me be borne alone . In our two loves there is but one respect , Though in our lives a seperable spight , Which though it alter not loves sole effect , Yet doth it steale sweet houres from loves delight : I may not ever-more acknowledge thee , Least my bewailed guilt should doe thee shame , Nor thou with publike kindnesse honour me , Vnlesse thou take that honour from thy name : But doe not so , I love thee in such sort , As thou being mine , mine is thy good report . As a decrepit father takes delight , To see his active child doe deeds of youth , So I , made lame by Fortunes dearest spight Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth . For whether beautie , birth , or wealth , or wit , Or any of these all , or all , or more Intitled in their parts , do crowned sit . I make my love ingrafted to this store : So then I am not lame , poore , nor dispis'd , Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give , That I in thy aboundance an suffic'd , And by a part of all thy glory live : Looke what is best , that best I wish in thee , This wish I have , then ten times happy me .

Loath to depart . GOod night , good rest , ah neither be my share , She bad good night , that kept my rest away , And daft me to a cabben hangde with care : To descant on the doubts of my decay , Farewell ( quoth she ) and come againe tomorrow : Farewell I could not , for I supt with sorrow . Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile , In scorne or friendship , nill I conster whether : 'T may be she joyd to jeast at my exile . 'T may be againe , to make me wander thither . Wander ( a word ) for shadowes like my selfe , As take the paine , but cannot plucke the pelfe . Lord how mine eyes throw gazes to the East , My heart doth charge the watch , the morning rise Doth scite each moving sence from idle rest , Not daring trust the office of mine eies . While Philomela sits and sings , I sit and marke , And wish her layes were tuned like the Larke . For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty , And drives away darke dreaming night : The night so packt , I post unto my pretty , Hart hath his hope , and eies their wished sight , Sorrow chang'd to solace , and solace mixt with sorrow , For why , she sight , and bad me come to morrow . Were I with her , the night would post too soone , But now are minutes added to the houres : To spite me now , each minute seemes an houre , Yet not for me , shine Sunne to succour flowers . Pack night peepe day , good day of night now borrow , Short night to night , and length thy selfe tomorrow .

A Master-peece . MIne eye hath play'd the Painter and hath steeld , Thy beauties forme in table of my heart , My body is the frame wherein ti 's held , And perspective it is best Painters Art . For through the Painter must you see his skill , To finde where your true Image pictur'd lies , Which in my bosomes shop is hanging still , That hath his windowes glazed with thine eyes : Now see what good-turnes eyes for eyes have done , Mine eyes have drawne thy shape , and thine for me Are windowes to my brest , where through the Sun Delights to peepe , to gaze therein on thee Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art They draw but what they see , know not the heart .

Happinesse in content . LEt those who are in favour with their stars , Of publike honour and proud titles bost , Whilst I whom fortune of such tryumph bars Vnlookt for joy in that I honour most ; Great Princes favorites their faire leaves spread , But as the Marigold at the suns eye , And in themselves their pride lies buried , For at a frowne they in their glory die . The painefull warrier famosed for worth , After a thousand victories once foild , Is from the booke of honour razed quite , And all the rest forgot for which he toild ; Then happy I that love and am beloved Where I may not remove , nor be removed .

A dutifull Message . LOrd of my love , to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my dutie strongly knit ; To thee I send this written ambassage To witnesse dutie , not to shew my wit . Dutie so great , which wit so poore as mine May make seeme bare , in wanting words to shew it ; But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soules thought ( all naked ) will bestow it : Till whatsoever star that guides my moving , Points on me graciously with faire aspect , And puts apparrall on my tottered loving , To show me worthy of their sweet respect , Then may I dare to boast how I doe love thee , Till then , not show my head where thou maist prove me .

Goe and come quickly . HOw heavie doe I journey on the way , When what I seeke ( my weary travels end ) Doth teach that ease and that repose to say , Thus farre the miles are measurde from thy friend . The beast that beares me , tired with my woe , Plods dully on , to beare that weight in me , As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee : The bloody spurre cannot provoke him on , That some-times anger thrusts into his hide , Which heavily he answers with a grone , More sharpe to me then spurring to his side , For that same groane doth put this in my mind , My greefe lies onward and my joy behind . Thus can my love excuse the slow offence , Of my dull bearer , when from thee I speed , From where thou art , why should I hast me thence , Till I returne of posting is no neede . O what excuse will my poore beast then find , When swift extremitie can seeme but slow , Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind , In winged speed no motion shall I know , Then can no horse with my desire keepe pace , Therefore desire ( of perfects love being made ) Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race , But love , for love , thus shall excuse my jade , Since from thee going , he went wilfull slow , Towards thee i le run , and give him leave to goe .

Two faithfull friends . MIne eye and heart are at a mortall warre , How to devide the conquest of thy sight , Mine eye , my heart their pictures sight would barre , My heart , mine eye the freedome of that right , My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lye , ( A closet never pearst with christall eyes ) But the defendant doth that plea deny , And sayes in him their faire appearance lies . To side this title is impannelled A quest of thoughts , all tennants to the heart , And by their verdict is determined The cleere eyes moyitie , and the deare hearts part . As thus mine eyes due is their outward part And my hearts right , their inward love of heart . Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is tooke , And each doth good turnes now unto the other , When that mine eye is famisht for a looke , Or heart in love with sighes himselfe doth smother ; With my loves picture then my eye doth feast , And to the painted banquet bids my heart : Another time mine eye is my hearts guest , And in his thoughts of love doth share a part . So either by thy picture or my love , Thy selfe away , are present still with me , For thou not farther then my thoughts canst move , And I am still with them , and they with thee . Or if they sleepe , thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart , to hearts and eyes delight .

Carelesse neglect . HOw carefull was I when I tooke my way , Each trifle under truest barres to thrust , That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood , in sure wards of trust ? But thou , to whom my jewels trifles are , Most worthy comfort , now my greatest griefe , Thou best of deerest , and mine onely care , Art left the prey of every vulgar theefe . Thee have I not lockt up in any chest , Save where thou art not , though I feele thou art , Within the gentle closure of my brest , From whence at pleasure thou maist come and part , And even thence thou wilt be stolne I feare , For truth prooves theevish for a prize so deare .

Stoute resolution . AGainst that time ( if ever that time come ) When I shall see thee frowne on my defects , When as thy love hath cast his utmost summe , Cald to that audite by advis'd respects , Against that time when thou shalt strangely passe , And scarcely greete me with that sunne thine eye , When love converted from the thing it was Shall reasons finde of setled gravitie . Against that time doe I in sconce me here Within the knowledge of mine owne desart , And this my hand , against my selfe upreare , To guard the lawfull reasons on thy part , To leave poore me , thou hast the strength of lawes , Since why to love , I can alledge no cause .

A Duell . IT was a Lordings daughter , The fairest one of three That liked of her master , as well as well might be , Till looking on an Englishman , The fairest eye could see , Her fancy fell a turning . Long was the combat doubtfull , That love with love did fight , To leave the master lovelesse , or kill the gallant Knight , To put in practise eyther , alas it was a spite Vnto the silly damsell . But one must be refused , more mickle was the paine , That nothing could be used , to turne them both to gaine , For of the two the trusty knight was Wounded with disdaine , Alas she could not helpe it . Thus art with armes contending , was victor of the day , Which by a gift of learning , did beare the maid away , Then lullaby the learned man hath got the Lady gay , For now my song is ended .

Love-sicke . ON a day ( alacke the day ) Love whose month was ever May , Spied a blossome passing faire , Playing in the wanton ayre ; Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseene gan passage find , That the lover ( sicke to death ) Wisht himselfe the heavens breath , Ayre ( quoth he ) thy cheeks may blow , Ayre , would I might triumph so : But ( alas ) my hand hath sworne , Nere to plucke thee from thy throne , Vow ( alacke ) for youth unmeet , Youth , so apt to pluck a sweet , Thou for whom Iove would sweare , Iuno but an Ethiope were , And deny himselfe for Iove Turning mortall for thy Love .

Loves labour lost . MY flocks feede not my Ewes breed not , My Rams speed not , all is amis : Love is dying , Faiths defying , Harts denying , causer of this . All my merry Iigges are quite forgot , All my Ladies love is lost ( god wot ) Where her faith was firmely fixt in love , There a nay is plac't without remove . One silly crosse , wrought all my losse , O frowning fortune cursed fickle dame , For now I see , inconstancy , More in women then in men remaine . In blacke mourne I , all feares scorne I , Love hath forlorne me living in thrall : Heart is bleeding , all helpe needing , O cruell speeding , fraughted with gall . My shepheards pipe can sound no deale , My Weathers bell rings dolefull knell , My curtaile Dogge that wont to have plaid , Plaies not at all but seemes afraid . With sighes so deepe , procures to weepe , In howling wise , to see my dolefull plight , How sighes resound through heartlesse ground Like a thousand vanquisht men in bloudie fight . Cleare wells spring not , sweet birds sing not , Greene plants bring not forth their die , Herds stands weeping , flockes all sleeping , Nimphes blacke peeping fearefully : All our pleasure knowne to us poore swaines : All our merry meetings on the plaines , All our evening sport from us is fled , All our love is lost , for love is dead , Farewell sweet love thy like nere was , For a sweet content the cause of all my woe , Poore Coridon must live alone , Other helpe for him I see that there is none .

Wholesome counsell . WHen as thine eye hath chose the Dame , And stalde the deare that thou shouldst strike , Let reason rule things worthy blame , As well as fancy ( partly all might ) Take counsell of some wiser head , Neither too young , nor yet unwed , And when thou com'st thy tale to tell , Smooth not thy tongue with filed talke , Least she some subtill practise smell , A Cripple soone can finde a halt , But plainely say thou lovst her well , And set her person forth to sale . What though her frowning browes be bent Her cloudy lookes will calme ere night , And then too late she will repent , That thus dissembled her delight . And twice desire ere it be day , That which with scorne she put away . What though she strive to try her strength , And ban and braule , and say thee nay : Her feeble force will yeeld at length . When craft hath taught her thus to say : Had women beene so strong as men In faith you had not had it then . And to her will frame all thy wayes , Spare not to spend , and chiefly there , Where thy desart may merit praise By ringing in thy Ladies eare , The strongest castle , tower and towne , The golden bullet beats it downe . Serve alwayes with assured trust , And in thy sute be humble true , Vnlesse thy Lady prove unjust , Pr●ase never thou to chuse a new : When time shall serve , be thou not slacke , To proffer though she put it back . The wiles and guiles that women worke , Dissembled with an outward shew : The tricks and toyes that in them lurke , The Cock that treads them shall not know , Have you not heard it said full oft , A Womans nay doth stand for nought . Thinke women still to strive with men , To sinne and never for to Saint , There is no heaven ( by holy then ) When time with age shall them attaint , Were kisses all the joyes in bed , One woman would another wed . But soft enough , too much I feare , Least that my mistresse heare my song , She will not sticke to round me on th'ere , To teach my tongue to be so long : Yet will she blush , here be it said , To heare her secrets so bewraid .

Sat fuisse . SInne of selfe-love possesseth all mine eye , And all my soule , and all my every part ; And for this sinne there is no remedy , It is so grounded inward in my heart . Me thinkes no face so gracious is as mine , No shape so true ; no truth of such account , And for my selfe mine owne worth doe define , As I all other in all worths surmount . But when my glasse shewes me my selfe indeed Beated and chopt with tand antiquitie , Mine owne selfe love quite contrary I read Selfe , so selfe loving were iniquitie , 'T is thee ( my selfe ) that for my selfe I praise , Painting my age with beautie of thy dayes .

A living monument . NOt marble , nor the guilded monument , Of Princes shall out-live this powerfull rime , But you shall shine more bright in these contents Then unswept stone , besmeer'd with sluttish time . When wastefull warre shall Statues overturne , And broyles roote out the worke of masonry , Nor Mars his sword , no● warres quicke fire shall burne : The living record of your memory . Gainst death , and all oblivious emnitie Shall you pace forth , your praise shall still finde roome , Even in the eyes of all posteritie That were this world out to the ending doome . So till the judgement that your selfe arise , You live in this , and dwell in lovers eyes .

Familiaritie breeds contempt . SO am I as the rich whose blessed key , Can bring him to his sweet uplocked treasure , The which he will not ev'ry hower survay , For blunting the fine point of seldome pleasure , Therefore are feasts so sollemne and so rare , Since seldome comming in the long yeare set , Like stones of worth they thinly placed ar● , Or captaine Iewells in the carconet . So is the time that keepes you as my chest , Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide , To make some speciall instant speciall blest , By new unfoulding his imprison'd pride . Blessed are you whose worthinesse gives scope , Being had to tryumph , being lackt to hope .

Patiens Armatus . IS it thy will , thy Image should keepe open My heavie eyelids to the weary night ● Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken , While shadowes like to thee doe mocke my sight ? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So farre from home into my deeds to pry , To finde out shames and idle houres in me , The scope and ●enure of thy Iealousie ? O no , thy love though much , is not so great , It is my love that keepes mine eye awake , Mine owne true love that doth my rest defeat , To play the watch-man ever for thy sake . For thee watch I , whilst thou dost wake else-where , From me farre of , with others all too neare .

A Valediction . NO longer mourne for me when I am dead , Then you shall heare the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vildest wormes to dwell : Nay if you read this line , remember not , The hand that writ it , for I love you so , That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot , If thinking on me then should make you wot , O if ( I say ) you looke upon this verse , When I ( perhaps ) compounded am with clay , Doe not so much as my poore name reh●●se , But let your love even with my life decay . Least the wise world should looke into your mo●●e , And mocke you with me after I am gone . O Least the world should taske you to recite , What merit liv'd in me that you should loue After my death ( deare love ) forget me quite , For you in me can nothing worthy prove . Vnlesse you would devise some vertuous lye , To doe more for me then mine owne desert , And hange more prayse upon deceased I , Then nigard truth would willingly impart : O least your true love may seeme false in this , That you for love speake well of me untrue , My name be buried where my body is , And live no more to shame nor me , nor you . For I am shamd by that which I bring forth , And so should you , to love things nothing worth . But be contented when that fell arest , Without all bayle shall carry me away , My life hath in this line some interest , Which for memoriall still with thee shall stay . When thou reviewest this , thou dost review , The very part was consecrate to thee , The earth can have but earth , which is his due , My spirit is thine the better part of me , So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life , The prey of wormes , my body being dead , The coward conquest of a wretches knife , To base of thee to be remembred . The worth of that , is that which it containes , And that is this , and this with thee remaines .

Nil magnic Invidia . THat thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect , For slanders marke was ever yet the faire , The ornament of beautie is suspect , A Crow that flies in heavens sweetest ayre . So thou be good , slander doth but approve , Their worth the greater being woo'd of time , For Canker vice the sweetest buds doth love , And thou present'st a pure unstayned prime . Thou hast past by the ●mbush of young dayes , Either not assaild , or victor being charg'd , Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise , To tye up envy , evermore inlarged , If some suspect of ill maske not thy show , Then thou alone kingdomes of hearts shouldst owe .

Love-sicke . O How I faint when I of you doe write , Knowing a better spirit doth use your name , And in the prayse thereof spends all his might , To make me tongue-tide speaking of your fame . But since your worth ( wide as the Ocean is ) The humble as the proudest saile doth beare , My sawsie barke ( inferior farre to his ) On your broad maine doth wilfully appeare . Your shallowe● helpe will hold me up a floate , Whilst he upon your soundlesse deepe doth ride , Or ( being wrackt ) I am a worthlesse boat , He ●f tall building , and of goodly pride . Then if he thrive and I be cast away The worst was this , my love was my decay , Or I shall live your Epitaph to make , Or you survive when I in earth am rotten , From hence your memory death cannot take , Although in me each part will be forgotten . Your name from hence immortall life shall have , Though I ( once gone ) to all the world must dye , The earth can yeeld me but a common grave , When you intombed in mens eyes shall lie , Your monument shall be my gentle verse , Which eyes not yet created shall ore-read , And tongues to be , your being shall rehearse . When all the breathers of this world are dead , You still shall live ( such vertue hath my Pen ) Where breath most breaths , even in the mouths of men .

The Picture of true love . LEt me not to the marriage of true mindes Admit impediments , love is not love Which alters when it alteration findes , Or bends with the remover to remove . O no , it is an ever fixed marke That lookes on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the starre to every wandring barke , Whose worths unknowne , although his hight be taken . Lov 's not Times foole , though rosie lips and cheeks Within his bending sickles compasse come , Love alters not with his breefe houres and weekes , But beares it out even to the edge of doome : If this be errour and upon me proved , I never writ , nor no man ever loved .

In prayse of his Love . I Grant thou wert not married to my Muse , And therefore mayst without attaint ore-looke The dedicated words which writers use Of their faire subject , blessing every booke . Thou art as faire in knowledge as in hew , Finding thy worth a limmit past my praise , And therefore art inforc'd to seekeanew , Some fresher stampe of the time bettering dayes . And doe so love , yet when they have devis'd , What strained touches Rhetorich can lend , Thou truly faire , wert truly simpathizde , In true plaine words , by thy true telling friend . And their grosse painting might be better u●'d , Where cheekes need blood , in thee it is abus'd . I never saw that you did painting need , And therefore to your faire no painting set , I found ( or thought I found ) you did exceede , The barren tender of a Poet● debt : And therefore have I slept in your report , That you your selfe being extant well might show , How farre a moderne quill doth come to short , Speaking of worth , what worth in you doth grow , This silence of my sinne you did impute , Which shall be most my glory being dumbe , For I impaire not beautie being mute , When others would give life , and bring a tombe . There lives more life in one of your faire eyes , Then both your Poets can in praise devise . Who is it that sayes most , which can say more , Then this rich praise , that you alone , art you , In whose confine immured is the store , Which should example where your equall grew , Leane penurie within that Pen doth dwell , That to his subject lends not some small glory , But he that writes of you if he can tell , That you are you , so dignifies his story . Let him but coppy what in you is writ , Not making worse what nature made so cleere , And such a counter-part shall same his writ , Making his still admired every where . You to your beautious blessings adde a curse , Being fond on praise , which makes your praises worse . My tongue tide Muse in manners holds her still , While comments of your praise richly compil'd , Reserve their Character with golden quill , And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd . I thinke good thoughts , whilst other write good words , And like unlettered clerke still crie Amen , To every Himne that able spirit affords , In polisht forme of well refined pen . Hearing you praisd , I say 't is so , 't is true , And to the most of praise adde something more , But that is in my thought , who●e love to you ( Though words come hind-most ) holds his ranke before , Then others , for the breath of words respect , Me for my dumbe thoughts , speaking in effect .

A Resignation . WAs it the proud full saile of his great verse , Bound for the prize of ( all to precious ) you , That did my ripe thoughts in my braine inhearse , Making their tombe the wombe wherein they grew ? Was it his spirit , by spirits taught to write , Above a mortall pitch , that struck me dead ? No neither he , nor his compiers by night Giving him ayde , my verse astonished . He nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence , As victors of my silence cannot boast , I was not sicke of any feare from thence But when your countenance fild up his line , Then lackt I matter , that infeebled mine . Farewell thou art too deare for my possessing , And like enough thou knowst thy estimate , The Charter of thy worth gives thee releasing : My bonds in thee are all determinate . For how doe I hold thee but by thy granting , And for that riches where is my deserving ? The cause of this faire guift in me is wanting , And so my pattent backe againe is s●e●ving . Thy selfe thou gav'st , thy owne worth then not knowing , Or me to whom thou ●av'st it , else mist●king , So thy great guift upon misprision growing , Comes home againe , on better judgement making . Thus have I had thee as a dreame doth flatter , In sleepe a King , but waking no such matter .

Sympathizing love . AS it fell upon a Day , In the merry Moneth of May , Sitting in a pleasant shade , Which a grove of Myrtles made , Beasts did leape , and Birds did sing , Trees did grow , and Plants did spring : Every thing did banish mone , Save the Nightingale alone , She ( poore Bird ) as all forlorne , Leand her brest up-till a thorne , And there sung the dolefulst Dittie , That to heare it was great Pittie , Fie , fie , fie , now would she cry Teru , Teru , by and by : That to heare her so complaine , Scarse I could from teares refraine : For her griefes so lovely showne , Made me thinke upon mine owne . Ah ( thought I ) thou mournst in vaine , None takes pitty on thy paine : Senslesse trees , they cannot heare thee , Ruthlesse Beares , they will not ●heere thee , King Pa●dion , he is dead : All thy friends are lapt in Lead . All thy fellow Birds doe sing , Carelesse of thy sorrowing . Whilst as fickle Fortune smild , Thou and I , were both beguild , Every one that flatters thee , Is no friend in misery : Words are easie , like the wind , Faithfull friends are hard to finde : Every man will be thy friend , Whilst thou haste wherewith to spend : But if store of Crownes be scant , No man will supply thy want , If that one be prodigall , Bountifull they will him call : And with such like flattering , Pittie but he were a King . If he be addict to vice , Quickly him they will intice . If to women he be bent , They have at Commandement But if Fortune once doe frowne , Then farewell his great renowne They that fawnd on him before , Vse his company no more . He that is thy friend indeede , He will helpe thee in thy neede : If thou sorrow , he will weepe : If thou awake , he cannot sleepe : Thus of every greefe , in heart He , with thee , doth beare a part . These are certaine signes , to know Faithfull friend , from flatt'ring foe

Arequest to his scornefull Love . WHen thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light , And place my merit in the eye of scorne , Vpon thy side , against thy selfe I le fight , And prove thee vertuous , though thou art forsworne : With mine owne weakenesse being best acquainted , Vpon thy part I can set downe a story Of faults conceald , wherein I am attainted : That thou in loosing me , shall win much glory : And I by this will be a gainer too , For bending all my loving thoughts on thee , The injuries that to my selfe I doe , Doing thee vantage , duble vantage me . Such is my love , to thee I so belong , That for thy right , my selfe will beare all wrong . Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault , And I will comment upon that offence , Speake of my lamene●●e , and I straight will hault : Against thy reasons making no defence . Thou canst not ( love ) disgrace me halfe so ill , To set a forme upon desired change , As Ile my selfe disgrace , knowing thy will , I will acquaintance strangle and looke strange : Be absent from thy walkes and in my tongue , Thy sweet belooved name no more shall dwell , Least I ( too much prophane ) should do it wrong : And haply of our old acquaintance tell . For thee , against my selfe I le vow debate , For I must nere love him whom thou dost hate . Then hate me when thou wilt , if ever , now , Now while the world is bent my deeds to crosse , Ioyne with the spight of fortune ; make me bow , And doe not drop in for an after losse : Ah doe not , when my heart hath scapt this sorrow , Come in the rereward of a conquered woe , Give not a windy night a rainie morrow , To linger out a purposd overthrow . If thou wilt leave me , doe not leave me last , When other pettie griefes have done their spight , But in the onset come , so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortunes might . And other straines of woe , which now seeme woe , Compar'd with losse of thee , will not seeme so . Some glory in their birth , some in their skill , Some in their wealth , some in their bodies force , Some in their garments though new-fangled ill : Some in their Hawkes and bounds , some in their Horse . And every humour hath his adjunct pkasure , Wherein it findes a joy above the rest , But these particulers are not my measure , All these I better in one generall best . Thy love is better then high birth to me , Richer then wealth , prouder then garments cost , Of more delight then Hawkes or Horses be : And having thee , of all mens pride I boast . Wretched in this alone , that thou mayst take . All this away , and me most wretched make .

A Lovers affection though his Love prove unconstant . BVt doe thy worst to steale thy selfe away , For tearme of life thou art assured mine , And life no longer then my love will stay , For it depends upon that love of thine . Then need I not to feare the worst of wrongs , When in the least of them my life hath end , I see , a better state to me belongs Then that , which on my humour doth depend . Thou canst not vex me with inconstant minde , Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie , Oh what a happy title doe I finde , Happy to have thy love , happy to die ! But what s so blessed faire that feares no blot , Thou maist be false , and yet I know it not . So shall I live , supposing thou art true , Like a deceived husband , so loves face May still seeme love to me , though alter'd new : Thy lookes with me , thy heart in other place . For their can live no hatred in thine eye , Therefore in that I cannot know thy change , In manies lookes , the false hearts history Is writ in moods and frounes and wrinckles strange . But heaven in thy creation did decree , That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell , What ere thy thoughts , or thy hearts workings be , Thy lookes should nothing thence , but sweetnesse tell . How like E●es apple doth thy beautie grow , If thy sweet vertue answer not thy show . They that have power to hurt , and will doe none , That doe not doe the thing they most doe show , Who moving others , are themselves as stone , Vnmooved , cold , and to temptation slow : They rightly doe inherit heavens graces , And husband natures riches from expence , They are the Lords and owners of their faces , Others , but stewards of their excellence : The sommers flower is to the sommer sweet , Though to it selfe , it onely live and die , But if that flower with base infection meete , The basest weed out-braves his dignitie : For sweetest things turne sowrest by their deeds , Lillies that fester , smell farre worse then weeds . How sweete and lovely dost thou make the shame , Which like a canker in the fragrant Rose , Doth spot the beautie of thy budding name ? Oh in what sweets doest thou thy sinnes inclose ? That tongue that tells the story of thy dayes , ( Making lascivious comments on thy sport ) Cannot dispraise , but in a kind of praise , Naming thy name , blesses an ill report . Oh what a mansion have those vices got , Which for their habitation choose out thee , Where beauties vaile doth cover every blot , And all things turnes to faire , that eyes can see ! Take heede ( deere heart ) of this large priviledge , The hardest knife ill us'd doth loose his edge .

Complaint for his Loves absence . HOw like a Winter hath my absence beene From thee , the pleasure of the fleeting yeare ? What freezings have I felt , what darke daies seene ? What old Decembers barenesse every where ? And yet this time remov'd was sommers time , The teeming Autumne big with rich increase , Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime , Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease : Yet this aboundant iflue seem'd to me , But hope of Orphans , and un-fathered fruite , For Sommer and his pleasures waite on thee , And thou away , the very birds are mute . Or if they sing , t is with so dull a cheere , That leaves looke pale , dreading the Winters neare . From you have I beene absent in the spring , When proud pide Aprill ( drest in all his trim ) Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing : That heavie Saturne laught and leapt with him , Yet not the laies of birds , nor the sweet ●●ell Of different flowers in odor and in hew , Could make me any sommers story te●● : Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew . Nor did I wonder at the Lillies white , Nor praise the deepe Vermillion in the Rose . They were but sweete , but figures of delight : Drawne after you , you patterne of all those . Yet seem'd it winter still , and you away , As with your shaddow I with these did play . The forward violet thus did I chide , Sweet theefe whence didst thou steale thy sweet that smels , If not from my loves breath , the purple pride , Which on thy soft cheeke for complexion dwells ? In my loves veines thou hast too grossely died , The Lilly I condemned for thy hand , And buds of Marjerom had stolne thy haire , The Roses fearefully on thornes did stand , Our blushing shame , another white dispaire : A third nor red , nor white , had stolne of both , And to his robbry had annext thy breath , But for his theft in pride of all his growth , A vengefull canker eate him up to death . More flowers I noted , yet I none could see , But sweet , or colour it had stolne from thee .

An invocation to his Muse . WHere art thou Muse that thou forget●● so l●●g , To speake of that which gives thee all thy might ? Spendst thou thy fury on some worthlesse song , Darkning thy power to lend base subjects light . Returne forgetfull Muse , and straight redeeme , In gentle numbers time so idely spent , Sing to the eare that doth thy laies esteeme , And give thy pen both skill and argument . Rise resty Muse , my loves sweet face survay , If time have any wrincle graven there , If any , be a Satire to decay , And make times spoiles dispised every where . Give my love fame , faster then time wast life , So thou prevenst his Sithe , and crooked knife . Oh truant Muse what shall be thy amends , For thy neglect of truth in beautie di'd ? But truth and beautie on my love depends : So dost thou too , and therein dignifi'd : Make answer Muse , wilt thou not haply say , Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt , Beautie no pensell , beauties truth to lay : But best is best , if never intermixt . Because he needs no praise , wilt thou be dumbe ? Excuse not silence so , for 't lies in thee , To make her much out-live a gilded tombe : And to be prais'd of ages yet to be . Then doe thy office muse , I teach thee how , To make her seeme long hence , as she showes now .

Constant affection . TO me faire love you never can be old , For as you were when first your eye I eyde , Such seemes your beautie still : Three Winters cold , Have from the forrests shooke three summers pride , Three beautious springs to yellow Autumne turn'd , In processe of the seasons have I seene , Three Aprill perfumes in three hot Iunes burn'd , Since first I saw you fresh which yet are greeno . Ah yet doth beautie like a Dyall hand , Steale from his figure , and no place perceiv'd , So your sweete hew , which me thinkes still doth stand Hath motion , and mine eye may be deceaved . For feare of which , heare this thou age unbred , Ere you were borne was beauties summer dead . Let not my love be cal'd Idolatrie , Nor my beloved as an Idoll show , Since all alike my songs and prayses be To one , of one , still such , and ever so . Kind is my love to day , to morrow kind , Still constant in a wondrous excellence , Therefore my verse to constancie confin'de , One thing expressing , leaves out difference . Faire , kinde , and true , is all my argument , Faire , kinde and true , varrying to other words , And in this change is my invention spent , Three theames in one , which wondrous scope affords . Faire , kinde , and true , have often liv'd alone . Which three till now , never kept seate in one . When in the Chronicle of wasted time , I see discriptions of the fairest wights , And beautie making beautifull old rime , In praise of Ladies dead , and lovely Knights , Then in the blazon of sweet beauties best , Of hand , of foote , of lip , of eye , of brow , I see their antique Pen would have exprest , Even such a beautie as you master now . So all their prayses are but prophesies Of this our time , all you prefiguring , And for they look'd but with divining eyes , They had not still enough your worth to sing : For we which now behold these present dayes , Have eyes to wonder , but lack tongues to praise .

Amazement . MY love is strengthned though more weake in seeming I love not lesse , though lesse the show appeare , That love is marchandiz'd , whose rich esteeming , The owners tongue doth publish every where . Our love was new , and then but in the spring , When I was wont to greet it with my laies , As Philomel in Summers front doth sing , And stops his pipe in growth of riper dayes : Not that the Summer is lesse pleasant now Then when her mournefull himmes did hush the night , But that wild musicke burthens every bow , And sweets growne common loose their deare delight . Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue : Because I would not dull you with my song . Alack what povertie my Muse brings forth , That having such a skope to show her pride , The argument all bare , is of more worth , Then when it hath my added praise beside . Oh blame me not if I no more can write ! Looke in your glasse and there appeares a face , That overgoes my blunt invention quite , Dulling my lines , and doing me disgrace . Were it not sinfull then striving to mend , To marre the subject that before was well , For to no other passe my verses tend , Then of your graces and your gifts to tell . And more , much more th●n in my verse can sit , Your owne glasse showes you , when you looke in it .

A Lovers excuse for his long absence . O Never say that I was false of heart , Though absence seem'd my flame to quallifie , As easie might I from my selfe depart , As from my soule which in thy brest doth lye : That is my home of love , if I have rang'd , Like him that travels I returne againe , Iust to the time , not with the time exchang'd , So that my selfe bring water for my staine , Never beleeve though in my nature raign'd , All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood , That it could so pr●posterously be stain'd , To leave for nothing all thy summe of good : For nothing this wide Vniverse I call , Save thou my Rose , in it thou art my all . Alas 't is true , I have gone here and there , And made my selfe a motley to the view , Gor'd mine owne thoughts , sold cheape what is most deare , Made old offences of affections new . Most true it is , that I have lookt on truth Asconce and strangely : But by all above , These blenches gave my heart another youth , And worse affaies prou'd thee my best of love , Now all is done , have what shall have no end , Mine appetite I never more will grinde On newer proofe , to trie an older friend , A God in love , to whom I am confin'd . Then give me welcome , next my heaven the best , Even to thy pure and most most loving brest .

A complaint . OFor my sake doe you wish fortune chide , The guiltie goddesse of my harmelesse deeds , That did not better for my life provide , Then publick meanes which publicke manners breeds . Thence comes it that my name receives a brand , And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it workes in , like the Dyers hand , Pitty me then , and wish I were renu'de , Whilst like a willing patient I will drinke , Potions of Eysell gainst my strong infection , No bitternesse that I will bitter thinke , Nor double pennance to correct correction . Pittie me then deare friend , and I assure yee , Even that your pittie is enough to cure me . Your love and pittie doth th' impression fill , Which vulgar scandall stampt upon my brow , For what care I who calls me well or ill , So you ore-greene my bad , my good alow ? You are my All the world , and I must strive , To know my shames and prayses from your tongue , None else to me , nor I to none alive , That my steel'd sence or changes right or wrong , In so profound Abisme I throw all care Of others voyces , that my Adderssence , To cryttick and to flatterer stopped are : Marke how with my neglect I doe dispence . You are so strongly in my purpose bred , That all the world beside , me thinkes y' are dead .

Selfe flattery of her beautie . SInce I left you , mine eye is in my minde , And that which governes me to goe about , Doth part his function , and is partly blind , Seemes seeing , but effectually is out : For it no forme delivers to the heart Of birds , or flower , or shape which it doth lack , Of his quick objects hath the mind no part , Nor his owne vision houlds what it doth catch : For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight , The most sweet favour or deformedst creature , The mountaine , or the sea , the day , or night : The Crow , or Dove , it shapes them to your feature . Incapable of more repleat , with you , My most true minde thus maketh mine untrue . Or whether doth my minde being crown'd with you Drinke up the monarchs plague this flattery ? Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true , And that your love taught it this Alcumie To make of monsters , and things indigest , Such cherubins as your sweet selfe resemble , Creating every bad a perfect best As fast as objects to his beames assemble : Oh t is the first , t is flattry in my seeing , And my great mind most kindly drinkes it up , Mine eye well knowes what with his gust is greeing , And to his pallat doth prepare the cup . If it be poison'd , t is the lesser sinne , That mine eye loves it and doth first beginne . Those lines that I before have writ doe lie , Even those that said I could not love you deerer , Yet then my judgement knew no reason why , My most full fla●e should afterwards burne clearer . But reckoning time , whose milliond accidents Creepe in twixt vowes , and change decrees of Kings , Tan sacred beautie , blunt the sharp'st intents , Divert strong minds to th' course of altring things : Alas why fearing of times tiranny , Might I not then say now I love you best , When I was certaine ore in-certaintie , Crowning the present , doubting of the rest : Love is a Babe , then might I not say so To give full growth to that which still doth grow .

Tryall of loves constancy . ACcuse me thus , that I have scanted all , Wherein I should your great deserts repay , Forgot upon your dearest love to call , Whereto all bonds doe tie me day by day , That I have frequent binne with unknowne minds , And given to time your owne deare purchas'd right , That I have hoysted saile to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight . Booke both my wilfulnesse and errour downe , And on just proofe surmise , accumilate , Bring me within the levell of your frowne , But shoote not at me in your wakened hate : Since my appeale sayes I did strive to proove The constancy and vertue of your love . Like as to make our appetites more keene With eager compounds we our pallat urge , As to prevent our malladies unseene , We sicken to shun sicknesse when we purge . Even so being full of your neare cloying sweetnesse , To bitter sawces did I frame my feeding ; And sicke of wel-fare found a kinde of meetnesse , To be diseas'ed ere that there was true needing . Thus pollicie in love t' anticipate The ills that were , not grew to faults assured , And brought to medicine a healthfull state Which ranke of goodnesse would by ill be cured . But thence I learne and find the lesson true , Drugs poyson him that so fell sicke of you . What potions have I drunke of Syren teare● Distil'd from Limbecks foule as hell within . Applying feares to hopes , and hopes to feares , Still loosing when I saw my selfe to win ? What wretched errors hath my heart committed , Whilst it hath thought it selfe so blessed never ? How have mine eyes out of their Spheares beene fitted In the distraction of this madding fever ? O benefit of ill , now I finde true That better is , by evill still made better . And ruin'd love when it is built anew Growes fairer then at first , more strong , far greater . So I returne rebuke to my content , And gaine by ills thrice more then I have spent .

A good construction of his Love : unkindenesse . THat you were once unkind befriends me now ; And for that sorrow , which I then did feele , Needes must I under my transgression bow , Vnlesse my Nerves were brasse or hammered steele . For if you were by my unkindnesse shaken As I by yours , y' have past a hell of Time , And I a tyrant have no leasure taken To waigh how once I suffered in your crime . O that our night of woe might have remembred My deepest sence how ●ard true sorrow hits , And soone to you , as you to me then tendred The humble salve , which wounded bosomes fits ! But that your trespasse now becomes a fee , Mine ransoms yours , and yours must ransome me .

Errour in opinion . T Is better to be vile then vile esteemed . When not to be , receives reproach of being , And the just pleasure lost , which is so deemed , Not by our feeling , but by others seeing . For why should others false adulterat eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood ? Or on my frailties why are ●railer spies ; Which in their wils count bad what I thinke good ? No , I am that I am , and they that levell At my abuses , reckon up their owne , I may be straight though they themselves be bevell By their rancke thoughts , my deeds must not be showne Vnlesse this generall evill they maintaine , All men are bad and in their badnesse raigne .

Vpon the receit of a Table Booke from his Mistris . THy guift , thy tables , are within my braine Full characterd with lasting memory , Which shall above that idle ranke remaine Beyond all date even to eternitie . Or at the least , so long as braine and heart Have facultie by nature to subsist , Till each to raz'd oblivion yeeld his part Of thee , thy record never can be mist : That poore retention could not so much hold , Nor need I tallies thy deare love to score . Therefore to give them from me was I bold , To trust those tables that receave thee more , To keepe an adjunckt to remember thee , Were to import forgetfulnesse in me .

A Vow . NO ! Time , thou shalt not boast that I doe change , Thy pyramyds built up with newer might To me are nothing novell , nothing strange , They are but dressings of a former sight : Our dates are breefe , and therefore we admire , What thou dost foyst upon us that is old , And rather make them borne to our desire , Then thinke that we before have heard them told : Thy registers and thee I both defie , Not wondring at the present nor the past , For thy records , and what we see doth lye , Made more or lesse by thy continuall haste : This I doe vow and this shall ever be , I will be true dispight thy Sithe and thee .

Loves safetie . IF my deare love were but the child of state , It might for fortunes bastard be unfathered , As subject to times love , or to times hate , Weeds among weeds , or flowers with flowers gatherd . No it was builded far from accident , It suffers not in smiling pomp , nor falls Vnder the blow of thralled discontent , Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls : It feares not policy that Heriticke , Which workes on leases of short numbred howers , But all alone stands hugely polliticke , That it nor growes with heat , nor drownes with showres . To this I witnesse call the fooles of time , Which dye for goodnesse , who have liv'd for crime .

An intreatie for her acceptance . WEr'● ought to me I bore the canopy , With my extern the outward honoring , Or layd great bases for eternitie , Which proves more short then waste or ruining ? Have I not seene dwellers on forme and favor Lose all , and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet ; Forgoing simple savour , Pittifull thrivors in their gazing spent . No , let me be obsequious in thy heart , And take thou my oblation , poore but free , Which is not mixt with seconds , knowes no art , But ●●tuall render , onely me for thee . Hence , thou subbornd Informer , a true soule When most impeacht , stands least in thy controule .

Vpon her playing on the Virginalls . HOw oft when thou thy musicke musicke playst , Vpon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently swayst , The wiry concord that mine eare confounds , Doe I envie those Iackes that nimble leape , To kisse the tender inward of thy hand , Whilst my poore lips which should that harvest reape , At the woods bouldnesse by thee blushing stand . To be so tickled they would change their state , And situation with those dancing chips , Ore whom their fingers walke with gentle gate , Making dead wood more blest then living lips . Since sausie Iackes so happy are in this , Give them thy fingers , me thy lips to kisse .

Immoderate Lust . TH' expence of Spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action , and till action , lust Is perjurd , murdrous , blooddy full of blame , Savage , extreame , rude , cruell , not to trust , Injoyd no sooner but despised straight , Past reason hunted , and no sooner had Past reason hated as a swallowed bayt , On purpose layd to make the taker mad . Made in pursuit and in possession so , Had , having , and in quest , to have extreame , A blisse in proofe and proud and very woe , Before a joy proposd behind a dreame , All this the world well knowes yet none knowes well , To shun the haven that leads men to this hell .

In prayse of her beautie though black . IN the old age black was not counted faire , Or if it were it bore not beauties name : But now is blacke beauties successive heire , And Beautie slanderd with a bastard shame , For since each hand hath put on Natures power , Fairing the foule with Arts false borrow'd face , Sweet beautie hath no name no holy bower , But is prophan'd , if not , lives in disgrace . Therefore my Mistresse eyes are Raven blacke , Her eyes so suted , and they mourners seeme , At such who not borne faite no beautie lack , Slandering Creation with a false esteeme , Yet so they mourne becomming of their woe , That every tongue sayes beautie should looke so , My Mistresse eyes are nothing like the Sunne , Currall is farre more red , then her lips red , If snow be white , why then her brests are dun : If haires be wiers , black wiers grow on her head : I have seene Roses , damaskt , red , and white , But no such Roses see I in her che●kes , And in some perfumes is there more delight , Then in the breath that from my Mistresse reckes . I love to heare her speake , yet well I know , That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound : I grant I never saw a goddesse goe , My Mistresse when shee walkes treads on the ground , And yet by heaven I thinke my love as rare , As any she beli'd with false compare . Thou art a tiranous , so as thou art , As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell ; For well thou know'st to my deare doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious Iewell . Yet in good faith some say that thee behold , Thy face hath not the power to make love grone ; To say they erre I dare not be so bold , Although I sweare it to my selfe alone . And to be sure that is not false I sweare A thousand grones but thinking on thy face , One on anothers necke doe witnesse beare Thy black is fairest in my judgements place . In nothing art thou blacke save in thy deeds , And thence this slander as I thinke proceeds . Thine eyes I love , and they as pittying me , Knowing thy heart torments me with disdaine , Have put on blacke , and loving mourners be , Looking with pretty ruth upon my paine . And truly not the morning Sun of Heaven Better becomes the gray cheekes of th' East , Nor that full starre that ushers in the Even Doth halfe that glory to the sober West As those two morning eyes become thy face : O let it then as well beseeme thy heart To mourne for me since mourning doth thee grace , And sute thy pittie like in every part . Then will I sweare beauty her selfe is blacke , And all they foule that thy complection lacke .

Vnkinde Abuse . BE shrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deepe wound it gives my friend and me ; I' st not enough to torture me along , But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be . Me from my selfe thy cruell eye hath taken , And my next selfe thou harder hast ingrossed , Of him , my selfe , and thee I am forsaken , A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed : Prison my heart in thy steele bosomes ward , But then my friends heart let my poore heart baile , Who ere keepes me , let my heart be his garde , Thou canst not then use rigor in my saile . And yet thou wilt , for I being pent in thee , Perforce am thine , and all that is in me . So now I have confest that he is thine , And I my selfe am morgag'd to thy will , My selfe I le forfeit , so that other mine , Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still : But thou wilt not , nor he will not be free , For thou art covetous , and he is kinde , He learned but suretie-like to write for me , Vnder that bond that him as fast doth binde . The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take , Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use , And sue a friend , came debtor for my sake , So him I loose through my unkinde abuse . Him have I lost , thou hast both him and me , He paies the whole , and yet I am not free .

A Love-Suite . WHo ever hath her wish , thou hast thy will , And will too boote , and will in over-plus , More than enough am I that vexe thee still , To thy sweet will making addition thus . Wilt thou , whose will is large and spacious , Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine , Shall will in others seeme right gracious , And in my will no faire acceptance shine : The sea all water , yet receives raine still , And in abundance addeth to his store , So thou being rich in Will adde to thy Will , One will of mine to make thy large will more . Let no unkinde , no faire beseechers kill , Thinke all but one , and me in that one Will . If thy soule checke thee that I come so neere , Sweare to thy blinde soule that I was thy will , And will thy soule knowes is admitted there , Thus farre for love , my Love-suite sweet fulfill . Will , will fulfill the treasure of thy love , I fill it full with wills , and my will one , In things of great receipt with ease we prove , Among a number one is reckon'd none . Then in the number let me passe untold , Though in thy stores account I one must be , For nothing hold me so it please thee I old , That nothing me , a some-thing sweet to thee . Make but my name thy love , and love that still , And then thou lovest me , for my name is Will .

His heart wounded by her eye . THou blinde foole love , what dost thou to mine eyes , That they behold and see not what they see : They know what beauty is , see where it lies , Yet what the best is , take the worst to be . If eyes corrupt by over-partiall lookes , Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride , Why of eyes falsehood hast thou forged hookes , Whereto the judgement of my heart is tide ? Why should my heart thinke that a severall plot , Which my heart knowes the wide worlds common place ? Or mine eyes seeing this , say this is not To put faire truth upon so foule a face , In things right true my heart and eyes have erred . And to this false plague are they now transferred . O call not me to justifie the wrong , That thy unkindnesse layes upon my heart , Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue , Vse power with power , and slay me not by Art , Tell me thou lov'st ese-where ; but in my sight , Deare heart forbeare to glance thine eye aside , What needst thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my ore-prest defence can bide ? Let me excuse thee , ah my love well knowes , Her prettie lookes have beene my enemies , And therefore from my face she turnes my foes , That they else-where might dart their injuries . Yet doe not so , but since I am neere slaine , Kill me out-right with lookes , and rid my paine . Be wise as thou art cruell , doe not presse My tongue-tide patience with too much disdaine : Least sorrow lend me words and words expresse , The manner of my pitty wanting paine . If I might teach thee wit better it were , Though not to love , yet love to tell me so , As testie sick-men when their deaths be neere , No newes but health from their Phisitions know . For if I should dispaire I should grow madde , And in my madnesse might speake ill of thee , Now this ill wresting world is growne so bad , Mad slanderers by madde eares beleeved be . That I may not be so , nor thou be-lide , Beare thine eyes straight , though thy proud heart go● wide .

A Protestation . IN faith I doe not love thee with mine eyes , For they in thee a thousand errors note , But 't is my heart that loves what they dispise , Who in despight of view is pleasd to dote . Nor are mine eares with thy tongues tune delighted , Nor tender feeling to base touches prone , Nor taste , nor smell , desire to be invited To any sensuall feast with the alone : But my five wits , nor my five senses can Diswade one foolish heart from serving thee , Who leaves unswai'd the likenesse of a man , Thy proud hearts slave and vassall wretch to be : Onely my plague thus farre I count my gaine , That she that makes me sinne , awards me paine . Love is my sinne , and my deare vertue hate , Hate of my sinne , grounded on sinfull loving , O but with mine , compare thou thine owne state , And thou shalt finde it merits not reprooving , Or if it doe , not from those lips of thine , That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments , And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine , Rob'd others beds revenues of their rents . Be it lawfull I love thee , as thou lov'st those , Whom thine eyes woe as mine importune thee , Roote pitty in thy heart that when it growes , Thy pitty may deserve to pittied be . If thou dost seeke to have what thou dost hide , By selfe example mai'st thou be denide ,

An Allusion . LOe as a carefull huswife runnes to catch . One of her feathered creatures broke away , Sets downe her babe and makes all swift dispatch In pursuite of the thing she would have stay : Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace , Cries to catch her , whose busie care is bent , To follow that which flies before her face , Not prizing her poore infants discontent ; So runst thou after that which flies from thee , Whilst I thy babe chase thee a farre behind , But if thou catch thy hope turne backe to mee : And play the mothers part , kisse me , be kind . So will I pray that thou maist have thy Will , If thou turne backe and my loud crying still .

Life and death . THose lips that Loves owne hand did make , Breath'd forth the sound that said I hate , To me that languisht for her sake : But when she saw my wofull state , Straight in her heart did mercy come , Chiding that tongue that ever sweet , Was usde in giving gentle doome : And taught it thus a new to greete : I hate she altered with an end , That follow'd it as gentle day , Doth follow night , who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flowne away . I hate , from hate away she threw , And sav'd my life saying not you .

A Consideration of death . POore soule , the center of my sinfull earth , My sinfull earth these rebell powers that thee aray , Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth , Painting thy outward walls in costly gay ? Why so large cost having so short a lease , Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? Shall wormes in heritors of this excesse , Eate up thy charge ? is this thy bodies end ? Then soule live thou upon thy servants losse , And let that pine to aggrivate thy store , Buy tearmes divine in selling houres of drosse : Within be fed , without be rich no more . So shalt thou feed on death , that feedes on men , And death once dead , ther 's no more dying then .

Immoderate Passion . MY love is as a feaver longing still , For that which longer nurseth the disease , Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill , Th' uncertaine sickly appetite to please : My reason the Phisition to my love , Angry that his prescriptions are not kept Hath left me , and I desperate now approve , Desire is death , which Phisicke did except . Past cure I am , now Reason is past care , And franticke madde with ever-more unrest , My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are , At randome from the truth vainely exprest . For I have sworne thee faire , and thought thee bright , Who art as blacke as hell , as darke as night .

Loves powerfull subtilty . O Me ! what eyes hath love put in my head , Which have no correspondence with true sight , Or if they have , where is my judgement fled , That censures falsely what they see aright ? If that be faire where on my false eyes dote , What mean●s the world to say it is not so ? If it be not , then love doth well denote , Loves eye is not so true as all mens : no How can it ? Oh how can loves eye be true , That is so vext with watching and with teares ? No marvell then though I mistake my view , The Sunne it selfe sees not , till heaven cleeres . O cunning love , with teares thou keepst me blinde , Least eyes well seeing thy foule faults should finde . Canst thou O cruell , say I love thee not , When I against my selfe with thee partake : Doe I not thinke on thee when I forgot Am of my selfe , all tyrant for thy sake ? Who hateth thee , that I doe call my friend , On whom froun'st thou that I doe faune upon . Nay if thou lowrst on me , doe I not spend Revenge upon my selfe with present mone , What merit do I in my selfe respect , That is so proud thy service to dispise , When all my best doth worship thy defect , Commanded by the motion of thine eyes . But love hate on for now I know thy minde , Those that can see thou lov'st , and I am blinde , Oh from what power hast thou this powrefull might , With insufficiency my heart to sway , To make me give the lie to my true sight , And sweare that brightnesse doth not grace the day ? Whence hast thou this becomming of things ill , That in the very refuse of thy deeds , There is such strength and warrantise of skill , That in my minde thy worst all best exceeds ? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more , The more I heare and see just cause of hate , Oh though I love what others doe abhorre , With others thou should'st not abhorre my state . If thy unworthinesse rais'd love in me . More worthy I to be belov'd of thee .

Retaliation . SO oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse , And ●ound such faire assistance in my verse , As every Al●en Pen hath got my use , And under thee their poe●ie disperse . Thine eyes that taught the dumbe on high to sing , And heavie ignorance aloft to flie , Have added feathers to the learneds wing , And given grace a double Majestie . Yet be most proud of that which I compile , Whose influence is thine , and borne of thee , In others workes thou dost but mend the stile , And Arts with thy sweete graces graced be . But thou art all my Art , and dost advance As high as learning , my rude ignorance , Whilst I alone did call upon thy aide , My verse alone had all thy gentle grace , But now my gracious numbers are decaide , And my sicke Muse doth give another place . I grant ( sweet love ) thy lovely argument Deserves the travell of a worthier pen , Yet what of thee thy Poet doth invent , He robs thee of , and payes it thee againe , He lends thee vertue , and he stole that word . From thy behaviour , beautie doth he give And found it in thy theeke : he can afford No praise to thee , but what in thee doth live . Then thanke him not for that Which he doth say , Since what he owes thee , thou thy selfe dost pay .

Sunne Set. THat time of yeare thou maist in mee behold . When yellow leaves , or none , or few doe hang Vpon those boughes which shake against the cold Bare ruin'd quires , where late the sweet birds sang . In me thou seest the twi-lights of such day , As after Sun-set fadeth in the West , Which by and by blacke night doth take away , Deaths second selfe that seales up all in rest . In me thou seest the glowing of such fire , That on the ashes of his youth doth lie , As the death bed whereon it must expire , Consum'd with that which it was nurrisht by . T is thou perceiv'st , which makes thy love more strong . To love that well , which thou must leave ere long . Thy glasse will shew thee how thy beauties were , Thy dyall how thy precious minutes waste , The vacant leaves thy mindes imprint will beare , And of this booke , this learning maist thou taste . The wrinckles which thy glasse will truely show , Of mouthed graves will give the memory , Thou by thy dyals shady stealth maist know , Times theevish progresse to eternity , Looke what thy memory cannot containe , Commit to these waste blacks , and thou shalt finde , Those children nurst , delivered from thy braine , To take a new acquaintance of thy minde . These offices so oft as thou wile looke . Shall profit thee , and much inrich thy booke .

A monument to Fame . NOt mine owne feares , nor the propheticke soule , Of the wide world , dreaming on things to come , Can yet the lease of my true love controule Supposde as forfeit to a confin'd doome . The mortall Moone hath her eclipse indur'd And the sad Augurs mocke their owne presage , Incertainties now crowne themselves assur'd , And peace proclaimes ●lives of endlesse age . Now with the droppes of this most balmie time , My love lookes fresh , and death to me subscribes , Since spight of him I le live in this poore rime , While he insults ore dull and speechlesse tribes . And thou in this shalt finde thy monument , When tyrants crests and tombs of brasse are spent . What 's in the braine that inke may character , Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit , What 's new to speake , what now to register , That may expresse my love , or thy deare merit ? Nothing sweet-love , but yet like prayers divine , I must each day say ore the very same , Counting no old thing old , thou mine , I thine , Even as when first I hallowed thy faire name . So that eternall love in loves fresh case , Weighes not the dust and injuries of age , Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place , But makes antiquitie for aye his page , Ending the first conceit of love there bred , Where time and outward forme would shew it dead .

Perjurie . LOve is too young to know what conscience is , Yet who knowes not conscience is borne of love , Then gentle cheater urge not my amisse , Least guilty of my faults thy sweet selfe prove . For thou betraying me , I doe betray My nobler part to my grosse bodies treason , My soule doth tell my body that he may , Triumph in love , flesh staies no farther reason , But rising at thy name doth point out thee , As his triumphant prize , proud of this pride , He is contented thy poore drudge to be To stand in thy affaires , fall by thy side . No want of conscience hold it that I call , Her love , for whose deare love I rise and fall . In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworne , But thou art twice forsworne to me love swearing , In act thy bed-vow brooke and new faith torne , In vowing new hate after new love bearing : But why of two oathes breach doe I accuse thee , When I breake twenty : I am perjur'd most , For all my vowes are oathes but to misuse thee : And all my honest faith in thee is lost . For I have sworne deepe oathes of thy deepe kindenesse : Oathes of thy love , thy truth , thy constancie , And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindnesse , Or made them sweare against the thing they see . For I have sworne thee faire : more perjur'd eye , To sweare against the truth so foule a lie .

The Tale of Cephalus and Procris . BEneath Hymetus hill well cloath'd with flowers , A holy Well her soft springs gently powers , Where stands a Cops , in which the wood-Nymphs shrove , ( No wood ) it rather seemes a slender Grove . The humble shrubs and bushes hide the grasse , Here Lawrell , Rosemary , here Myrtill was . Here grew thicke Box , and Tam'rix , that excells , And made a meere confusion of sweet smels : The Triffoly , the Pine , and on this Heath Stands many a plant that feeles coole Zephirs breath . Here the young Cephalus tyr'd in the chace , Vsd his repofe and rest alone t' embrace , And where he sat , these words he would repeate . Come Ayre , sweete Ayre , come coole my heate : Come gentle Ayre , I never will forsake thee , I le hug thee thus , and in my bosome take thee . Some double dutious Tel-tale hapt to heare this , And to his jealous wife doth straight-way beare this . Which Procris hearing , and with all the Name Of Avre , ( sweete Ayre ) which he did oft proclaime , She stands confounded , and amaz'd with griefe , Be giving this fond tale too sound beleefe . And lookes as doe the trees by Winter nipt , Whom Frost and cold , of fruit and leaves halfe stript , She bends like cotveile , when too ranke it growes , Or when the ripe fruits clog the Quince tree bowes : But when she comes t' her selfe , she teares Her Garments , her eyes , her cheekes , and haires , And then she starts , and to her feete applies her , Then to the Woods ( starke Wood ) in rage she hies her , Approaching some-what neare her servants they By her appointment in a Vally stay , Whilst she alone with creeping paces steales To take the strumpet whom her Lord conceale● . What mean'st thou Procris in these Groves to hide thee ? What rage of love doth to this madnesse guide thee ? Thou hop'st the Ayre he cals , in all her braverie Will straight approach , and thou shalt see their knavery ? And now againe it Irkes her to be there , For such a killing sight her heart will teare . No truce can with her troubled thoughts dispence , She would not now be there , nor yet be thence : Behold the place : her jealous minde foretels , Here doe they Vse to meete , and no where else : The Grasse is laid , and see their true impression . Even here they lay : I , here was their transgression . A bodies print she saw , it was his seate , Which makes her faint heart gainst her ribs to beate , Phoebas the lofty Easterne Hill had scald , And all moist vapours from the earth exhald : Now in his noone-ride point he shineth bright , It was the middle houre , twixt noone and night : Behold young Cephalus drawes to the place , And with the Fountaine water sprinkes his face , Procris is hid , upon the grasse he lies , And come sweete Zephir , Come sweet Ayre he cryes . She sees her error now from where he stood , Her mind returnes to her , and her fresh blood , Among the Shrubs and Briers she moves and rustles , And the injurious boughes away she justels , Intending , as he lay there to repose him , Nimbly to run , and in her armes inclose him : He quickly casts his eye upon the bush , Thinking therein some savage beast did rush , His bow he bends , and a keene shaft he drawes , Vnhappy man , what dost thou ? Stay and pause . It is no Bruit beast thou wouldst reave of life ; ( Oh man unhappy ) thou hast slaine thy wife ? Oh Heaven she cries , Oh helpe me I am slaine , Still doth thy Arrow in my wound remaine , Yet though by timelesse Fate my bones here lie , It glads me most , that I , no Cuck-queane die : Her breath ( thus in the Armes she most affected , ) She breaths into the Ayre ( before suspected The whilst he lifts her body from the ground , And with his teares doth wash her bleeding wound .

Cupids Treacherie . CVpid laid by his brand and fell asleepe , A maide of Dyan● this advantage found , And his love-kindling fire did quickly steepe In a cold vallie-fountaine of that ground : Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love , A datelesse lively heate still to endure , And grew a seething bath which yet men prove , Against strange malladies a soveraigne cure : But at my mistres eye loves brand new fired , Thy boy for triall needes would touch my breast , I sicke with all the helpe of bath desired , And thether hyed a sad distempered guest . But found no cure , the bath for my helpe lies , Where Cupid got new fire ; my mistres eyes . The little Love-God lying once a sleepe , Laid by his side his heart in flaming brand , Whilst many Nymphes that vow'd chast life to keepe , Came tripping by , but in her maiden hand , The fairest vota●y tooke up that fire , Which many Legions of true hearts had warm'd , And so the Generall of hot desire , Was sleeping by a Virgin hand disarm'd . This brand she quencled in a coole Well by , Which from loves fire tooke heat perpetuall , Growing a bath and healthfull remedy , For men diseas'd , but I my Mistresse thrall , Came there for cure , and this by that I prove , Loves fire heates water , water cooles not love .

That Menelaus was cause of his owne wrongs . WHen Menelaus from his house is gone , Poore Hellen is affraid to lie alone ; And to allay these feares ( lodg'd in her breast ) In her warme bosome she receives her guest : What madnesse was this ? Menelaus , say Thou art abroad whilst in thy house doth stay Vnder the selfe-same roofe , thy Guest , and Love ? Mad-man unto the Hawke thou trusts the Dove . And who but such a Gull , would give to keepe Vnto the Mountaine Woofe full folds of Sheepe . Hellen is blamelesse , so is Paris too , And did what thou , or I my selfe would doe . The fault is thine , I tell thee to thy face , By limiting these Lovers , Time and Place . From thee the seedes of all thy wrongs are growne , Whose Counsels have they followed , but thine owne ? ( Alacke ) what should they doe ? Abroad thou art , At home thou leavest thy Guest to play thy part : To lie alone , the ( poore Queene is affraid , In the next roome an Amorous stranger staid . Her armes are ope to embrace him , he falls in , And Paris I acquit thee of the sinne .

And in another place somewhat resembling this . Orestes liked , but not loved deerely Hermione , till he had lost her clearely : Sad Menelaus , why dost thou lament Thy late mishap ? I prethee be content : Thou knowest the amorous Hellen faire and sweet , And yet without her didst thou saile to Creet , And thou wast blithe and merry all the way , But when thou saw'st she was the Trojans prey , Then wast thou mad for her , and for thy life , Thou canst not now one minute want thy wife . So stout Achilles , when his lovely Bride Brisei● , was dispos'd to great Atride . Nor was he vainely mov'd : Atrides too Offer'd no morethan he of force must doe : I should have done as much , to set her free , Yet I ( heaven knowes ) am not so wise as he .

Vulcan was Iupiters Smith , an excellent workeman , on whom the Poets father many rare workes , among which , I fi●d this one . Mars and Venus . THis Tale is blaz'd through heaven , how once unware Venus and Mars were tooke in Vulcans snare : The god of Warre doth in his brow discover , The perfect and true patterne of a Lover : Nor could the Goddesse Venus be so cruell To deny Mars ( soft kindnesse is a Iewell In any woman , and becomes her well ) In this the Queene of love doth most excell : ( Oh heaven ) how often have they mockt and floured The Smiths polt-foote ( whilst nothing he misdoubted ) Made Iests of him and his begrimed trade , And his smoog'd visage , blacke with Cole-dust made : Mars , tickled with loud laughter , when he saw Venus like Vulcan limpe , to halt and draw One foot behinde another , with sweet grace To counterfeit his lame uneven pace . Their meetings first the Lovers hide with feare , From every jealous eye , and captious eare . The God of Warre , and Loves lacivious dame , In publike view were full of bashfull shame ; But the Sunne spies , how this sweet paire agree , ( Oh what bright Phoebus , can be hid from thee ? ) The Sunne both sees and blabs the sight forthwith . And in all post he speeds to tell the Smith : ( Oh Sunne ) what bad examples dost thou show ? What thou in secret seest must all men know ? For silence , aske a bribe from her faire treasure , Shee 'le grant thee that shall make thee swell with pleasure . The god whose face is smoog'd with smoke and fire , Placeth about their bed a net of Wiar , So quaintly made , that it deceives the eye Streight ( as he feignes ) to Lemnos he must hie ? The Lovers meete , where he the traine hath set , And both lie fast catcht in a wiery net : He calls the gods , the Lovers naked sprall And cannot rise , the Queene of Love shewes all . Mars chafes , and Venus weepes , neither can flinch , Grappled they lie , in vaine they kicke and winch: Their legges are one within another tide , Their hands so fast that they can nothing hide : Amongst these high Spectators , one by chance That saw them naked in this pitfall dance : Thus to himselfe said : If it tedious be Good god of Warre , bestow thy place on me .

The History how the Mynotaure was begot . IDa of Caedars , and tall Trees stand full , Where fed the glory of the Heard ( a Bull Snow-white ) save twixt his hornes one spot there grew , Save that one staine , he was of milky liew . This faire Steare did the Heyfers of the Groves , Desire to beare as Prince of all the Droves . But most Pasiphae with adulterous breath , Envies the wanton Heyfers to the death . T is said , that for this Bull the doting lasse , Did use to cr●p young boughes , and mow fresh grasse , Nor was the Amorous Cretan Queene a feard To grow a kinde Companion to the Heard : Thus through the Champion she is madly borne And a wilde Bull , to Mynos gives the horne , T is not for bravery he can love or loath thee , Then why Pasiphae dost thou richly cloth thee ? Why shouldst thou thus thy face and lookes prepare ? What makest thou with thy glasse ordering thy haire ? Vnlesse thy glasse could make thee seeme a Cow , But how can hornes grow on that tender brow ? If Mynos please thee , no Adulterer se●ke thee , Or if thy husband Mynos doe not like thee , But thy lascivious thoughts are still increas'd , Deceive him with a man , not with a beast : Thus by the Queene the wilde Woods are frequented , And leaving the Kings bed , she is contented To use the Groves , borne by the rage of minde , Even as a ship with a full Easterne winde : Some of these Strumpet-Heyfers the Queene slew , Her smoaking Altars their warme bloods imbrew , Whilst by the sacrificing Priest she stands , And gripes their trembling entrailes in her hands ; At length , the Captaine of the Heard beguil'd , With a Cowes skin , by curious Art compil'd , The longing Queene obtaines her full desire , And in her infants birth bewraies the Sire .

This Mynotaurē , when hee came to growth , was incloased in the Laborinth , which was made by the curious Arts-master Dedalus , whose Tale likewise we thus pursue . WHen Dedalus the laborinth had built , In which t' include the Queene Pasiphaes guilt , And that the time was now expired full , To inclose the Mynotaure halfe man , halfe Bul : Kneeling he saies , Iust Mynos end my mones And let my Native soile intombe my bones : Or if dread Soveraigne I deserve no grace , Looke with a pitious eye on my sonnes face . And grant me leave from whence we are exild , Or pitty me , if you deny my child : This and much more he speakes , but all in vaine , The King , both Sonne and Father will detaine , Which he perceiving sayes : Now , now , t is fit , To give the world cause to admire my wit , Both Land and Sea , are watcht by day and night , Nor Land nor Sea lies open to our flight : Onely the Ayre remaines , then let us trie To cut a passage through the Ayre and fly , Iove bee aspicious to my enterprise , I covet not to mount above the skies : But make this refuge , since I can prepare No meanes to flie my Lord but through the ayre , Make me immortall , bring me to the brim Of the blacke Stigia● Water , Styx I le swim : Oh humane wit , thou canst invent much ill ? Thou searchest strange Arts , who would thinke by skill , A heavie man , like a light bird should stray , And through the empty Heavens finde a way . He placeth in just order all his Quils , Whose bottomes with resolved waxe he fills . Then binds them with a line , and being fast tide , He placeth them like Oares on either side , The tender Lad the downy Feathers blew , And what his Father meant , he nothing knew : The waxe he fastned , with the strings he plaide Not thinking for his shoulders they were made , To whom his Father spake ( and then lookt pale ) With these swift Ships , we to our Land must saile . All passages doth cruell Mynos stop , Onely the empty Ayre he still leaves ope . That way must we ; the Land and the rough deepe Doth Mynos barre , the ayre he cannot keepe : But in thy way beware thou set no eye On the signe Virgo , nor Boetes hye : Looke not the blacke Orio● in the face That shakes his Sword , but just with me keepe pace . Thy wings are now in fastning , fastning , follow me , I will before thee fly as thou shalt see , Thy Father mount , or stoope , so I aread thee , Make me thy Guard , and safely I will lead thee : If we should soare to neere great Phoebus seate , The melting Waxe will not endure the heate , Or if we flie too neere the Humid Seas , Our moystened wings we cannot shake with ease . Fly betweene both , and with the gusts that rise , Let thy light body saile amidst the skies , And ever as his little sonne he charmes , He fits the feathers to his tender Armes : And shewes him how to move his body light , As Birds first teach their little young ones flight : By this he calls to Counsell all his wits , And his owne wings unto his shoulders fits , Being about to rise , he fearefull quakes , And in this new way his faint body shakes : First ere he tooke his flight , he kis'd his sonne , Whilst by his cheekes the brinish waters runne : There was a Hillocke not so towring tall As lofty Mountaines be , not yet so small To be with Valleyes even , and yet a hill , From this thus both attempt their uncouth skill : The Father moves his wings , and with respect His eyes upon his wandring sonne reflect : They beare a spacious course , and the apt boy Fearelesse of harme , in his new tract doth joy , And flies more boldly : Now upon them lookes The Fishermen , that angle in the brookes , And with their eyes cast upward , frighted stand , By this is Sa●os Isle on their lift hand , Vpon the right Lehinthos they forsake , As●●p●le● and the Fishie Lake . Shady Pachime full of Woods and Groves . When the rash youth too bold in ventring , roves ; Looseth his guide , and takes his flight so high That the soft Waxe against the Sunne doth frie , And the Cords slip that kept the Feathers fast , So that his Armes have power upon no blast : He fearefully from the high clouds lookes downe , Vpon the lower heavens , whose curl'd waves frowne At his ambitious height , and from the skies He see blacke night and death before his eyes , Still melts the waxe , his naked armes he shakes , And thinking to catch hold , no hold hee takes : But now the naked Lad downe headlong falls , And by the way , he Father , Father calls : Helpe Father helpe , I die , and as he speakes , A violent surge his course of language breakes . Th' unhappy Father , but no Father now , Cries out aloud , Sonne Icarus where art thou ? Where art thou Icarus , where dost thou flie ? Icarus where art ? When loe he may espie The Feathers swim , aloud he doth exclaime , The earth his bones , the Sea still beares his name .

Achilles his concealement of his Sex in the Court of Lycomedes . NOw from another World doth saile with joy , A welcome daughter to the King of Troy , The whilst the Gracians are already come , ( Mov'd with that generall wrong 'gainst Islium : ) Achilles in a Smocke , his Sex doth smother , And laies the blame upon his carefull mother , What mak'st thou great Achilles , teazing Wooll . When Pallas in a Helme should claspe thy Scul● ? What doth these fingers with fine threds of gold ? Which were more fit a Warlike Shield to hold . Why should that right hand , Rocke or Tow containe , By which the Trojan Hector must be slaine ? Cast off thy loose vailes , and thy Armour take , And in thy hand the Speare of Pellas shake . Thus Lady-like he with a Lady lay , Till what he was , must her belly bewray , Yet was she forc't ( so should we all beleeve ) Not to be forc't so now her heart would grieve : When he should rise from her , still would she crie , ( For he had arm'd him , and his Rocke laid by ) And with a ●●ft voyce spake : Achilles stay , It is too soone to rise , lie downe I pray , And then the man that forc't her , she would kisse , What force ( Delademea ) call you this ?

A Lovers Complaint . FRom off a hill whose concave wombe reworded , A plaintfull story from a sistring vale My spirits t' attend this double voyce accorded , And downe I laid to list the sad tun'd tale , Ere long espied a fickle maide full pale , Tearing of Papers , breaking rings a twaine , Storming her world with sorrowes , winde and raine , Vpon her head a platted hive of straw , Which fortified her visage from the Sunne , Whereon the thought might thinke sometime it saw The carkas of a beauty spent and done , Time had not sit●●d all that youth begun , Nor youth all quit , but spight of heavens fell rage , Some beauty peept , through lettice of ●ear'd age . Oft did she heave her Napkin to her eyne , Which on it had conceited characters : Laundring the silken figures in the brine , That seasoned woe had pelleted in teares , And often reading what contents it beares : As of en shriking undistingusht woe , In clamours of all size both high and low , Sometimes her leveld eyes their carriage ride , As they did battry to these spheares intend : Sometime diverted their poore balls are tide , To th' orbed earth ; sometimes they doe extend , Their view right on , anon their gazes lend , To every place at once and no where fixt , The minde and sight distractedly commixt . Her haire nor loose nor ti'd in formall pla● , Proclaim'd in her a carelesse hand of pride ; For some untuck'd descended her shev'd hat , Hanging her pale and pined cheecke beside , Some in her threeden fillet still did bide , And true to bondage would not breake from thence , Though slackly braided in loose negligence . A thousand favours from a maund she drew , Of amber , christall , and of bedded Iet , Which one by one she in a river threw , Vpon whose weeping margent she was set , Like usury applying wet to wet , Or Monarches hands that lets not bounty fall , Where want cries some ; but where excesse begs all . Of folded schedulls had she many aone , Which she perus'd , sigh'd , tore and gave the flud , Crackt many a ring of Posied gold and bone , Bidding them finde their Sepulchers in mud , Found yet moe letters sadly pen'd in blood , With sleided silke , feate and affectedly Enswath'd and seal'd to curious secrecic . These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes , And often kis'd , and often gave to teare , Cried , O false blood , thou register of lies , What unapproved witnesse dost him beare ! Inke would have seem'd more blacke and damned here ! This said in top of rage the lines she rents , Bigge discontent , so breaking their contents . A reverend man that graz'd his cattell nie , Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew , Of Court , of Cittie , and had let goe by , The swiftest houres observed as they flew , Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew : And priviledg'd by age , desires to know , In briefe , the grounds and motives of her woe . So slides he downe upon his grayned bat ; And comely distent ●its he by her side , When he againe desires her , being sat , Her grievance with his hearing to devide : If that from him there may be ought applied , Which may her suffering extasie asswage , T is promis'd in the charitie of age . Father she saies , though in me you behold The enjurie of many a blasting houre ; Let it not tell your judgement I am old , Not age , but sorrow , over me hath power , I might as yet have beene a spreading flower , Fresh to my selfe , if I had selfe applied Love to my selfe , and to no Love beside . But woe is me , too earely I attended , A youthfull suit it was to gaine my grace ; O one by natures outwards so commended , That maidens eyes stucke over all his face , Love lackt a dwelling , and made him her place , And when in his faire parts she did abide , She was new lodg'd and newly Deified . His browny lockes did hang in crooked curles . And every light occasion of the winde Vpon his lippes their silken parcels hurles , What s sweet to doe , to doe will aptly finde , Each eye that saw him did inchant the minde : For on his visage was in little drawne , What largenesse thinkes in Paradise was sawne . Small shew of man was yet upon his chinne , His Phaenix downe began but to appeare Like unshorne velvet , on that termelesse skinne , Whose bare out-brag'd the web it seem'd to weare . Yet shewed his visage by that cost more deare , And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best were as it was , or best without . His qualities were beautious as his forme , For maiden tongu'd he was and thereof free ; Yet if men mov'd him , was he such a storme , As of twixt May and Aprill is to see , When windes breath sweet , unruly though they be . His rudenesse so with his authoriz'd youth , Did livery falsenesse in a pride of truth . Well could he ride , and often men would say That horse his mettall from his rider takes ; Proud of subjection , noble by the sway , What rounds , what bounds , what course , what stop he makes And controversie hence a question takes , Whether the horse by him became his deed , Or he his mannag'd , by 'th well-doing Steede . But quickly on this side the verdict went , His reall habitude gave life and grace To appertanings and to ornament , Accomplisht in himselfe not in his case : All aids themselves made fairer by their place , Can for additions , yet their purpos'd trimme Peec'd not his grace but were all grac'd by him . So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kinde of arguments and questions deepe , All replication prompt , and reason strong For his advantage still did weke and sleepe , To make the weeper laugh , the laughter weepe : He had the dialect and different skill , Catching all passions in his craft of will , That he did in the generall bosome raigne Of young , of old , and sexes both inchanred , To dwell with him in thoughts , or to remaine In personall duty , following where he haunted , Consent's bewitcht , ere he desire have granted , And dialogu'd for him what he would say , Askt their owne wills and made their wills obey . Many there were that did his picture get To serve their eyes and in it put their minde , Like fooks that in th' imaginat on set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions , theirs in thought assign'd , And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them , Then the true gouty Land-lord which doth owe them . So many have that never toucht his hand Sweetly suppos'd them mistresse of his hear● : My wofull selfe that did in freedome stand , And was my owne fee simple not ( in part ) What with his art in youth and youth in art Threw my affections in his charmed power , Reserv'd the stalke and gave him all my flower . Yet did I not as some my equalls did Demand of him , nor being desired yeelded , Finding my selfe in honour so forbid , With safest distance I my honour sheelded , Experience for me many bulwarkes builded Of proofes new bleeding which remain'd the foile Of this false Iewell , and his amorous spoile . But ah who ever shune'd by precedent , The destin'd ill she must her selfe assay , Or forc'd examples gainst her owne content , To put the by-past perills in her way ? Counsaile may stop a while what will not stay : For when we rage , advice is often seene By blunting us to make our wits more keene . Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood , That wee must curbe it upon others proofe , To be forbid the sweets that seemes so good , For feare of harmes that preach in our behoofe ; O appetite from judgement stand aloofe ! The one a pallat hath that needs will taste , Though reason weepe and cry it is thy last . For further I could say this mans untrue , And knew the patternes of his foule beguiling , Heard where his plants in others Orchards grew , Saw how deceits w●re gilded in his smiling , Knew vowes , were ever brokers to defiling , Thought Characters and words meerely but art , And bastards of his foule adulterate heart . And long upon these termes I held my Citty , Till thus he gan besiege me : Gentle maide , Have of my suffering youth some feeling pitty , And be not of my holy vowes afraid , That s to yee sworne to none was ever said , For feasts of love I have beene call'd unto Till now , did n●re invite nor never vow , All my offences that abroad you see Are errors of the blood none of the minde : Love made them not , with acture they may be , Where neither party is nor true nor kinde , They sought their shame that so their shame did finde ; And so much lesse of shame in me remaines , By how much of me their reproach containes . Among the many that mine eyes have seene , Not one whose ●lame my heart so much as warmed , Or my affection put toth ' smallest teene , Or any of my leasures ever Charmed , Harme have I done to them but nere was harm'd : Kept hearts in liveries , but mine owne was free , And raign'd commanding in his Monarchy . Looke here what tributes wounded fancies sent me , Of palid pearles , and rubies red as blood : Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of griefe and blushes , aptly understood In bloodlesse white , and the encrimson'd mood , Effects of terror and deare modesty , Encampt in hearts but fighting outwardly . And loe behold these talents of their haire , With twisted mettle amorously empleach'd , I have receiv'd from many a severall faire , Their kinde acceptance , weepingly beseech'd , With th' annexions of faire gems inrich'd , And deepe brain'd sonnets that did amplifie , Eeach stones deare Nature , worth and quality . The Diamond ? why , 't was beautifull and hard , Whereto his invie'd properties did tend , The deepe greene Emrald , in whose fresh regard , Weake sights their sickly radience doe amend . The heaven hew'd Saphyr and the Opall blend , With objects manifold ; each severall stone , With wit well blazon'd , smil'd , or made some m●an . Loe all these trophies of affections hot , Of pensiv'd and subdu'd desires the tender , Nature hath charg'd me that I hoor'd them not , But yeeld them up where I my selfe must render : That is to you my origin and ender : For these of force must your oblations be , Since I their Altar , you enpatrone me . Oh then advance ( of yours ) that phraselesse hand , Whose white weighes downe the airy scale of praise , Take all these similies to your owne command , Hollowed with sighes that burning lungs did raise : What me your minister ? for you obayes , Workes under you , and to your audit comes , Their distract parcells , incombined summes . Loe this device was sent me from a Nun , Or Sister sanctified of holiest note , Which late her noble suit in court did shun , Whose rarest havings made the blossomes dote , For she was sought by spirits of richest cote , But kept cold distance , and did thence remove , To spend her living in eternall love . But oh my sweet What labour i st to leave , The thing we have not , mastring what not strives , Playing the Plaie which did no forme receive , Playing patient sports in unconstrain'd gives , She that her fame so to her selfe contrives , The scarres of ●attell scapeth by the flight , And makes her absence valiant , not her might , Oh pardon me in that my boast is true , The accident which brought me to her eye , Vpon the moment did her force subdue , And now she would the caged cloister flie : Religious love put out Religions eye : Not to be temp●ed would she be inur'd , And now to tempt all libertie procur'd . How mighty then you are , Oh heare me tell , The broken bosomes that to me belong , Have emptied all their fountaines in my well : And mine I powre your Ocean all among : I strong o're them , and you o're me being strong , Must for your victorie us all congest , As compound love to physicke your cold brest . My parts had power to charme a sacred Sunne , Who disciplin'd I dieted in grace , Beleev'd her eyes , when they t' assaile begun , All vowes and consecrations giving place : O most potentiall love , vow , bond , nor space , In thee hath neither sting , knot , nor confine For thou art all , and all things else are thine . When thou impressest , what are precepts worth . Of stale example ? when thou wilt inflame , How coldly those impediments stand forth , Of wealth , of filiall fea●e , law , kindred , fame , Loves armes are peace , 'gainst rule , 'gainst sence , 'gainst shame , And sweetens in the suffring pang it beares , The Alloes of all forces , shockes and feares . Now all these hearts that doe on mine depend , Feeling it breake , with bleeding groanes they pine , And supplicant their sighes to you extend , To leave the batterie that you make 'gainst mine , Lending soft audience , to my sweet designe , And credent soule , to that strong bonded oath . That shall preferre and undertake my troth . This said , his waterie eyes he did dismount , Whose sightes till then were ●eavel'd on my face , Each cheeke a river running from a fount , With brinish currant downe-ward flowed apace : Oh how the channell to the streame gave grace ! Who glaz'd with Christall gate the glowing Roses , That flame through water which they h●w incloses . Oh father , what a hell of witch-craft lies , In the small orbe of one perticular teare ? But with the inundation of the eyes : What rocky heart to water will not weare ? What breast so cold that is not warmed here , Or cleft effect , cold modesty , hot wrath : Both fire from hence , and chill extincture hath ? For loe his passion but an art of craft , Even there resolv'd my reason into teares , There my white stole of chastire I daft , Shooke of my sober guards , and civill feares , Appeare to him , as he to me appeares : All melting , though our droppes this difference bore , His poison'd me , and mine did him restore . In him a plenitude of subtill matter , Applied to Cautles , all strange formes receives , Of burning blushes , or of weeping water , Or sounding palenesse , and he takes and leaves , In eithers aptnesse as it best deceives : To blush at speeches ranke , to weepe at woes , Or to turne white and sound at tragicke showes . That not a heart which in his levell came , Could scape the haile of his all hurting aime , Shewing faire Nature is both kinde and tame : And vail'd in them did winne whom he would maime , Against the thing he sought he would exclaime , When he most burnt in heart-wish'd luxurie , He preach'd pure maide , and prais'd cold chastitie . Thus meerely with the garment of a grace , The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd , That th' unexperient gave the tempter place , Which like a Cherubin above them hover'd , Who young and simple would not be so lover'd . Aye me I fell , and yet doe question make , What I should doe againe for such a sake . Oh that infected moysture of his eye , O that false fire which in his cheeke so glow'd : Oh that forc'd thunder from his he art did flye , O that sad breath his spungie lungs bestowed , O all that borrowed motion seeming owed , Would yet againe betray the fore-betrai'd , And new pervert a reconciled Maide .

The amorous Epistle of Paris to Hellen. HEalth unto Laedaes daughter Priams sonne , Sends in these lines , whose health cannot be won , But by your gift , in whose power it may lie , To make me whole or sicke ; to live or die : Shall I then speake ? or doth my flame appeare , Plaine without Index ? Oh , t is that I feare : My Love without discovering smile takes place , And more than I could wish shines in my face . When I could rather in my thoughts desire , To hide the smoake , till time display the fire : Time that can make the fire of Love shine cleare , Vntroubled with the misty smoake of feare : But I dissemble it , for who I pray , Can fire conceale , that will it selfe betray ? Yet if you looke , I should affirme that plaine In words , which in my countenance I maintaine : I burne , I burne , my faults I have confess'd , My words beare witnesse how my lookes transgress'd : Oh pardon me that have confess'd my error , Cast not upon my lines a looke of terror , But as your beauty is beyond compare , Suite unto that your lookes , ( oh you most faire , ) That you my letter have received by this The supposition glads me , and I wish , By hope incourag'd , hope that makes me strong , You will receive me in some sort ere long . I aske no more than what the Queene of beauty Hath promis'd me , for you are mine by dutie . By her I claime you , you for me were made , And she it was my journey did perswade : Nor Lady thinke your beauty vainely sought , I by divine instinct was hether brought , And to this enterprize the heavenly powers , Have given consent , the gods proclaime me your● ; I aime at wonders , for I covet you , Yet pardon me , I aske but what s my due : Venus her selfe my journey hither led , And gives you freely to my promis'd bed . Vnder her safe conduct the seas I past , Till I arriv'd upon these coasts at last : Shipping my selfe from the Sygean shore , Whence unto these Confines my course I bore : She made the Surges gentle , the windes faire , Nor marvell whence these calmes proceeded are . Needs must she power upon the salt-Seales have , That was sea-borne , created from a wave . Stil may she stand in her ability , And as she made the seas with much facility , To be through sail'd , so may she calme my heate , And beare my thoughts to their desired seat : My flames I found not Here , no , I protest , I brought them with me closed in my breast . My selfe transported them without Attorney , Love was the Motive to my tedious journey . Not blustring Winter when he triumphe'd most , Nor any error drove me to this Coast : Not led by fortune where the rough winds please , Nor Marchant like for gaine crost I the Seas : Fulnesse of wealth in all my Fleete I see , I am rich in all things , save in wanting thee . No spoile of petty Nations my Ship seekes , Nor Land I as a Spie among the Greekes , What neede we ? See of all things we have store . Compar'd with Troy ( alas your Greece is poore . For thee I come , thy fame hath thus farre driven me , Whom golden Venus hath by promise given me ; I wish'd thee ere I knew thee , long agoe , Before these eyes dwelt on this glorious show : I saw thee in my thoughts , know beautious Dame , I first beheld you with the eyes of fame , Nor marvell Lady I was stroke so farre , Thus Darts or Arrowes sent from Bowes of war●e Wound a great distance off ; so was I hit With a deepe smarting wound that ranckles yet , For so it pleas'd the Fates , whom least you blame , I le tell a true Tale to confirme the same : When in my Mothers wombe full ripe I lay , Ready the first houre to behold the day , And she at point to be delivered straight , And to unlade her of her Royall freight , My Birth-houre was delaid , and that sad night A fearefull vision did the Queene affright : In a sonnes stead to please the aged Sire , She dreampt she had brought forth a Brand of fire , Frighted she rises , and to Priam goes . To the old King this ominous dreame she showes : He to the Priest , the Priest doth this returne , That the child borne shall stately Islium burne : Better then he was ware the Prophet guest , For loe a kindled Brand-flames in the my breast , To prevent Fate a Peasant , I was held , Till my faire shape all other Swaines excel'd , And gave the doubtfull world assurance good , Your Paris was deriv'd from royall blood . Amid the Idean Fields there is a place , Remote , full of high trees , which hide the face , Of the greene mantled Earth , wherein thicke rowes , The Oake , the Elme , the Pine , the Pitch-tree growes : Here never yet did browze the wanton Ewe , Nor from this plot the slow Oxe licke the dew ; The savage Goate that feeds among the Rockes , Hath not graz'd here , nor any of their Flockes . Hence the Dardanian walls I might espie , The lofty Towers of Islium reared hie ; Hence I the seas might from the firme land see , Which to behold , I leant me to a Tree : Beleeve me , for I speake but what is true , Downe from the skirt with feathered pynions flew , The Nephew to great Atlas , and doth stand , With golden Caducens in his hand : This as the gods to me thought good to show , I hold it good that you the same should know . Three Goddesses behind young Hermes moye , Great Iuno , Pallas , and the Queene of Love ; Who as in pompe and pride of gate they passe , Scarse with their weight they bend the toppes of grasse : Amaz'd I start , and endlong stands my haire , When Mayus Sonne thus sayes , abandon feare ; Thou courteous Swaine , that to these groves repairest , And freely judge which of thse three is fairest : And least I should these curious sentence shun , He tels me by loves sentence all is done . And to be Iudge I no way can eschue , This having said , up through the Ayre he flew : I straight tooke Heart a-grace , and grew more bold , And there their beauties one by one behold . Why am I made the Iudge to give this doome ? Methinkes all three are worthy to o're-come : To injure two such Beauties , what tongue dare ? Or preferre one where they be all so faire . Now this seemes fairest , now againe that other , Now would I speake , and now my thoughts I smother . And yet at leangth the praise of one most sounded , And from that one my present Love is grounded : The Goddesses out of their earnest care , And pride of beautie to beheld most faire , Seeke with large Armes , and gifts of wondrous price , To their owne thoughts my censure to en●ice : Iuno the wife of Iove doth first inchant me , To judge her fairest , she a Crowne will grant me . Pallas her Daughter , next doth undertake me , Give her the prize , and valiant she will make me . I straight devise which can most pleasure bring , To be a valiant Souldier , or a King : Last Venus smiling came with such a grace , As if she swayed an Empire in her face . Let not ( said she ) these gifts the conquest beare , Combats and Kingdomes are both fraught with feare . I le give thee what thou lovest best , ( lovely Swaine , ) The fairest Saint that doth on earth remaine Shall be thine owne , make thou the Conquest mine ; Faire Laedaes fairest Daughter shall be thine . This said , when with my selfe I had devised , And her rich gift and beauty jointly prised : Venus victor , o're the rest is plac'd , Iuno and Pallas leave the Mount disgrac'd , Meane time my Fates a prosperous course had run , And by knowne signes King Priam cal'd me sonne : The day of my restoring is kept holy Among the Saints-dayes , consecrated solely , To my remembrance , being a day of joy , For ever in the Kalenders of Troy . As I wish you I have beene wish'd by others , The fairest maids by me would have beene Mothers , Of all my favours I bestow'd not any , You onely may enjoy the Loves of many : Nor by the Daughters of great Dukes and Kings Have I alone beene sought , whose marriage Rings , I have turn'd backe , but by a straine more hie , By Nymphs and P●airies , such as never die . No sooner were you promis'd as my due , But I ( all hated ) to remember you : Waking , I saw your Image , if I dreampt , Your beautious figure still appear'd to tempt , And urge this voyage , Till your face excelling , These eyes beheld , my dreames were all of Hellen. Imagine how your face should now incite me , Being seene , that unseene did so much delight me . If I was scorch'd so farre off from the fire , How am I burnt to Cinders thus much nigher : Nor could I longer owe my selfe this treasure , But through the Ocean I must search my pleasure , The Phrygyan Hatches to the rootes are put Of the Idean Pines , ( a sunder cut ) The Wood-land Mountaine yeelded me large fees , Beeing despoyl'd of all her talest Trees , From whence we have squar'd out vnnumbred beames , That must be wash'd within the Marine streames : The grounded Oakes are bowed , though stiffe as steele , And to the tough Ribs is the bending Keele Woven by Ship-wrights craft , then the Maine-mast , A crosse whole middle is the Saile-yard plac'd . Tackles and sailes , and next you may discerne , Our painted Gods upon the hooked sterne : The God that bear●s me on my happy way , And is my guide , is Cupid : Now the day In which the last stroke of the Hammer 's heard Within our Navy , in the East appear'd , And I must now launch forth ; ( so the Fates please ) To seeke adventures in the Eagean Seas . My father and my mother move delay , And by intreaties would inforce my stay : They hang about my necke , and with their teares , Wooe me deferre my journey : but their feares Can have no power to keepe me from thy sight : And now Cassandra full of sad affright , Will loose dishevel'd Tramels , madly skips , Iust in the way betwixt me and my Ships . Oh , whether wilt thou head long run , she cries ? Thou bearest fire with thee , whose smoake up-flies Vnto the heavens ( Oh Iove ) thou little fearest , What quenchlesse flames thou through the water bearest ; Cassandra was too true a Prophetesse , Her quenchlesse flames she spake of ( I confesse , ) My hot desires burne in my breast so fast , That no red Furnace hotter flames can cast . I passe the Citty gates , my Barke I boo●'d , The favourable windes calme gales afford . And fill my sailes , unto your Land I steare . For whether else ( his course ) should Paris beare : Your husband entertaines me as his guest , And all this hapneth by the gods behest : He shewes me all his Pastures , Parkes , and Fields , And every rare thing Lacedemon yeeldes , He holds himselfe much pleased with my being , And nothing hides , that he esteemes worth seeing . I am on fire , till I behold your face , Of all Achayas Kingdome , the sole-grace . All other curious Objects I defie , Nothing but Hellen can content mine eye , Whom when I saw , I stood transform'd with wonder , Sencelesse , as one stroke dead by Ioves sharpe Thunder : As I revive , my eyes I rowle and turne , Whilst my flam'd thoughts with hotter fancies burne : Even so ( as I remember , ) look'd Loves Queene , When she was last in Phrygian Ida seene , Vnto which place by Fortune I was trained , Whereby my censure she the Conquest gained : But had you made a fourth in that contention , Of Venus beauty , there had beene no mention : Hellen assuredly had borne from all , The prize of beauty , the bright golden Ball . Onely of you may this your Kingdome boast , By you it is renown'd in every Coast : Rumor hath every where your beautie blazed , In what remote Clyme is not Hellen praised ? From the bright Easterne Sun up-rise , inquire , Even to his downefall where he stakes his fire , There lives not any of your Sex that dare , Contend with you that are proclaim'd so faire , Trust me , for truth I speake : Nay what s most truē , Too sparingly the world hath spoke of you : Fame that hath undertooke your name to blaze , Plaid but the envious Housewife in your praise ; More then report could promise , or fame blazon , Are these Divine perfections that I gaze on . These were the same that made Duke Theseus lavish , Who in thy prime and Nonage did thee ravish ; A worthy Rape for such a worthy Man , Thrice happy Ravisher , to seize thee than , When thou wert stript starke naked to the skin , ( A sight of force to make the gods to sin : ) Such is your Countries Guise at seasons when , With naked Ladies they mixt naked Men . That he did steale thee from thy Friends , I praise him , And for that deede , I to the Heavens will raise him : That he return'd thee backe , by Iove I wonder , Had I beene Theseus , he that should assunder , Have parted us , or snatch'd thee from my bed , First from my shoulders should have par'd my head . So rich a purchase , such a glorious pray : Should constantly have beene detain'd for aye . Could these my strong Armes possibly unclaspe , Whilst in their amorous Foulds they Hellen graspe , Neither by free constraint nor by free giving , Could you depart that compasse , and I living : But if by rough inforce I must restore you , Some fruits of love , ( which I so long have bore you , ) I first would reape , and some sweete favour gaine , That all my suite were not bestow'd in vaine : Either with me you shall abide and stay , Or for your passe your maiden head should pay . Or say , I sp●r'd you that , yet would I trie What other favour , I could else come b● , All that belongs to love , I would not misse , You should not let me both to clip and ●isse . Give me your heart faire Queene , my heart you owe , And what my resolution is you know : Till the last fire my breathlesse body take , The fire within my breast can never slake . Before large kingdomes I preferr'd your face , And ●unoes love , and potent gifts disgrace , To fold you in my amorous Armes I chus'd , And Pallas vertues scornefull , refus'd . When they with Uenus in the hill of Ide , Made me the judge their beau●ies to decide ; Nor doe I yet repent me , having tooke , Beauty , and strength , and Scepter'd rule forsooke . Methinkes I chus'd the best , ( nor think it strange ) I still persist , and never meane to change ; Onely that my imploiment be not vaine , Oh you more worth than any Empires gaine . Let me intreate , least you my birth should scorne , Or parentage : know I am Royall borne . By marrying me , you shall not wrong you State , Nor be a wife to one degenerate . Search the Records where we did first begin , And you shall finde the Pleyads of our Kin : Nay Iove himselfe all others to for beare , That in our stocke renowned Princes were : My father of all Asia raines sole King , Whose boundlesse Coast scarce any feathered wing , Can give a girdle to , a happier Land , A neighbour to the Ocean cannot stand : There in a narrow compasse you may see , Citties and Towers , more than may numbred be , The houses guilt , rich Temples that excell , And you will say I neere the great Gods dwell . You shall behold high Isliums lofty Towers , And Troyes brave walls built by immortall powers , But made by Phoebus the great god of fire , And by the touch of his melodious Lyer , If we have people to inhabite , when The sad earth groanes to beare such troopes of men Iudge Hellen , Likewise when you come to Land , The Asian women shall admiring stand , Saluting thee with welcome , more and lesse , In preasing throngs and numbers , numberlesse : More than our Courts can hold of you ( most faire ) You to your selfe will say , alasse , how baire , And poore Achaya is , when with great pleasure , You see each house containe a Cities Treasure . Mistake me not , I Sparta doe not scorne , I hold the Land blest where my love was borne , Though barren else , rich Sparta Hellen bore , And therefore I that Province must adore ; Yet is your Land methinks but leane and emty , You worthy of a Clyme that flowes with plenty , Full Troy I prostrate , it is yours by duty , This petty seat becomes not your rich beauty ; Attendance , Preperation , Curtsie , State , Fit such a heavenly forme , on which should waite , Cost , Fresh variety , Delicious diet , Pleasure , Contentment , and Luxurious ryot , What Ornaments we use , what fashions faigne , You may perceive by me and my proud traine , Thus we attire our men , but with more cost , Of gold and Pearle , the rich Gownes are Imbos● , Of our chiefe Ladies , guesse by what you see , You may he soone induc'd to credit me . Be tractable faire Spartan , nor contemne A Trojan borne , deriv'd from Royall ●●emme : He was a Trojan and allide to Hector , That waites upon Ioves cup , and fills him Nect●r : A Trojan did the faire Aurora wed , And nightly slept within her Roseat bed : The Goddesses that ends nigh and enters day , From our faire Trojan Coast stole him away , Anchises was a Trojan , whom Loves Queene , ( Making the Trees of Ida a thicke Screene Twixt Heaven and her ) oft lay with , view me well I am a Troyan too , in Troy I dwell . Thy Husband Menelaus hither bring , Compare our shapes , our yeares and every thing , I make you Iudge●●e , wrong me if you can , You needs must say I am the properer man : None of my line hath turn'd the Sun to blood , And rob'd his Steeds of their Ambro●iall food : My Father grew not from the Caucasse Rocke , Nor shall I graft you in a blood● Stocke : Priam neere wrong'd the guiltlesse soule , or further , Made the Myrean Sea looke red with murther : Nor thirsteth my great Grand-sire sire in the Lake , Of Lethe , Chin deepe , yet no thirst can slake : Nor after ripened Apples vainely skips , Who flie him still , and yet still touch his lips : But what of this ? If you be so deriv'd , You not withstanding are no right depriv'd . You grace your Stocke , and being so divine , Iove is of force compell'd into your Line . Oh mischiefe ! whilst I vainely speake of this , Your Husband all-unworthy of such blisse , Injoyes you this long night , enfolds your waste , And where he lists may boldly touch and taste . So when you sat at Table , many a toy , Passeth betweene you my vext soule t' annoy , At such high feasts I wish my enemie sit , Where discontent attends on every bit , I never yet was plac'd at any Feast , But oft it irke me that I was your Guest : That which offends me most thy rude Lord knowes , For still his armes about thy necke he throwes , Which I no sooner spie but I grow mad , And hate the man , whose courting makes me sad Shall I be plaine ? I am ready to sinke downe , When I behold him wrape you in his Gowne , When you sit smiling on his amorous knee , His fingers presse , where my hands itch to be . But when he hugs you I am forc'd to frowne , The meate I 'am eating will by no means downe , But stickes halfe way , amidst these discontents , I have observ'd you laugh at my lament● , And with a scornefull , yet a wanton smile , Deride ▪ my sighes and grones , oft to beguile My passions , and to quench my fiery rage , By quaffing healths I' have thought my flame t' asswage . But Bacchus full cups make my flames burne heigher , Adde wine to love , and you add fire to fire . To shun the sight of many a wanton feate , Betwixt your Lord and you , I shift my seate , And turne my head , but thinking of your grace , Love skrewes my head to gaze backe on your face ▪ What were I best to doe ? To see you play Mads me , and I perforce must turne away , And to forbeare the place where you abide , Would kill me dead , should I but start aside : As much as lies in me I strive to bury , The shape of Love , in mirths spight I seeme merry . But oh , the more I seeke it to suppresse , The more my blabbing lookes my love professe . You know my Love which I in vaine should hide , Would God it did appeare to none beside , Oh Iove how often have I turned my cheecke , To hide th' apparant teares that passage seeke , From forth my eyes , and to a corner stept , Least any man should aske wherefore I wept : How often have I told you pitious tales , Of constant Lovers , and how Love prevailes . When such great heed to my discourse I tooke , That every accent suited to your looke ; Inforged names my selfe I represented , The Lover so perplex'd , and so tormented , If you will know ? Behold I am the same , Paris was meant in that true Lovers name : As often , that I might the more se●urely , Speake loose immodest words , that sound impurely , That they offencelesse might your sweet eares tutch , I have lispt them up , like one had drunke too much . Once I remember , your loose vaile betrai'd , Your naked skinne , and a faire passage made , To my ●namored eye , Oh skin much brighter Than snow or purest milke , in colour whiter Than your faire mother Laeda , when Iove grac'd her , And in the shape of Feathered Swan imbrac'd her . Whilst as this ravishing sight I stood amazed , And without interruption freely gazed , The wreathed handle of the Bowle I grasp'd , Fell from my hold , my strengthlesse hand unclasp'd . A Goblet at that time I held by chance , And downe it fell , for I was in a trance . Kisse your faire Daughter , and to her I skip , And snatch your kisses from your sweet childs lippe . Sometimes I throw my selfe along , and lie . Singing Love-songs , and if you cast your eye , On my effeminate gesture , I still finde , Some pretty covered signes to speake my minde ; And then my earnest suit blu●tly invades , Aethra and Climenea your two chiefe maides , But they returne me answers full of feare , And to my motions lend no further eare . Oh that you were the prize of some great strife , And he that wins , might claime you for his wife . Hyppomenes with swift Atlanta ran , And at one course the Goale and Lady wan , Even she , by whom so many Suters perish'd , Was in the bosome of her new Love cheerish'd . So Hercules for Deja●eira strove , Brake Athelous horne , and gain'd his love . Had I such liberty , such freedome granted , My resolution never could be danted ; Your selfe should find , and all the world should see , Hellen ( a prize alone ) reserv'd for me , There is not left me any meanes ( most faire ) To Court you now , but by intreates and prayer , Vnlesse ( as it becomes me you thinke meete , That I should prostrate fall , and kisse your feete . Oh all the honour that our last age wins , Then glory of the two Tindarian Twins , Worthy to be Ioves wife , in heaven to raigne , Were you not Ioves owne Daughter , of his straine . To the Sygean confines I will carry thee , And in the Temple of great Pallas marry thee : Or in this Island where I vent my moanes , I le begge a Tombe for my exiled bones : My wound is not a slight race with an arrow , But it hath pierc'd my heart , and burnt my marrow . This Prophesie my Sister oft hath sounded , That by an heavenly Dart I should be wounded : Oh then forbeare ( faire Hellen ) to oppose you , Against the gods , they say I shall not lose you . Yeeld you to their beheast , and you shall finde , The gods to your pititions likewise kinde . A thousand things at once are in me braine , Which that I may essentially complaine , And not in papers empty all my head , Anon at night receive me to your bed . Blush you at this ! or Lady doe you feare , To violate the Nuptiall lawes austeare ? Oh ( simple Hellen ) Foolish I might say , What profite reape you to be Chaste I pray ? I st possible , that you a world to winne , Should keepe that face , that beauty without sinne ? Rather you most your glorious face exchange , For one ( lesse Faire ) or else not seeme so strange : Beauty and Chastity at variance are , T is hard to finde one woman chaste and faire . Venus will not have beauty over aw'de , High Iove himselfe stolne pleasures will applaude , And by such theevish pastimes we may gather , How Iove'gainst wedlockes lawes , became your father : He and your mother Laeda both transgrest , When you were got she bare a tender breast . What glory can you gaine Love sweetes to smother ? Or to be counted chaster than your mother ? Professe stricke chastity , when with great joy , I lead you as my Bride-espous'd through Troy : Then I inteate you raine your pleasures in , I wish thy Paris may be all thy sinne . If citherea her firme Covenant keepe , Though I with in your bosome nightly sleepe , We shall not much misdoe , but so offend , That we by marriage may our guilt amend . Your husband hath himselfe this businesse aided , And though ( not with his tongue ) he hath perswaded , By all his deeds ( as much ) least he should stay , Our private meetings , he is farre away , Of purpose rid unto the farthest West , That he might leave his wife unto his guest . No fitter time he could have found to visite , The Chrisean royall Scepter , and to ceize it : Oh simple , simple Husband ? but he 's gone , And going , left you this to thinke upon . Faire wife ( quoth he ) I prethee in my place , Regard the Trojan Prince , and doe him grace : Behold , a witnesse I againsts you stand , You have beene carelesse of this kinde command . Count from his first dayes journey , never since , Did you regard or grace the Trojan Prince ; What thinke you of your Husband ? that he knowes The worth and value of the face he owes ? Who ( but a Foole ) such beauty would indanger , Or trust it to the mercy of a Stranger . Then ( royall Queene ) if neither may intreate , My quenchlesse passion , nor Loves raging heate , Can winne you , we are wooed both to this crime , Even by the fit advantage of the time , Either to love sweet sport we must agree , Or shew our selves to be worse fooles than he : He tooke you by the hand the houre he rode , And knowing , I with you must make abode , Brings you to me , what should I further say , It was his minde to give you quite away . What meant he else ? Then le ts be blithe and jolly , And make the best use of your Husbands folly . What should we doe ? Your husband is farre gone , And this cold night ( poore soule ) you lie alone . I want a bedfellow , so doe we either , What lets us then , but that we lie together : You slumbring thinke on me , on you I dreame , Both our desires are fervent , and extreame . Sweet , then appoint the night , why doe you stay ? Oh night , more clearer than the brightest day : Then I dare freely speake , protest , and sweare , And of my vowes the gods shall record beare . Then will I seale the contract , and the strife , From that day forward , we are man and wife : Then questionlesse I shall so farre perswade , That you with me shall Troyes rich Coast invade , And with your Phrygian guest at last agree , Our potent Kingdome and rich Crowne to see . But if you ( blushing ) feare the vulger bruite , That sayes , you follow me , to me make suite , Feare it not Hellen ; I le so worke with Fame , I will ( alone ) be guilty of all blame . Duke Theseus was my instance , and so were Your brothers Lady , Can I come more neere To ensample my attempts by ? Theseus haled Hellen perforce : your brothers they prevailed ; With the Leucippian Sisters , now from these , I le count my selfe the fourth ( if Hellen please . ) Our Trojan Navy rides upon the Coast , Rig'd , arm'd , and man'd , and I can proudly boast , The bankes are high , why doe you longer stay ? The windes and Oares are ready to make way . You shall be like a high Majesticke Queene , Led through the Dardan Citty , and be seene , By millions , who your State having commended , Will ( wondring ) sweare , some Goddesse is discended . Where ere you walke the Priests shall incence burne , No way you shall your eye or body turne But sacrificed beasts the ground shall beate , And bright religious fires the Welken heate , My father , mother , brother , sisters : all Islium and Troy in pompe majesticall , Shall with rich gifts present you ( but alasse ) Not the least part ( so farre they doe surpasse ) Can my Epistle speake , you may behold More than my words or writings can unfold . Nor feare the bruite of warre , or threatning Steele , When we are fled : to dogge us at the heele : Or that all Graecia will their powers unite , Of many ravish'd , can you one recite , Whom warre repurchas'd ? these be idle feares , Rough blustering , Boreas faire Orithea beares , Vnto the land of Thrace , yet Thrace still free , And Athens rais'd no rude Hostility . In winged Pegasus did Iason saile , And from great Colchos he Medea stale : Yet Thessaly you see can shew no scarre , Of former wounds in the Thessalian warre : He that first ravish'd you : In such a Fleete , As ours is , Ariadne brought from Creete : Yet Mynos and Duke Theseus were agreed , About that quarrell , not abreast did bleede . Lesse is the danger ( trust me ) then the feare , That in these vaine and idle doubts appeare . But say rude warre should be proclaim'd at length , Know , I am valiant , and have sinowie strength . The weapons that I use are apt to kill , Asia besides , more spacious fields can fill , With armed men then Greece , amongst us are More perfect Souldiers , more beasts apt for war : Nor can thy husband Menelaus be Of any high spirit and Magnanimity , Or so well prov'd in Armes : for Hellen I , Being but a Lad have made my enemies flie . Regain'd the prey from out the hands of Theeves , Who had desploid our Heards , and stolne our Beeves . By such adventures I my name obtained , ( Being but a Lad ) the conquest I have gained , Of young men in their prime , who much could doe , Deiphebus , Ilione as to . I have o'recome in many sharpe contentions , Nor thinke these are my vaine and forg'd inventions : Or that I onely hand to hand can fight , My arrowes when I please shall touch the white . I am expert in the Quarrey and the Bow , You cannot boast your he artlesse husband so . Had you the power in all things to supply me , And should you nothing in the world deny me , To give me such a Hector to my brother , You could not : the earth beares not such another : By him alone all Asia is well man'd , He like an enemy against Greece shall stand ; Oppos'd to your best fortunes , wherefore strive you , You doe not know his valour that must wive you . Or what hid worth is in me but at length , You will confesse when you have prov'd my strength . Thus either warre shall still our steps pursue , Or Greece shall fall in Troyes all-conquering view : Nor would I feare for such a royall wife , To set the Vniversall world at strife : To gaine rich Prizes men will venture farre , The hope of purchase makes us bold in warre . If all the world about you should contend , Your name would be eterniz'd without end , Onely be bold , and fearelesse may we saile Into my Countrey , with a prosperous gale , If the gods grant me my expected day , I to the full shall all these Covenants pay .

Hellen to Paris . NO sooner came mine eye unto the sight , Of thy rude Lines , but I must needes re-wright . Dar'st thou ( Oh shamelesse ) in such hainous wise , The Lawes of Hospitality despise ? And being a stranger , from thy Countries reach , Solicite a chast wife to wedlockes breach ? Was it for this , our free Tenarian Port , Receiv'd thee and thy traine , in friendly sort ? And when great Neptune nothing could appease , Gave thee safe harbour from the stormy Seas ? Was it for this , our Kingdomes armes spread wide , To entertaine thee from the waters side ? Yet thou of forraigne soyle remote from hence , A stranger , comming we scarce knew from whence . Is perjur'd wrong the recompence of right ? Is all our friendship guerdond with despight ? I doubt me then , whether in our Court doth tarry , A friendly guest , or a fierce adversary . Nor blame me , for if justly you consider , And these presumptions well compare together , So simple my complaint will not appeare , But you your selfe must needs excuse my feare . Well , hold me simple , much it matters not , Whilst I preserve my chaste name farre from spot , For when I seeme touch'd with a bashfull shame , It showes how highly I regard my Fame . For when I seeme sad , my conntenance is not fained , And when I lower , my looke is unconstrained . But say my brow be cloudy , my name's cleree , And reverently you shall of Hellen here . No man from me adulterate spoiles can win , For to this houre I have sported without sin , Which makes me in my heart the more to wonder , What hope you have in time to bring me under . Or from mine eye what comfort thou canst gather , To pitty thee , and not despise thee rather . Because once Theseus hurried me from hence , And did to me a kinde of violence , Followes it therefore , I am of such price , That ravish'd once , I should be ravish'd twice . Was it my fault , because I striv'd in vaine , And wanted strength his fury to restrame ; He flattered and spake faire , I strugled still , And what he got was much against my will . Of all his toile , he reap'd no wished fruit , For with my wrangling I withstood his suite , At length , I was restor'd , untoucht and cleare , In all my Rape , I suffered naught ( save feare ) A f●w untoward kisses , he ( God wot ) Of further favours , he could never boast : Drie , without rellish , by much striving got ; And them with much adoe , and to his cost ; I doubt your purpose aymes at greater blisses , And hardly would alone be pleas'd with kisses . Thou hast some further ayme , and seek'st to doe , What ( Iove defend ) I should consent unto . He beare not thy bad minde , but did restore me , Vnblemish'd , to the place from whence he bore me , The youth was bashfull , and thy boldnesse lackt , And t is well knowne , repented his bold fact . Theseus repented , so should Paris doe , Succeede in Love , and in repentance too ; Nor am I angry : who can angry be With him that loves her ? If your heart agree , With your kinde words , your suite I could applaude : So I were sure your lines were void of fraude . I cast not these strange doubts or this dispense , Like one that were bere●ft all confidence : Nor that I with my selfe am in disgrace , Or doe not know the beauty of my face : But because too much trust hath damag'd such , As have beleev'd men in their loves too much . And now the generall tongue of women saith , Mens words are full of Treason , void of faith . Let others sinne , and houres in pleasures waste , T is rare to finde the sober Matron chaste : Why , sa● it be that sinne prevailes with faire ones , May not my name be rank'd among the rare ones ? Because my mother Laeda was beguilde , Must I stray too that am her eldest childe ? I must confesse my mother made a rape , But Iove beguilde her in a borrowed shape , When she ( poore soule ) not dreampt of god nor man , He trod her like a milke-white feathered Swan : She was deceiv'd by error , if I yeelde To your unjust request , nothing can shield Me from reproach , I cannot pleade concealing , T' was in her , error : t is in me plaine-dealing : She happily err'd . He that her honour spilt , Had in himselfe full power to saule the guilt : Her error happied me too ( I confesse ) If to be Ioves childe , be a happinesse : To omit high Iove , of whom I stand in awe : As the great Grandsire to our Father in Law , To passe the kinne I claime from Tantalus , From Pelopet , and from Noble Tyndarus . Laeda by Iove in shape of Swan beguil'd , Her selfe so chang'd , and by him made with child , Proves Iove my father : then you idly strive , Your name from Gods and Princes to derive . What neede you of old Priam make relation ? Laeomedon or your great Phrygian Nation ? Say , all be true : What then ? He of whom most , To be of your alliance you so boast ; Iove ( five degrees at least ) from you removed , To be the first from me , is plainely proved ; And though ( as I beleeved well ) Troy may stand , Powerfull by Sea , and full of strength by Land , And no Dominion to your state superior , I hold our Clyme nothing to Troy inferior . Say , you in riches passe us , or in number Of people , whom you bost your streets to comber , Yet yours a barbarous Nation is , I tell you , And in that kinde , doe we of Greece excell you . Your rich Epistle doth such gifts present , As might the Goddesses themselves content , And wooe them to your pleasures , but if I Should passe the bonds of shame , and tread awry , If ever you should put me to my shifts , Your selfe should move me more than all your gifts : Or if I ever shall transgresse by stealth , It shall be for your sake , not for your wealth ; But as your gifts I scorne not , so such seeme Most precious , where the giver we esteeme , More then your presence , it shall Hellen please , That you for her have past the stormy Seas , That she hath caus'd your toyl , that you respect her , And more than all your Trojan Dames affect her . But ye 're a wag in troth , the notes and signes , You make a Table , in the meats and wines ; I have observ'd , when I least seem'd to minde them , For at the first my curious eye did finde them . Sometimes ( you wanton ) your fixt eye advances , His brightnesse against mine , darting sweet glances , Out gazing me with such a stedfast looke , That my daz'd eyes their splendor have forsooke : And then you sigh , and by and by you stretch Your amorous arme outright , the bowle to reach That next me stands , making excuse to sip , Iust in the selfesame place that kis'd my lip . How oft have I observ'd your finger make , Trickes and conceited signes , which straight I take ? How often doth you : brow your smooth thoughts cloke , When to ( my seeming ) it hath almost spoke , And still I fear'd my husband would have spi'd yee , In troth you are to blame , and I must chide yee . You are too manifest a Lover ( Tush , ) At such knowne signes I could not chuse but blush , And to my selfe I oft was forc'd to say , This man at nothing shames . Is this ( I pray ) Ought save the truth ? oft times upon the board , Where Hellen was ingraven , you the word , Amo have under-writ , in new spilt wine ; ( Good sooth ) at first I could not skan the line , Nor understand your meaning : Now ( oh spight ) My selfe am now taught , so to Reade and Write . Should I offend , as sinne to me is strange , These blandishments have power chaste thoughts to change , Or if I could be mov'd to step astray , These would provoke me to lascivious play . Besides , I must confesse , you have a face , So admirable rare , so full of grace , That it hath power to wooe , and to make ceasure , Of the most bright chaste beauties to your pleasure : Yet had I rather stainelesse keepe my Fame , Then to a stranger hazzard my good name . Make me your instance , and forbeare the fare , Of that which most doth please you , make most spare . The greatest vertues of which wise men boast , Is to abstaine from that which pleaseth most . How many gallant Youths ( thinke you ) desire , That which you covet ? skorch'd with the selfe-same fire ? Are all the world fooles ? onely Paris wise ? Or is there none save you have judging eyes ? No , no , you view no more than others see , But you are plainer , and more bold with me . You are more earnest to pursue your game . I yeeld you not more knowledge , but lesse shame . I would to God that you had sayl'd from Troy , When my Virginity and bed to enjoy , A thousand gallant Princely Suters came : Had I beheld young Paris , I proclaine , Of all those thousand I had made you chiefe , And Spartan Menelaus to his griefe , Should to my censure have subscribe and yeelded , But now ( alas ) your hopes are weakely builded . You covet goods possest , pleasures fore-tasted , Tardie you come , that should before have hasted , What you desire , another claimes as due , As I could wish t' have beene espoused to you ; So let me tell you , since it is my fate , I hold me happy in this present state . Then cease faire Prince , an idle suite to move , Secke not to harme her whom you seeme to love : In my contented state let me be guided , As both my states and fortunes have provided , Nor in so vaine a quest your spirits toile , To seeke at my hands an unworthy spoyle . But see how soone poore Women are deluded , Venus her selfe this covenant hath concluded , For in the Idaean Vallies you espie , Three Goddesses , stript naked to your eye , And when the first had promis'd you a Crowne , The second Fortitude and warres renowne ; The third b●spake you thus : Crowne , nor Warres pride , Will I bequeath , but Hellen to thy Bride : I scarce beleeve those high immortall Creatures , Would to your eye expose their naked features , Or say the first part of your Tale be pure , And meete with truth : the second's false I 'am sure , In which poore I was thought the greatest meede , In such a high cause by the Gods decreed . I have not of my beauty such opinion , T' imagine it preser'd before Dominion , Or fortitude : nor can your words perswade me , The greatest gift of all , the Goddesse made me . It is enough to me , men praise my face , But from the Gods , I merit no such grace , Nor doth the praise you charge me with offend , me , If Venus doe not enviously commend me . But loe I grant you , and imagine true , Your free report , claiming your praise as due . Who would in pleasing things call Fame a liar , But give that credit , which we most desire . That we have mov'd these doubts be not you grieved , The greatest wonders are the least beleeved ; Know then I first am pleas'd that Venus ought me Such undeserved grace : Next , that you thought me The greatest meede : nor Scepter nor warres Fame . Did you preferre before poore Hellens name . ( Hard-heart , t is time thou shouldst at last come downe : ) Therefore I am your valour , I your Crowne . Your kindnesse conquers me doe what I can . I were hard-hearted , not to love this man : Obdurate I was never , and yet coy , To favour him whom I can ner'e enjoy . What profits it the barren sands to plow , And in the furrowes our affections sow . In the sweete theft of Venus I am rude , And know not how my husband to delude ; Now I these love-lines write , my Pen I vow , Is a new office taught , not knowne till now . Happy are they that in this Trade have skill , ( Alas I am a foole ) and shall be still ; And having till this houre not slept astray , Feare in these sports least I should misse my way . The feare ( no doubt ) is greater than the blame , I stand confounded and amaz'd with shame , And with the very thought of what you seeke , Thinke every eye fixt on my guilty cheeke . Nor are these suppositions meerely vaine , The murmuring people whisperingly complaine , And my maide Aethra hath by listning , slily Brought me such newes , as toucht mine honour highly : Wherefore ( deare Lord ) dissemble or desist , Being over-eyde , we cannot as we list Fashion our sports , our Loves pure harvest gather , But why should you desist ? dissemble rather . Sport ( but in secret ) sport where none may see , The greater , but not greatest liberty : Is limitted to our Lascivious play , That Menalaus is farre hence away . My husband about great affaires is posted , Leaving his royall guest securely hosted , His businesse was important and materiall , Being imploy'd about a Crowne Imperiall : And as he now is mounted on his Steed , Ready on his long journey to proceede ; Even as he questions to depart or stay , Sweet heart ( quoth I ) oh be not long away ; With that he reach'd me a sweete parting kisse , ( How loath he was to leave me , guesse by this . ) Farewell faire wife ( saith he ) bend all thy cares , To my domesticke businesse , home affaires . But as the thing that I affection best , Sweet wife , looke well unto my Trojan guest . It was no sooner out but with much paine , My itching spleene from laughter I restraine , Which striving to keepe in and bridle still , At length I wrung sorth these few words ( I will . ) Hee 's on his journey to the Isle of Creete , But thinke not we may therefore safely meete . He is so absent , that as present I , Am still within his reach , his Eare his Eye , And though abroad , his power at home commands , For know you not Kings have long reaching hands ? The fame for beauty you besides have given me , Into a great exigent hath driven me : The more your commendation fild his eare , The more just cause my husband hath to feare . Nor marvell you the King hath left me so , Into remote and forraigne Climes to goe , Much confidence he dares repose in me , My carriage , haviour , and my modesty , My beauty he mistrusts , my heart relies in , My face he feares , my Chaste life he affies in . To take time now when time is , you perswade me , And with his apt fit absence you invade me : I would , but feare , nor is my minde well set , My will would further , what my feare doth let . I have no husband here , and you no wife , I love your shape , you mine , deare as your life . The nights seeme long to such as sleepe alone , Our letters meete to enterchange our moane . You judge me beautious , I esteeme you faire , Vnder one roofe we Lovers lodged ar● . And ( let me die ) but every thing consider , Each thing perswades us we shall lie together . Nothing we see molests us , naught we heare , And yet my forward will is slacke through feare . I would to God that what you ill perswade , You could as well compell , so I were made , Vn-willing willing , pleasingly abusde , So my simplicity might be excus'de . Injuries force is oft times wondrous pleasing , To such as suffer ease in their diseasing . If what I will , you 'gainst my will should doe , I with such force could be well pleased too . But whilst our love is young and in the bud , Suffer his infant vigor be withstood . A flame new kindled is as easily quench'd , And sudden sparkles in little drops are drench'd : A Travellers Love is like himselfe , unstaid , And wanders where he walkes , it is not laid On any firmer ground , for when we alone Thinke him to us , the winde blowes faire , hee 's gone : Witnesse Hhysiphile , alike betraide , Witnesse with her the bright Mynoyan maide : Nay then your selfe , as you your selfe have spoken : To faire Oenon have your promise broken , Since I beheld your face first , my desire Hath beene , of Trojan Paris to inquire : I know you now in every true respect , I le grant you thus much then , say you affect Me ( whom you terme your owne . ) I le grow thus farre Doe not the Phagian marriners prepare , Their sailes and Oares , and now whilst we recite , Exchange of words about the wished night : Say that even now you were prepar'd to clime My long wish'd bed , just at th' appointed time , The winde should alter and blow faire for Troy , You must brake off , in midst of all your joy , And leave me in the infancy of pleasure , A mid my riches , I shall lose my treasure . You will forsake the sweets my bed affoords , Texchange for Cabins , Hatches , and pitch'd boords , Then what a fickle Courtship you commince , When , with the first winde , all your Love blowes hence . But shall I follow you when you are gone , And be the grand-child to L●omedon ? And Islium see whose beautie you proclaime ? I doe not so despise the bruit of Fame . That she to whom I am indebt such thankes , Should fill the Earth with such adulterate pranks : What will Achaia ? what will Sparta say ? What will your Troy report and Asia ? What may old Priam or his reverent Queene ? What may your Sisters having Hellen seene , Or your Dardanidan brothers deeme of me ? Will they not blame my loose inchastity : Nay , how can you your selfe faithfull deeme me , And not amongst the loosest Dames esteeme me . No stranger shall your Asian Poets come neare , But he shall fill your guilty soule with feare . How often ( angry at some small offence ) Will you thus say ; Adultresse , get thee hence , Forgetting you your selfe have beene the chiefe In my transgression , though not in my griefe . Consider what it is forgetfull Lover , To be sinnes Author , and sinnes sharpe reprover . But ere the least of all these ills betide me , I wish the earth may in her bosome hide me . But I shall all your Phrigyan wealth possesse , And more than your Epistle can expresse ; Gifts , woven gold , imbrodery , rich attire , Purple and Plate , or what I can desire ? Yet give me leave , thinke you all this extends , To counter-vaile the losse of my chiefe friends ? Whose friendship , or whose aide shall I imploy , To succour me when I am wrong'd in Troy . Or whether can I , having thus mis-done . Vnto my Father or my Brothers runne . As much as you to me , false Iason swore , Vnto Medea , yet from Aesons doore , He after did exile her : Now poore heart , Where is thy Father that should take thy part ? Old Aetes or Calciope ? thou tookest No aide from them , who thou before forsookest . Or say thou didst ( alas they cannot heare Thy sad complaints ) yet I no such thing feare , No more Medea did , good hopes ingage Themselves so farre , they faile in their presage : You see the ships that in the Mayne are tost , And many times by tempests wrackt and lost , Had at their launcing from the Havens mouth , A smooth sea , and a calme gale from the South . Besides , the brand your mother dreampt she bare The night before your birth , breeds me fresh care , It prophecide , ere many yeares expire , Inflam'd Troy must burne with Greekish fire , As Venus favours you , because she gained , A double prize by you ; yet the disdained And vanquish'd Goddesses , disgrac'd so late , May beare you hard , I therefore feare their hate : Nor make no question , but if I consort you , And for a Ravisher our Greece report you : Warre will be wag'd with Troy , and you shall rue , The sword ( alas ) your conquest shall pursue . When Hypodamia at her brideale feast , Was rudely ravished by her Centaur guest , Because the Salvages the Bride durst ceaze , Warre grew betwixt them and the Lapythes : Or thinke you Menela●● hath no spleene ? Or that he hath not power to avenge his teene ? Or that old Tyndarus this wrong can smother ? Or the two famous Twins each lov'd of other . So where your valour and rare deedes you boast , And warlike spirits in which you triumph most ; By which you have attain'd'mongst Souldiers grace , None will beleeve you that but sees your face , Your feature and faire shape , is fitter farre For amorus Courtships , than remorselesse warre : Let rough hew'd Souldiers warlike dangers prove , T is pitty Paris should doe ought save love . Hector ( whom you so praise ) for you may fight , I le finde you warre to skirmish every night , Which shall become you better : were I wise , And bold withall , I might obtaine the prize , In such sweete single Combats , hand to hand , 'Gainst which no woman that is wise will stand : My Champion I le encounter breast to breast , Though I were sure to fall , and be o'repreast . In that your private conference intreate me , I apprehend you , and you cannot cheate me , I know the meaning , durst I yeeld there to , Of what you would conferre ; what you would doe , You are too forward , you too farre would wade , But yet ( God knowes ) your harvests in the blade . My tyred pen shall here his labour end . A guilty sence in theevish lines I send . Speake next when your occasion best perswades , By Clymenea and Aethra my two maides .

The Passionate Shepheard to his Love . LIve with me and be my Love , And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and vallies , dales and fields , And all the craggy mountaines yeelds . There will we sit upon the Rockes , And see the Shepheards feede their flocks , By shallow Rivers by whose falles Melodious birds sing Madrigales . There will I make thee a bed of Roses , With a thousand fragrant poses , A cap of flowers , and a Kirtle Imbrodered all with leaves of Mirtle . A gowne made of the finest wooll , Which from our pretty Lambes we pull , Faire lined slippars for the cold , With buckles of the purest gold . A belt of straw and Ivie buds , With Corall Claspes and Amber studs , And if these pleasures may thee move , Then live with me and be my Love . The Shepheards Swaines shall dance and sing , For thy delight each May morning ; If these delights thy minde may move , Then live with me and be my love .

The Nimphs reply to the Shepheard . IF that the world and Love were young , And truth in every shepheards tongue , These pretty pleasures might me move , To live with thee and be thy Love . Time drives the flockes from field to fould , When River rage , and Rocks grow cold , And Philomell becometh dumbe , The rest complaines of cares to come . The flowers doe fade , and wanton fields , To wayward Winter reckoning yeelds , A hony tongue , a heart of gall , Is fancies spring , but sorrowes fall . Thy Gownes , thy Shooes , thy bed of Roses , Thy Cap , thy Kirtle and thy Posies , Some breake , some wither , some forgotten , In folly ripe , in Reason rotten . Thy belt of straw and Ivie buds , Thy Corell Claspes and Amber studs , All these in me no meanes can move . To come to thee and be thy Love . But could youth last , and Love still breede , Had joyes no date , not age no neede , Then these delights my minde might move ; To live with thee and be thy Love .

Another of the same Nature . COme live with me and be my deare , And we will revill all the yeare , In plaines and groves , on hills and dales , Where fragrant ayre breeds sweetest gales . There shall you have the beautious Pine , The Ceder and the spreading Vine , And all the woods to be a skrene , Least Phoebus kisse my Summers Queene . The seat for your disport shall be , Over some River in a Tree , Where silver sands , and pebbles sing , Eternall ditties with the Spring . There shall you see the Nymphs at play , And how the Satyres spend the day , The fishes gliding on the sands , Offring their bellies to your hands . The Birds with heavenly tuned throates , Possesse woods Ecchoes with sweet notes , Which to your sences will impart , A musique to inflame the heart . Vpon the bare and leafelesse Oake , The Ring-Doves w●●ing● will provoke , A colder blood then you possesse , To play with me and doe no lesse . In bowers of Lawrell trimly dight , We will outweare the silent night , While Flora busie is to spread , Her richest treasure on our bed . Ten Glow-wormes shall attend , And all their sparkling lights shall spend , All to adorne and beautifie Your lodging with most majestie . Then in my armes will I inclose , Lillies faire mixture with the Rose , Whose nice perfections in Loves play , Shall turne me to the highest Key . Thus as we passe the welcome night , In sportfull pléasures and delight , The nimble Faries on the grounds , Shall dance and sing melodious sounds . If these may serve for to intice . Your presence to Loves Paradise , Then come with me and be my deare , And we will straight begin the yeare .

TAke , O take those lippes away , That so sweetly were forsworne , And those eyes the breake of day Lights which doe mislead the morne . But my kisses bring againe , Seales of Love , though seal'd in vaine . Hide , O hide those hills of Snow Which thy frozen bosome beares , On whose toppes the Pinkes that grow , Are of those that Aprils weares . But my poore heart first set free , Bound in those Icy chaines by thee .

LEt the bird of lowest lay On the sole Arabian tree , Herauld sad and Trumpet be , To whose sound , chast wings obay . But thou shrinking harbinger , Foule precurrer of the fiend , Augour of the feavers end , To this Troope come thou not neere . From this Session interdict , Every foule of Tyrant wing , Save the Eagle feathered King , Keepe the obsequie so strict . Let the Priest in Surplis white , That defuntive Musicke can , Be the death divining Swan , Lest the Requiem lack his right . And thou treble dated Crow , That thy sable gender mak'st , With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st , 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go . Here the Anthem doth commence , Love and constancie is dead , Poenix and the Turtle Fled , In a mutuall flame from hence . So they loved as love in twaine , Had the essence but in one , Two distincts but in none , Number there in love was slaine , Hearts remote , yet not asunder , Distance and no space was seene , Twixt thy Turtle and his Queene , But in them it were a wonder . So betweene them Love did shine , That the Turtle saw his right , Flaming in the Phoenix sight , Either was the others mine . Propertie was thus appalled , That the selfe was not the same , Single Natures double name , Neither two nor one was called . Reason in it selfe confounded , Saw division grow together , To themselves yet either neither , Simple were so well compounded . That it cried how true a twaine , Seemeth this concordant one , Love hath Reason , Reason none , If what parts can so remaine . Whereupon it made this Threne , To the Phoenix and the Dove , Co-supreames and starres of Love , As Chorus to their tragique Scene .

Threnes . BEauty , Truth , and Raritie ▪ Grace in all Simpliicity , Hence inclosed , in c●●ers lie . Death is now the Phoenix nest , And the Turtles loyall breast , To eternity doth rest . Leaving no posterity T was not their infirmity , It was married Chastity . Truth may seeme but cannot be , Beauty bragge , but t is not shee , Truth and Beautie buried be . To this Vrne let those repaire , That are either true or fa●●● , For these dead birds sigh a prayer .

WHy should this Desart be , for it is unpeopled ? N● : Tongue , I le hang on every tree . That shall civill sayings shoe . Some how briefe the life of Man runnes his erring Pilgrimage , That the stretching of a Span. buckles in his some of age . Some of violated vowes , twixt the soules of friend and friend , But upon the fairest bowes , or at every sentence end ; Will I Rosalinda write , Teaching all that read to know , The quintissence of every sprite . heaven would in little show . Therefore Heaven Nature chang'd , that one body should be fill'd With all graces wide inlarg'd , nature presently distill'd . Hellens cheeke , but not his heart , Cleopatria's Majestie : Atlanta's better part , sad Lu●recia's modestie . Thus Rosalinde of many parts by heavenly Synods was devis'd Of many faces , eyes and hearts , to have the touches deerest pris'd Heaven would these gifts she should have , and I to live and die her slave .

An Epitaph on the admirable Dramaticke Poet , William ' Sheakespeare . What neede my Shakespeare for his honoured bones , The labour of an age , in piled stones , Or that his hallow'd Relikes should be hid , Vnder a starte-ypointing Pyramid ? Deare Sonne of Memory , great heire of Fame , What needs thou such weake witnesse of thy name . Thou in our wonder and astoneshment , Hast built thy selfe a live-long Monument : For whilst to th' shame of slow endevouring Art , Thy easie numbers flow , and that each heart , Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu'd Booke , Those Delphicke lines with deepe Impression tooke . Then thou our fancy of our selfe bereaving , Dost make us marble with too much conceiving , And so Sepulcher'd in such pompe doth lie , That Kings for such a Tombe would wish to die . I. M.

On the death of William Shakespeare , who died in Aprill , Anno Dom. 1616. REnowned Spenser lie a thought more nigh To learned Chauser , and rare Beaumount lie A little neerer Spenser to make roome , For Shakespeare in your three-fold , foure-fold Tombe ; To lodge all foure in one bed make a shift , Vntill Dommes-day , for hardly shall a fift Betwixt this day and that by Fate be slaine , For whom your Curtaines may be drawne againe . If your precedencie in death doth barre , A fourth place in your sacred Sepulchre ! Vnder this sacred Marble of thy owne , Sleepe rare Tragedian Shakespeare , sleepe alone ; Thy unmolested peace in an unshar'd Cave , Possesse as Lord , not Tennant of thy Grave . That unto us , and others it may be , Honour hereafter to be laid by thee . W. B.

An Elegie on the death of that famous Writer and Actor , M. William Shakspeare . I Dare not doe thy Memory that wrong , Vnto our larger griefes to give a tongue ; I le onely sigh in earnest , and let fall My solemne teares at thy great Funerall ; For every eye that raines a showre for thee , Laments thy losse in a sad Elegie . Nor is it fit each humble Muse should have , Thy worth his subject , now th' art laid in grave ; No its a flight beyond the pitch of those , Whose worthles Pamphlets are not sence in Prose . Let learned Iohnson sing a Dirge for thee , And fill our Orbe with mournefull harmony : But we neede no Remembrancer , thy Fame Shall still accompany thy honoured Name , To all posterity ; and make us be . Sensible of what we lost in losing thee : Being the Ages wonder whose smooth Rhimes , Did more reforme than lash the looser Times . Nature her selfe did her owne selfe admire , As oft as thou wert pleased to attire Her in her native lusture , and confesse , Thy dressing was her chiefest comlinesse . How can we then forget thee , when the age Her chiefest Tutor , and the widdowed Stage Her onely favorite in thee hath lost , And Natures selfe what she did bragge of most . Sleepe then rich soule of numbers , whilst poore we , Enjoy the profits of thy Legacie ; And thinke it happinesse enough we have , So much of thee redeemed from the grave , As may suffice to enlighten future times , With the bright lustre of thy matchlesse Rhimes .

FINIS .