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Of him, myself and thee, I am to saken ; The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bril; Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol: Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee. Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
So now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgag‘d to thy will ;
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still :
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ;
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
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 lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me; But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight
He pays the whole, and yet I am not free. Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
cxxxy. I love to hear her speak, -yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound ;
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
And will to boot, and will in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine!
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; And in abundance addeth to his store ; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. One will of mine, to make thy large will more. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill;
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will, One on another's neck, do witness bear
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there ;
In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, Will will fulfill the treasure of my love,
In things of great receipt with ease we prove ;
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
That nothing me, a something swoet to thee :
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
And then thou lov'st me,-for my name is Will. Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face : Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes O let it then as well beseem thy heart
That they behold, and see not what they see? To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, They know what beauty is, see where it lies, And suit thy pity like in every part.
Yet what the bes: is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tyd ? Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan Why should my heart think that a several plot, For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Which my heart knows the wide world's common Is 't not enough to torture me alone,
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, (placet But slave tu slavery my sweet's friend must be ? To put fair truth upon so foul a face ; Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, And my next self thou harder hast engrossid, And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
919 And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, CXXXVIII.
Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. When my love swears that she is made of truth,
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those í do believe her, though I know she lies ;
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee : That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false speaking tongue,
By self-example may'st thou be deny'd! On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
CXLIII. But wherefore says she not, she is unjust ?
Lo as a careful house wife runs to catch And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
One of her feather'd creatures broke away, O love's best habit is in seeming trust.
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch, And age in love loves not to have years told :
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose lousy care is bent
Not prizing her poor infauit's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Chat thy unkindness lays upon my heart ;
Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind ; Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue ; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, Use power with power, and slay me not by art. And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, So will I pray that thou may’st have thy Will, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
Which like two spirits do suggest me still ;
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
guess one angel in another's hell. If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
But when she saw my woeful state,
Was us’d in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus a-new to greet: In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
I hate she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
From heaven to hell is flown away.
And sav'd my life, saying—not you.
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Only my plague thus far I count my gain, Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And, death unce dead, there's no more dying then.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Love is too young to know what conscience is ;
No want of conscience hold it that I call
For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I,
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not,
Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep:
And his love kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Revenge upon myself with present moan? Against strange maladies a sovereigo cure. What merit do I in myself respect,
But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, That is so proud thy service to despise,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; When all my best doth worship thy defect, I sick withal, the help of bath desired, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, The fairesi votary took up that fire That in the very refuse of thy deeds
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd · There is such strength and warrantise of skill, And so the general of hot desire That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm’d. Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, This brand she quenched in a cool well by, The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, 0, though I love what others do abhor,
Growing a bath and helpful remedy With others thou should'st not abhor my state ; For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall, If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,
Came here for cure, and this by that I prove, More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, How many tales to please me hath she coin'd Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing! Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment,
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee :
She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth, My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth ; Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing, My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine. Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ! Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. If broken, then it is no fault of mine. If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
If music and sweet poetry agree, To break an oath, to win a paradise ?
As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook,
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, She told him stories to delight his ear;
As passing all conceit, needs no defence. She shew'd him favours to allure his eye ;
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound, To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there · That Phæbus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
One god is god of both, as poets feign ;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. But smile and jest at every gentle offer :
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward; Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, He rose and ran away; ah fool too froward !
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild : O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove; Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds : Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd. She silly queen, with more than love's good will, Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds Where all those pleasures live, that art can compre- Onct, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth hend.
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice, Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth! Well learned is that tongue that well can theo com. See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore :
She shewed hers; he saw more wounds than one, All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ;
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon faded, Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded ! To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly Fair creature, killd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, tongue.
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn.
I for thee, and yet no cause I have ; And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy Will. When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
For why? I craved nothing of thee still :
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him :
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, And as he fell to her, she fell to him. Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him:
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god einbrac'd me : He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood ; And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms : Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ? Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me,
As if the boy should use like loving charms. Fair is my love, but not so fais as fickle,
Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; And with her lips on his did act the seizure ; Brighter than glass is, and yet, as glass is, brittle, And as she fetched breath, away he skips; Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty :
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure A little pale, with damask die to grace her, Ah! that I had my lady at this bay. None fairer, ad one falser to deface her.
To kiss and clip me till I run away!
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye Crabbed age and youth
Her fancy fell a turning.
(could see. Cannot live together ;
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love Youth is full of pleasance,
did fight, Age is full of care:
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant anigat:
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain,
That nothing could be used, to turn them bota to gain, Youth is full of sport,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with Age's breath is short,
Alas she could not help it!
(disdain : Youth is nimble, age is lame :
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Youth is hot and bold,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Age is weak and cold ;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.
On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air,
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath : Ashining gloss, that fadeth suddenly;
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ;
Air, would I might triumph so ! A brittle glass, that's broken presently:
But alas my hand hath sworn A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, And as goods lost are seld or never found,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
Do not call it sin in me, As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
That I am forsworn for thee; As broken glass no cement can redress,
Thou for whom even Jove would swea So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
Juno but an Ethiope were ; In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not, To descant on the doubts of my decay.
My rams speed not, Farewel, quoth she, and come again to-morrow;
All is amiss : Farewel I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Faith's defying, Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
Heart's renying, In scorn or friendship, nisl i construe whether :
Causer of this. May be, she joy’d to jest at my exíle,
All my merry jigs are quite forgot, May be, again to make me wander thither :
All my lady's love is lost, God wot: Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
Wrought all my loss; My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame! Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
For now I see, Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
Inconstancy While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
More in women than in men remain. And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;
In black mourn I, For she doth welcome day.light with her ditty,
All fears scorn I, And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night :
Love hath forlorn me, The night so pack’d, I post unto my pretty;
Living in thrall : Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Heart is bleeding, Sorrow chang'd to solace,solace mix'd with sorrow;
All help needing, * For why? she sigh’d,and bade me come to-morrow.
(O cruel speeding !)
Fraughted with galı. Were I with her, the night would post too soon ;
My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell, But now are minutes added to the hours ;
My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; To spite me now, each minute seems an hour ;
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers !
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; Pack night, peep day: good day, of night now With sighs so deep,
Procures to weep. Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-mor
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight'