AUTHOR Philip Sidney

TITLE Astrophel and Stella

RHYME a b a b a b a b c d c d e e

    LOuing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show,
    That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine,
    Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,
    Knowledge might pittie winne, and pity grace obtaine,
    I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe;
    Studying inuentions fine, her wits to entertaine,
    Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flow
    Some fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sun-burnd brain.
    But words came halting forth, wanting Inuentions stay;
    Inuention, Natures childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowes;
    And others feet still seemde but strangers in my way.
    Thus, great with childe to speak, and helplesse in my throwes,
    Biting my trewand pen, beating myselfe for spite,
    Fool, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart, and write. 

RHYME a b b a a b b a c d c d e e

    Not at the first sight, nor with a dribbed shot,
    Loue gaue the wound, which, while I breathe, will bleede;
    But knowne worth did in tract of time proceed,
    Till by degrees, it had full conquest got.
    I saw and lik'd; I lik'd but loued not;
    I lou'd, but straight did not what Loue decreed:
    At length, to Loues decrees I, forc'd, agreed,
    Yet with repining at so partiall lot.
    Now, euen that footstep of lost libertie
    Is gone; and now, like slaue-borne Muscouite,
    I call it praise to suffer tyrannie;
    And nowe imploy the remnant of my wit
    To make myselfe beleeue that all is well,
    While, with a feeling skill, I paint my hell. 

RHYME a b a b a b a b c c d e e d 

    Let dainty wits crie on the Sisters nine,
    That, brauely maskt, their fancies may be told;
    Or, Pindars apes, flaunt they in phrases fine,
    Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold;
    Or else let them in statlier glorie shine,
    Ennobling new-found tropes with problemes old;
    Or with strange similes enrich each line,
    Of herbes or beasts which Inde or Affrick hold.
    For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know,
    Phrases and problems from my reach do grow;
    And strange things cost too deare for my poor sprites.
    How then? euen thus: in Stellaes face I reed
    What Loue and Beautie be; then all my deed
    But copying is, what in her Nature writes. 

RHYME a b a b a b a b c c d e e d 

    Vertue, alas, now let me take some rest;
    Thou setst a bate betweene my will and wit;
    If vaine Loue haue my simple soule opprest,
    Leaue what thou lik'st not, deale thou not with it.
    Thy scepter vse in some old Catoes brest,
    Churches or Schooles are for thy seat more fit;
    I do confesse (pardon a fault confest)
    My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit.
    But if that needes thou wilt vsurping be
    The little reason that is left in me,
    And still th'effect of thy perswasions prooue,
    I sweare, my heart such one shall show to thee,
    That shrines in flesh so true a deitie,
    That, Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in loue. 

RHYME a b a b b a b a c d c d e e 

    It is most true that eyes are form'd to serue
    The inward light, and that the heauenly part
    Ought to be King, from whose rules who do swerue,
    Rebels to nature, striue for their owne smart.
    It is most true, what we call Cupids dart
    An image is, which for ourselues we carue,
    And, foolse, adore in temple of our hart,
    Till that good god make church and churchmen starue.
    True, that true beautie virtue is indeed,
    Whereof this beautie can be but a shade,
    Which, elements with mortal mixture breed.
    True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made,
    And should in soule up to our countrey moue:
    True, and yet true that I must Stella loue. 

RHYME a b a b b a b a c c d e e d 

    Some louers speake, when they their Muses entertaine,
    Of hopes begot by feare, of wot not what desires,
    Of force of heau'nly beames infusing hellish paine,
    Of liuing deaths, dere wounds, faire storms, and freesing fires:
    Some one his song in Ioue and Ioues strange tales attires,
    Bordred with buls and swans, powdred with golden raine:
    Another, humbler wit, to shepherds pipe retires,
    Yet hiding royall bloud full oft in rurall vaine.
    To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest stile affords:
    While teares poure out his inke, and sighes breathe out his words,
    His paper pale despaire, and pain his pen doth moue.
    I can speake what I feele, and feele as much as they,
    But thinke that all the map of my state I display
    When trembling voyce brings forth, that I do Stella loue. 

RHYME a b a b a b a b c d c d e e 

    When Nature made her chief worke, Stellas eyes,
    In colour blacke why wrapt she beames so bright?
    Would she in beamy blacke, like Painter wise,
    Frame daintiest lustre, mixt of shades and light?
    Or did she else that sober hue deuise,
    In obiect best to knitt and strength our sight;
    Least, if no vaile these braue gleames did disguise,
    They, sunlike, should more dazle then delight?
    Or would she her miraculous power show,
    That, whereas blacke seems Beauties contrary,
    She euen in black doth make all beauties flow?
    Both so, and thus, she, minding Loue should be
    Plac'd euer there, gaue him this mourning weede
    To honour all their deaths who for her bleed. 

TITLE Songs

RHYME a a b a 

    Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes entendeth,
    Which now my breast, surcharg'd, to musick lendeth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Only in you my song begins and endeth.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the eyes which marrie state with pleasure!
    Who keeps the key of Natures cheifest treasure!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Only for you the heau'n forgate all measure.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the lips, where wit in fairnesse raigneth!
    Who womankind at once both deckes and stayneth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Onely by you Cupid his crowne maintaineth.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the feet, whose step all sweetnesse planteth!
    Who else, for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Onely to you her scepter Venus granteth.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the breast, whose milk doth patience nourish!
    Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Onelie through you the tree of life doth flourish.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the hand which, without stroke, subdueth!
    Who long-dead beautie with increase reneueth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Onely at you all enuie hopelesse rueth.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the haire, which, loosest, fastest tieth!
    Who makes a man liue, then glad when he dieth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Only of you the flatterer neuer lieth.

RHYME a a b a 

    Who hath the voyce, which soule from sences thunders!
    Whose force, but yours, the bolts of beautie thunders!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due,
    Only with you not miracles are wonders.

RHYME a a b a 

    Doubt you, to whome my Muse these notes intendeth,
    Which now my breast, oercharg'd, to musicke lendeth!
    To you, to you, all song of praise is due:
    Only in you my song begins and endeth.

TITLE

RHYME a b b a 

    Haue I caught my heau'nly iewell,
    Teaching Sleepe most faire to be!
    Now will I teach her that she,
    When she wakes, is too-too cruell.

RHYME a b b a 

    Since sweet Sleep her eyes hath charmed,
    The two only darts of Loue,
    Now will I, with that Boy, proue,
    Some play, while he is disamed.

RHYME a b b a 

    Her tongue, waking, still refuseth,
    Giuing frankly niggard no:
    Now will I attempt to know
    What no her tongue, sleeping, vseth.

RHYME a b b a 

    See the hand that, waking, gardeth,
    Sleeping, grants a free resort:
    Now I will inuade the fort,
    Cowards Loue with losse rewardeth.

RHYME a b b a 

    But, O foole, thinke of the danger
    Of her iust and high disdaine;
    Now will I, alas, refraine;
    Loue feares nothing else but anger.

RHYME a b b a 

    Yet those lips, so sweetly swelling,
    Do inuite a stealing kisse.
    Now will I but venture this;
    Who will reade, must first learne spelling.

RHYME a b b a 

    Oh, sweet kisse! but ah, shes waking!
    Lowring beautie chastens me:
    Now will I for feare hence flee;
    Foole, more Foole for no more taking.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c 

    If Orpheus voyce had force to breathe such musickes loue
    Through pores of senceles trees, as it could make them moue;
    If stones good measure daunc'd, the Theban walles to build
    To cadence of the tunes which Amphions lyre did yeeld;
    More cause a like effect at least-wise bringeth:
    O stones, O trees, learne hearing,--Stella singeth.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    If loue might sweeten so a boy of shepheard brood,
    To make a lyzard dull, to taste loues dainty food;
    If eagle fierce could so in Grecian mayde delight,
    As her eyes were his light, her death his endlesse night,
    Earth gaue that loue; heau'n, I trow, loue refineth,
    O birds, O beasts, looke loue (lo) Stella shineth.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    The beasts, birds, stones, and trees feele this, and, feeling, loue;
    And if the trees nor stones stirre not the same to proue,
    Nor beasts nor birds do come vnto this blessed gaze,
    Know that small loue is quicke, and great loue doth amaze;
    They are amaz'd, but you with reason armed,
    O eyes, O eares of men, how you are charmed!

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Onely Ioy, now here you are,
    Fit to heare and ease my care,
    Let my whispering voyce obtaine
    Sweete reward for sharpest paine;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Night hath closde all in her cloke,
    Twinkling starres loue-thoughts prouoke,
    Danger hence, good care doth keepe,
    Iealouzie hemselfe doth sleepe;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Better place no wit can finde,
    Cupids knot to loose or binde;
    These sweet flowers our fine bed too,
    Vs in their best language woo:
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    This small light the moone bestowes
    Serues thy beames but to disclose;
    So to raise my hap more hie,
    Feare not else, none vs can spie;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    That you heard was but a mouse,
    Dumbe Sleepe holdeth all the house:
    Yet asleepe, me thinkes they say,
    Yong fooles take time while you may;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Niggard time threates, if we misse
    This large offer of our blisse,
    Long stay, ere he graunt the same:
    Sweet, then, while ech thing doth frame,
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Your faire Mother is abed,
    Candles out and curtaines spred;
    She thinkes you do letters write;
    Write, but first let me endite;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Sweete, alas, why striue you thus?
    Concord better fitteth vs;
    Leaue to Mars the force of hands,
    Your power in your beautie stands;
    Take me to thee, and thee to mee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Wo to mee, and do you sweare
    Me to hate, but I forbeare?
    Cursed be my destines all,
    That brought me so high to fall;
    Soone with my death I will please thee:
    No, no, no, no, my Deare, let bee.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b 

    While fauour fed my hope, delight with hope was brought,
    Thought waited on delight, and speech did follow thought;
    Then grew my tongue and pen records vnto thy glory,
    I thought all words were lost that were not spent of thee,
    I thought each place was darke but where thy lights would be,
    And all eares worse than deaf that heard not out thy storie.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    I said thou wert most faire, and so indeed thou art;
    I said thou wert most sweet, sweet poison to my heart;
    I said my soule was thine, O that I then had lyed;
    I said thine eyes were starres, thy breast the milken way,
    Thy fingers Cupids shafts, thy voyce the angels lay:
    And all I said so well, as no man it denied.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    But now that hope is lost, vnkindnesse kils delight;
    Yet thought and speech do liue, though metamorphos'd quite,
    For rage now rules the raines which guided were by pleasure;
    I thinke now of thy faults, who late thought of thy praise,
    That speech falles now to blame, which did thy honour raise,
    The same key open can, which can lock vp a treasure.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Then thou, whom partiall heauens conspird in one to frame
    The proofe of Beauties worth, th'inheritrix of fame,
    The mansion seat of blisse, and iust excuse of louers;
    See now those feathers pluckt, wherewith thou flew'st most high:
    See what cloudes of reproach shall dark thy honours skie:
    Whose owne fault cast him downe hardly high state recouers.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    And, O my muse, though oft you luld her in your lap,
    And then a heau'nly Child, gaue her Ambrosian pap,
    And to that braine of hers your kindest gifts infused;
    Since she, disdaining me, doth you in me disdaine,
    Suffer not her to laugh, while both we suffer paine.
    Princes in subiects wrong must deeme themselues abused.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Your client, poore my selfe, shall Stella handle so!
    Reuenge! revenge! my Muse! defiance trumpet blow;
    Threaten what may be done, yet do more then you threaten;
    Ah, my sute granted is, I feele my breast doth swell;
    No, child, a lesson new you shall begin to spell,
    Sweet babes must babies haue, but shrewd gyrles must be beaten.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thinke now no more to heare of warme fine-odour'd snow,
    Nor blushing Lillies, nor pearles Ruby-hidden row,
    Nor of that golden sea, whose waues in curles are broken,
    But of thy soule, so fraught with such vngratefulnesse,
    As where thou soone might'st helpe, most faith dost most oppresse;
    Vngratefull, who is cald, the worst of euils is spoken,

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Yet worse then worst, I say thou art a Theefe, A theefe!
    Now God forbid! a theefe! and of wurst theeues the cheefe:
    Theeues steal for need, and steale but goods which paine recouers,
    But thou, rich in all ioyes, dost rob my ioyes from me,
    Which cannot be restord by time or industrie:
    Of foes the spoyle is euill, far worse of constant louers.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Yet--gentle English theeues do rob, but will not slay,
    Thou English murdring theefe, wilt haue harts for thy prey:
    The name of murdrer now on thy faire forehead sitteth,
    And euen while I do speake, my death wounds bleeding be,
    Which, I protest, proceed from only cruell thee:
    Who may, and will not saue, murder in truth committeth.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    But murder, priuate fault, seemes but a toy to thee:
    I lay then to thy charge vniustest tyrannie,
    If rule by force, without all claim, a Tyran showeth;
    For thou dost lord my heart, who am not borne thy slaue,
    And, which is worse, makes me, most guiltlesse, torments haue:
    A rightfull prince by vnright deeds a Tyran groweth.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Lo, you grow proud with this, for Tyrans make folke bow:
    Of foule rebellion then I do appeach thee now,
    Rebell by Natures law, rebell by law of Reason:
    Thou, sweetest subiect wert, borne in the realme of Loue,
    And yet against thy prince thy force dost daily proue:
    No vertue merits praise, once toucht with blot of Treason.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    But valiant Rebels oft in fooles mouths purchase fame:
    I now then staine thy white with vagabonding shame,
    Both rebell to the sonne and vagrant from the mother;
    For wearing Venus badge in euery part of thee,
    Vnto Dianaes traine thou, runnaway, didst flie:
    Who faileth one is false, though trusty to another.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    What, is not this enough! nay, farre worse commeth here;
    A witch, I say, thou art, though thou so faire appeare;
    For, I protest, my sight neuer thy face enioyeth,
    But I in me am chang'd, I am aliue and dead,
    My feete are turn'd to rootes, my hart becommeth lead:
    No witchcraft is so euill as which mans mind destroyeth.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Yet witches may repent; thou art farre worse then they:
    Alas that I am forst such euill of thee to say:
    I say thou art a diuell, though cloth'd in angels shining;
    For thy face tempts my soule to leaue the heauens for thee,
    And thy words of refuse do powre euen hell on mee:
    Who tempt, and tempting plague, are diuels in true defining.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    You, then, vngrateful theefe, you murdring Tyran, you,
    You rebell runaway, to lord and lady vntrue,
    You witch, you Diuell (alas) you still of me beloued,
    You see what I can say; mend yet your froward mind,
    And such skill in my Muse, you, reconcil'd, shall find,
    That all these cruell words your praises shalbe proued.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 

    O you that heare this voice,
    O you that see this face,
    Say whether of the choice
    Deserues the former place:
    Feare not to iudge this bate,
    For it is void of hate.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    This side doth Beauty take.
    For that doth Musike speake;
    Fit Oratours to make
    The strongest iudgements weake:
    The barre to plead their right
    Is only true delight.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    Thus doth the voice and face,
    These gentle Lawiers, wage,
    Like louing brothers case,
    For fathers heritage;
    That each, while each contends,
    It selfe to other lends.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    For Beautie beautifies
    With heau'nly hew and grace
    The heau'nly harmonies;
    And in this faultlesse face
    The perfect beauties be
    A perfect harmony.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    Musick more loftly swels
    In speeches nobly plac'd;
    Beauty as farre excels,
    In action aptly grac'd:
    A friend each party draws
    To countenance his cause.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    Loue more affected seemes
    To Beauties louely light;
    And Wonder more esteemes
    Of Musickes wondrous might;
    But both to both so bent,
    As both in both are spent.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    Musicke doth witnesse call
    The eare his truth to trie;
    Beauty brings to the hall
    Eye-iudgement of the eye:
    Both in their obiects such,
    As no exceptions tutch.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    The common sense, which might
    Be arbiter of this,
    To be, forsooth, vpright,
    To both sides partiall is;
    He layes on this chiefe praise,
    Chiefe praise on that he laies.

RHYME a b a b c c 

    Then reason, princesse hy,
    Whose throne is in the minde,
    Which Musicke can in sky
    And hidden beauties finde,
    Say whether thou wilt crowne
    With limitlesse renowne?

TITLE

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Whose senses in so euill consort their stepdame Nature laies,
    That rauishing delight in them most sweete tunes do not raise;
    Or if they do delight therein, yet are so closde with wit,
    As with ententious lips to set a title vaine on it;
    O let them heare these sacred tunes, and learne in Wonders scholes,
    To be, in things past bounds of wit, fooles: if they be not fooles.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Who haue so leaden eyes, as not to see sweet Beauties show,
    Or, seeing, haue so wooden wits, as not that worth to know,
    Or, knowing, haue so muddy minds, as not to be in loue,
    Or, louing, haue so frothy thoughts, as eas'ly thence to moue;
    O let them see these heau'nly beames, and in faire letters reede
    A lesson fit, both sight and skill, loue and firme loue to breede.

RHYME a a b b c c 

    Heare then, but then with wonder heare, see, but adoring, see,
    No mortall gifts, no earthly fruites, now here descended be:
    See, doo you see this face? a face, nay, image of the skies,
    Of which the two life-giuing lights are figur'd in her eyes:
    Heare you this soule-inuading voice, and count it but a voice?
    The very essence of their tunes, when angels do reioyce.

TITLE

RHYME a a b b 

    In a groue most rich of shade,
    Where birds wanton musicke made,
    Maie, then yong, his pide weedes showing,
    New-perfum'd with flowers fresh growing:

RHYME a a b b 

    Astrophel with Stella sweet
    Did for mutual comfort meete,
    Both within themselues oppressed,
    But each in the other blessed.

RHYME a a b b 

    Him great harmes had taught much care,
    Her faire necke a foule yoke bare;
    But her sight his cares did banish,
    In his sight her yoke did vanish:

RHYME a a b b 

    Wept they had, alas, the while,
    But now teares themselues did smile,
    While their eyes, by Loue directed,
    Enterchangeably reflected.

RHYME a a b b 

    Sigh they did; but now betwixt
    Sighes of woe were glad sighes mixt;
    With arms crost, yet testifying
    restlesse rest, and liuing dying.

RHYME a a b b 

    Their eares hungrie of each word
    Which the deare tongue would afford;
    But their tongues restrain'd from walking,
    Till their harts had ended talking.

RHYME a a b b 

    But when their tongues could not speake,
    Loue it selfe did silence breake;
    Loue did set his lips asunder,
    Thus to speake in loue and wonder.

RHYME a a b b 

    Stella, Soueraigne of my ioy,
    Faire triumpher of annoy;
    Stella, Starre of heauenly fier,
    Stella, loadstar of desier;

RHYME a a b b 

    Stella, in whose shining eyes
    Are the lights of Cupids skies,
    Whose beames, where they once are darted,
    Loue therewith is streight imparted;

RHYME a a b b 

    Stella, whose voice when it speakes
    Senses all asunder breakes;
    Stella, whose voice, when it singeth,
    Angels to acquaintance bringeth;

RHYME a a b b 

    Stella, in whose body is
    Writ each caracter of blisse;
    Whose face all, all beauty passeth,
    Saue thy mind, which it surpasseth.

RHYME a a b b 

    Graunt, O graunt; but speach, alas,
    Failes me, fearing on to passe:
    Graunt, O me: what am I saying?
    But no fault there is in praying.

RHYME a a b b 

    Graunt (O Deere) on knees I pray,
    (Knees on ground he then did stay)
    That, not I, but since I loue you,
    Time and place for me may moue you.

RHYME a a b b 

    Neuer season was more fit;
    Never roome more apt for it;
    Smiling ayre allowes my reason;
    These birds sing, Now vse the season.

RHYME a a b b 

    This small wind, which so sweete is,
    See how it the leaues doth kisse;
    Each tree in his best attiring,
    Sense of Loue to Loue inspiring.

RHYME a a b b 

    Loue makes earth the water drink,
    Loue to earth makes water sinke;
    And, if dumbe things be so witty,
    Shall a heauenly Grace want pitty?

RHYME a a b b 

    There his hands, in their speech, faine
    Would haue made tongues language plaine;
    But her hands, his hands repelling,
    Gaue repulse all grace expelling.

RHYME a a b b 

    Then she spake; her speech was such,
    So not eares, but hart did tuch:
    While such-wise she loue denied,
    And yet loue she signified.

RHYME a a b b 

    Astrophel, sayd she, my loue,
    Cease, in these effects, to proue;
    Now be still, yet still beleeue me,
    Thy griefe more then death would grieue me.

RHYME a a b b 

    If that any thought in me
    Can tast comfort but of thee,
    Let me, fed with hellish anguish,
    Ioylesse, hopelesse, endlesse languish.

RHYME a a b b 

    If those eyes you praised be
    Halfe so deare as you to me,
    Let me home returne, starke blinded
    Of those eyes, and blinder minded;

RHYME a a b b 

    If to secret of my hart,
    I do any wish impart,
    Where thou art not formost placed,
    Be both wish and I defaced.

RHYME a a b b 

    If more may be sayd, I say,
    All my blisse in thee I lay;
    If thou loue, my loue, content thee,
    For all loue, all faith is meant thee.

RHYME a a b b 

    Trust me, while I thee deny,
    In my selfe the smart I try;
    Tyran Honour doth thus vse thee,
    Stellas selfe might not refuse thee.

RHYME a a b b 

    Therefore, deare, this no more moue,
    Least, though I leaue not thy loue,
    Which too deep in me is framed,
    I should blush when thou art named.

RHYME a a b b 

    Therewithall away she went,
    Leauing him to passion rent,
    With what she had done and spoken,
    That therewith my song is broken.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b b 

    Go, my Flocke, go, get you hence,
    Seeke a better place of feeding,
    Where you may haue some defence
    Fro the stormes in my breast breeding,
    And showers from mine eyes proceeding.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Leaue a wretch, in whom all wo
    Can abide to keepe no measure;
    Merry Flocke, such one forego,
    Vnto whom mirth is displeasure,
    Onely rich in mischiefs treasure.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Yet, alas, before you go,
    Heare your wofull Maisters story,
    Which to stones I els would show:
    Sorrow only then hath glory
    When 'tis excellently sorry.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Stella, fiercest shepherdesse,
    Fiercest, but yet fairest euer;
    Stella, whom, O heauens still blesse,
    Though against me she perseuer,
    Though I blisse enherit neuer:

RHYME a b a b b 

    Stella hath refused me!
    Stella, who more loue hath proued,
    In this caitife heart to be,
    Then can in good eawes be moued
    Toward Lambkins best beloued.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Stella hath refused me!
    Astrophell, that so well served
    In this pleasant Spring must see,
    While in pride flowers be preserued,
    Himselfe onely Winter-sterued.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Why (alas) doth she then sweare
    That she loueth me so dearely,
    Seeing me so long to beare
    Coles of loue that burne so cleerly,
    And yet leaue me helplesse meerely?

RHYME a b a b b 

    Is that loue? forsooth, I trow,
    If I saw my good dog grieued,
    And a helpe for him did know,
    My loue should not be beleeued,
    But he were by me releeued.

RHYME a b a b b 

    No, she hates me, well-away,
    Faining loue, somewhat to please me:
    For she knows, if she display
    All her hate, death soone would seaze me,
    And of hideous torments ease me.

RHYME a b a b b 

    Then adieu, deare Flocke, adieu;
    But, alas, if in your straying
    Heauenly Stella meete with you,
    Tell her, in your pitious blaying,
    Her poore Slaues vniust decaying.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b 

    O deare Life, when shall it bee
    That mine eyes thine eyes shall see,
    And in them thy mind discouer
    Whether absence haue had force
    thy remembrance to diuorce
    From the image of thy louer?

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Or if I my self find not,
    After parting aught forgot,
    Nor debar'd from Beauties treasure,
    Let not tongue aspire to tell
    In what high ioyes I shall dwell;
    Only thought aymes at the pleasure.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thought, therefore, I will send thee
    To take vp the place for me:
    Long I will not after tary,
    There vnseene, thou mayst be bold,
    Those faire wonders to behold,
    Which in them my hopes do cary.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thought, see thou no place forbeare,
    Enter brauely euerywhere,
    Seize on all to her belonging;
    But if thou wouldst garded be,
    Fearing her beames, take with thee
    Strength of liking, rage of longing.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thinke of that most gratefull time
    When my leaping heart will climb,
    In thy lips to haue his biding,
    There those roses for to kisse,
    Which do breathe a sugred blisse,
    Opening rubies, pearles diuiding.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thinke of my most princely pow'r,
    Which I blessed shall deuow'r
    With my greedy licorous sences,
    Beauty, musicke, sweetnesse, loue,
    While she doth against me proue
    Her strong darts but weake defences.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    Thinke, thinke of those dalyings,
    When with doue-like murmurings,
    With glad moning, passed anguish,
    We change eyes, and hart for hart,
    Each to other do depart,
    Ioying till ioy makes vs languish.

RHYME a a b c c b 

    O my Thoughts, my Thoughts surcease,
    Thy delights my woes increse,
    My life melts with too much thinking;
    Thinke no more, but die in me,
    Till thou shalt reuiued be,
    At her lips my Nectar drinking.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b a 

    Who is it that this darke night
    Vnderneath my window playneth?
    It is one who from thy sight
    Being, ah exil'd, disdayneth
    Euery other vulgar light.

RHYME a b a b a 

    Why, alas, and are you he?
    Be not yet those fancies changed?
    Deare, when you find change in me,
    Though from me you be estranged,
    Let my chaunge to ruin be.

RHYME a b a b a 

    Well, in absence this will dy;
    Leaue to see, and leaue to wonder.
    Absence sure will helpe, if 
    Can learne how my selfe to sunder
    From what in my hart doth ly.

RHYME a b a b a 

    But time will these thoughts remoue;
    Time doth work what no man knoweth.
    Time doth as the subiect proue;
    With time still the affection groweth
    In the faithful turtle-doue.

RHYME a b a b a 

    What if we new beauties see,
    Will they not stir new affection?
    I will thinke they pictures be,
    (Image-like, of saints perfection)
    Poorely counterfeting thee.

RHYME a b a b a 

    But your reasons purest light
    Bids you leaue such minds to nourish.
    Deere, do reason no such spite;
    Neuer doth thy beauty florish
    More then in my reasons sight.

RHYME a b a b a 

    But the wrongs Loue beares will make
    Loue at length leaue vndertaking.
    No, the more fooles it doth shake,
    In a ground of so firme making
    Deeper still they driue the stake.

RHYME a b a b a 

    Peace, I thinke that some giue eare;
    Come no more, least I get anger.
    Blisse, I will my blisse forbeare;
    Fearing, sweete, you to endanger;
    But my soule shall harbour there.

RHYME a b a b a 

    Well, be gone; be gone, I say,
    Lest that Argus eyes perceiue you.
    O vniust is Fortunes sway,
    Which can make me thus to leaue you,
    And from lowts to run away.

TITLE 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g 

Finding those beams (which I must ever love)
To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please,
I deem'd it best some absence, for to prove
If farther place might further me to ease.
My eyes, thence drawn where livèd all their light,
Blinded forthwith in dark despair did lie,
Like to the mole, with want of guiding sight,
Deep plung'd in earth, deprivèd of the sky.
In absence blind, and wearied with that woe,
To greater woes, by presence, I return:
Even as the fly which to the flame doth go,
Pleas'd with the light that his small corse doth burn.
Fair choice I have, either to live or die:
A blinded mole, or else a burnèd fly. 

TITLE 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g 

The darte, the beames, the stringe so stronge I proue,
 Whiche my chefe parte dothe passe throughe, parche, and tye,
That of the stroke, the heat, and knott of loue,
 Wounded, inflamde, knitt to the deathe, I dye.
Hardned and coulde, farr from affectione's snare
 Was once my mynde, my temper, and my lyfe;
While I that syghte, desyre, and vowe forbare,
 Whiche to auoide, quenche, loose, noughte booted stryfe.
Yet will not I greife, ashes, thralldom change
��For others' ease, their frutte or free estate,
So braue a shott, cleere fyre, and bewtye strange,
 Bid me pearce, burne, and bynde longe time and late,
And in my woundes, my flames, and bondes, I fynd
A salue, freshe ayre, and bryghte contented mynde. 

TITLE 

RHYME a b a a b 

 My mistresse lowers, and saith I do not loue:
 I do protest, and seeke with seruice due,
In humble mind, a constant faith to proue;
But, for all this, I cannot her remoue
 From deepe vaine thought that I may not be true

RHYME a b a a b 

 If othes might serue, euen by the Stygian lake,
Which, poets say, the gods themselues do feare,
 I neuer did my vowèd word forsake;
 For why should I, whom free choise slaue doth make,
Else-what in face than in my fancie bear?

RHYME a b a a b 

 My Muse, therefore, for onely thou canst tell,
Tell me the cause of this my causelesse woe;
 Tell how ill thought disgrac'd my doing well;
 Tell how my ioyes and hopes thus fowly fell
a e  To so lowe ebbe, that wonted were to flowe.

RHYME a b a a b 

 O, this it is,—the knotted straw is found;
In tender harts small things engender hate;
 A horse's worth laid wast the Troian ground;
 A three-foote stoole in Greece made trumpets sound;
b 0 An asse's shade e'er now hath bred debate

RHYME a b a a b 

 If Greekes themselues were mou'd with so small cause,
To twist those broyles, which hardly would vntwine;
 Should ladies faire be tyed to such hard lawes,
 As in their moodes to take a lingring pawse?
b e  I would it not; their metall is too fine

RHYME a b a a b 

 My hand doth not beare witnesse with my hart,
She saith, because I make no woful laies,
 To paint my liuing death and endlesse smart;
 And so for one that felt god Cupid's dart,
c 0 She thinkes I leade and liue too merrie daies.

RHYME a b a a b 

 Are poets, then, the onely louers true,
Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse;
Who think themselues well blest if they renew
 Some good old dumpe that Chaucer's mistresse knew,
c e  And vse but you for matters to rehearse?

RHYME a b a a b 

 Then, good Apollo, do away thy bowe;
Take harp, and sing in this our versing time,
 And in my braine some sacred humour flowe;
 That all the earth my woes, sighs, teares may know;
d 0 And see you not that I fall now to ryme?

RHYME a b a a b 

 As for my mirth, how could I but be glad,
Whilst that me-thought I iustly made my boast
 That only I the only mistresse had?
 But now, if ere my face with ioy be clad,
Thinke Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.

RHYME a b a a b 

 Sweet ladie, as for those whose sullen cheare,
Compar'd to me, made me in lightnesse sound;
 Who, stoick-like, in clowdie hew appeare,
 Who silence force to make their words more deare;
Whose eyes seem chaste because they looke on ground

RHYME a a 

 Beleeue them not; for physick true doth finde
 Cholor adust is ioyed in woman-kinde. 

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a chearefull voyce
Shew that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoyce.  .
Ah Will! though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee,
With sight made dymme with dayly teares, another's sport to see.
Whoeuer lambkins saw (yet lambkins loue to play)
To play when that their louèd dammes are stoln or gone astray?
If this in them be true, as true in men think I,
A lustles song, forsooth, thinks hee, that hath more lust to cry.  .
A tyme there is for all, my mother often sayes,
When she, with skirts tuckt very hy, with girles at stoolball playes.

RHYME a a *

When thou hast mynd to weepe, seeke out some smoky room:
Now let those lightsomme sights we see thy darknes ouercome.  .
What ioy the ioyfull sunne giues vnto blearèd eyes;
That comfort in these sports you like, my mynde his comfort tryes.  .
What! is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent;
Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new rayment rent?  .
I would it were but thus; for thus it were too well.  .
Thou see'st my eares do itch at it: good Dick, thy sorow tell.  .
Hear, then, and learne to sigh: a mistress I do serue,
Whose wages makes me beg the more, who feeds me till I sterue;
Whose lyuerie's such as most I freeze apparelled most,
And lookes so neere vnto my cure, that I must needes be lost.  .
What! these are riddles, sure; art thou, then, bound to her?  .
Bound, as I neither power haue, nor would haue power, to stir.  .

RHYME a a *

Remembrance is the chest
Lockte fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.  .
Thou late of wages playnd'st: what wages mayst thou haue?  .
Her heauenly looks, which more and more do giue me cause to craue.  .
If wages make you want, what food is that she giues?  .
Teares' drink, sorrowe's meat, wherewith not I, but in me my death liues. 

RHYME a a *

Hir care is to preuent
My freedom, with show of hir beames, with virtue, my content.  .
God shield vs from such dames! If so our downes be sped,
The shepheards will grow leane, I trow; their sheep will ill be fed.
But, Dick, my counsell marke: run from the place of woe
The arrow being shot from far doth giue the smaller blowe.  .
Good Will, I cannot take thy good aduice: before
That foxes leaue to steale, because they finde they dy therefore.  .
Then, Dick, let vs go hence, lest wee great folkes annoy;
For nothing can more tedious bee then plaint in time of joy.  .
Oh hence! O cruell word! which euen doggs do hate:
But hence, euen hence I must needes go; such is my doggèd fate. 

TITLE

RHYME a a *

Walking in bright Phœbus' blaze,
Where with heat oppresst I was,
I got to a shady wood,
Where greene leaues did newly bud,
And of grass was plenty dwelling,
Deckt with pyde flowers sweetely smelling.

RHYME a a *

In this wood a man I met,
On lamenting wholly set;
Rewing change of wonted state,
Whence he was transformèd late;
Once to shepheards' God retayning,
Now in servile Court remayning.
There he wandring, malecontent,
Vp and down perplexèd went,
Daring not to tell to mee,
Spake vnto a senceless tree,
One among the rest electing,
These same words, or this effecting:
‘My old mates I grieue to see
b 0 Voyde of me in field to bee,
Where we once our louely sheepe
Louingly like friends did keepe;
Oft each other's friendship prouing,
Neuer striuing but in louing.

RHYME a a *

But may loue abiding bee
In poore shepheards' base degree?
It belongs to such alone
To whom arte of loue is knowne:
Seely shepheards are not witting
What in art of loue is fitting.
Nay, what neede the arte to those
To whom we our loue disclose?
It is to be vsèd then
When we doe but flatter men:

RHYME a a *

Friendship true, in hart assurèd,
Is by Nature's giftes procurèd.
Therefore shepheardes, wanting skill,
Can loue's duties best fulfill;
Since they know not how to faine,
Nor with loue to cloake disdaine,
Like the wiser sort, whose learning
Hides their inward will of harming
Well was I, while vnder shade
Oten reedes me musicke made;

RHYME a a *

Striuing with my mates in song,
Mixing mirth our songs among:
Greater was the shepheard's treasure
Then this false, fine, courtly pleasure;
Where, how many creatures be,
So many pufft in minde I see;
Like to Junoe's birdes of pride,
Scarce each other can abide:
Friends like to blacke swannes appearing,
Sooner these than those in hearing.

RHYME a a *

Therefore, Pan, if thou mayst be
Made to listen vnto me,
Grant, I say (if seely man
May make treaty to god Pan),
That I, without thy denying,
May be still to thee relying,
Only for my two loues' sake,
In whose loue I pleasure take;

RHYME a a *

Only two do me delight
With their euer-pleasing sight;
Of all men to thee retaining,
Grant me with those two remaining.
So shall I to thee alwayes
With my reedes sound mighty praise;
And first lambe that shall befall,
Yearely deck thine alter shall;

RHYME a a *

If it please thee be reflected,
And I from thee not reiected.’
So I left him in that place,
Taking pity on his case;
Learning this among the rest,
That the meane estate is best;
Better fillèd with contenting,
Voyde of wishing and repenting. 

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g 

Vertue, beautie, and speeche did strike, wound, charme
My heart, eyes, eares with wonder, loue, delight;
First, second, last did binde, enforce, and arme
His works, showes, sutes with wit, grace, and vowes' might.
Thus honour, liking, trust, much, farre, and deepe,
Held, pearst, possesst my iudgment, sence, and will;
Till wrongs, contempt, deceite did grow, steale, creepe,
Bands, fauour, faith to breake, defile and kill;
Then griefe, vnkindnes, proofe, tooke, kindled, taught,
Well-grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdaine.
But ah, alas, in vaine, my minde, sight, thought
Doth him, his face, his words leaue, shunne, refraine:
 For nothing, time nor place, can loose, quench, ease
 Mine owne, embracèd, sought, knot, fire, disease. 

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c c 

To one whose state is raised over all,
Whose face doth oft the bravest sort enchant,
Whose mind is such, as wisest minds appal,
Who in one self these diverse gifts can plant;
How dare I, wretch, seek there my woes to rest,
Where ears be burnt, eyes dazzled, hearts oppressed?

RHYME a b a b c c 

Your state is great, your greatness is our shield,
Your face hurts oft, but still it doth delight,
Your mind is wise, your wisdom makes you mild;
Such planted gifts enrich e'en beggars' sight:
So dare I, wretch, my bashful fear subdue,
And feed mine ears, mine eyes, my heart in you. 

RHYME a b a b c c 

Therion. Come, Espilus, come now declare thy skill;
     Show how thou canst deserve so brave desire;
     Warm well thy wits, if thou wilt win her will,
     For water cold did never promise fire:
 Great sure is she, on whom our hopes do live;
      Greater is she who must the judgement give.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Espilus. Tune up, my voice, a higher note I yield;
     To high conceits the song must needs be high,
     More high than stars, more firm than flinty field
Are all my thoughts, in which I live or die:
      Sweet soul, to whom I vowed am a slave,
      Let not wild woods so great a treasure have.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Therion. The highest note comes oft from basest mind,
     As shallow brooks do yield the greatest sound;
 Seek other thoughts thy life or death to find;
     Thy stars be fall'n, ploughed is thy flinty ground:
      Sweet soul, let not a wretch that serveth sheep
      Among his flock so sweet a treasure keep.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Espilus. Two thousand sheep I have as white as milk,
Though not so white as is thy lovely face;
     The pasture rich, the wool as soft as silk,
     All this I give, let me possess thy grace:
      But still take heed, lest thou thyself submit
      To one that hath no wealth, and wants his wit.

RHYME a b a b c c 

Therion. Two thousand deer in wildest woods I have;
     Them can I take, but you I cannot hold;
     He is not poor who can his freedom save,
     Bound but to you, no wealth but you I would:
      But take this beast, if beasts you fear to miss,
 For of his beasts the greatest beast he is.

RHYME a a 

Espilus. Judge you, to whom all beauty's force is lent.
Therion. Judge you of love, to whom all love is bent. 

RHYME a b a b c c 

Espilus. Silvanus long in love, and long in vain,
     At length obtained the point of his desire,
     When being asked, now that he did obtain
     His wished weal, what more he could require:
  ‘Nothing,’ said he, ‘for most I joy in this,
      That goddess mine my blessed being sees.’

RHYME a b a b c c 

Therion. When wanton Pan, deceived with lion's skin,
     Came to the bed where wound for kiss he got,
     To woe and shame the wretch did enter in,
Till this he took, for comfort of his lot:
      ‘Poor Pan,’ he said, ‘although thou beaten be,
      It is no shame, since Hercules was he.’

RHYME a b a b c c 

Espilus. Thus joyful I in chosen tunes rejoice,
     That such a one is witness of my heart,
Whose clearest eyes I bliss, and sweetest voice,
     That see my good, and judgeth my desert.
Therion. Thus woeful I in woe this salve do find,
     My foul mishap came yet from fairest mind. 

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g 

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light
That doth both shine and give us sight to see.
O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide
In this small course which birth draws out to death,
And think how ill becometh him to slide
Who seeketh heav'n, and comes of heav'nly breath.
 Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see;
 Eternal love, maintain thy life in me.

RHYME a b a b a b a b c d c d e e 

Like as the dove which seeled-up doth fly,
 Is neither freed, nor yet to service bound,
But hopes to gain some help by mounting high
 Till want of force doth force her fall to ground;
Right so my mind, caught by his guiding eye
 And thence cast off, where his sweet hurt he found,
Hath neither leave to live, nor doom to die,
 Nor held in ill, nor suffered to be sound,
But with his wings of fancies up he goes
 To high conceits whose fruits are oft but small,
Till wounded, blind, and wearied spirits lose
 Both force to fly and knowledge where to fall.
   O happy dove, if she no bondage tried;
   More happy I, might I in bondage bide. 

TITLE

RHYME a b a b *

  Ah, poore Loue, whi dost thou liue,
 Thus to se thy seruice lost?
Ife she will no comforte geue,
 Make an end, yeald vp the goaste;
  That she may at lengthe aproue
 That she hardlye long beleued,
That the harte will dye for loue
 That is not in tyme relieued.

RHYME a b a b *

Ohe that euer I was borne,
 Seruice so to be refused,
Faythfull loue to be foreborne!
 Neuer loue was so abused.
But, swet Loue, be still a whylle;
 She that hurte thee, Loue, maye healle thee;
  Sweet, I see within her smylle
 More than reason can reueale thee.

RHYME a b a b *

For, thoughe she be riche and fayre,
 Yet she is bothe wise and kynde,
And therefore do thou not despayre,
  But thy faythe may fancy fynde.
Yet, allthoughe she be a quene,
 That maye suche a snake despyse,
Yet, withe sylence all vnseene,
 Runn and hide thee in her eyes:
  Where if she will let thee dye,
 Yet at latest gaspe of breathe,
Saye that in a ladye's eye
 Loue both tooke his lyfe and deathe. 

