Chapter LII

O sugared talk, wherewith my thoughts do live!
O brows, love's trophy and my senses' shine!
O charming smiles, that death or life can give!
O heavenly kisses from a mouth divine!
O wreaths too strong, and trammels made of hair!
O pearls inclosèd in an ebon pale!
O rose and lilies in a field most fair,
Where modest white doth make the red seem pale!
O voice whose accents live within my heart!
O heavenly hand that more than Atlas holds!
O sighs perfumed, that can release my smart!
O happy they whom in her arms she folds!
Now if you ask where dwelleth all this bliss,
Seek out my love and she will tell you this.

AN ODE

Love, I repent me that I thought
My sighs and languish dearly bought.
For sighs and languish both did prove
That he that languished sighed for love.
Cruel rigor, foe to state,
Looks disdainful, fraught with hate,
I did blame, but had no cause;
Love hath eyes, but hath no laws.
She was sad and could not choose
To see me sigh and sit and muse.
We both did love and both did doubt
Least any should our love find out.
Our hearts did speak, by sighs most hidden;
This means was left, all else forbidden.
I did frown her love to try,
She did sigh and straight did cry.
Both of us did sighs believe,
Yet either grievèd friend to grieve.
I did look and then did smile;
She left sighing all that while.
Both were glad to see that change,
Things in love that are not strange.
Suspicion, foolish foe to reason,
Causèd me seek to find some treason.
I did court another dame,
False in love, it is a shame!--
She was sorry this to view,
Thinking faith was proved untrue.
Then she swore she would not love
One whom false she once did prove.
I did vow I never meant
From promise made for to relent.
The more I said the worse she thought,
My oaths and vows were deemed as naught.
"False," she said "how can it be,
To court another yet love me?
Crowns and love no partners brook;
If she be liked I am forsook.
Farewell, false, and love her still,
Your chance was good, but mine was ill.
No harm to you, but this I crave,
That your new love may you deceive,
And jest with you as you have done,
For light's the love that quickly won."
"Kind, and fair-sweet, once believe me;
Jest I did but not to grieve thee.
Court I did, but did not love;
All my speech was you to prove.
Words and sighs and what I spent,
In show to her, to you were meant.
Fond I was your love to cross;
Jesting love oft brings this loss.
Forget this fault, and love your friend,
Which vows his truth unto the end."
"Content," she said, "if this you keep."
Thus both did kiss, and both did weep.
For women long they cannot chide,
As I by proof in this have tried.

A DIALOGUE BETWIXT TWO SEA-NYMPHS DORIS AND GALATEA CONCERNING POLPHEMUS; BRIEFLY TRANSLATED OUT OF LUCIAN

The sea-nymphs late did play them on the shore,
And smiled to see such sport was new begun,
A strife in love, the like not heard before,
Two nymphs contend which had the conquest won.
Doris the fair with Galate did chide;
She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied.

DORIS

Thy love, fair nymph, that courts thee on this plain,
As shepherds say and all the world can tell,
Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain;
A shame, sweet nymph, that he with thee should mell.

GALATEA

Smile not, fair Doris, though he foul do seem,
Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace;
He's worth my love, and so I him esteem,
Renowned by birth, and come of Neptune's race,
Neptune that doth the glassy ocean tame,
Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came.

DORIS

I grant an honour to be Neptune's child,
A grace to be so near with Jove allied.
But yet, sweet nymph, with this be not beguiled;
Where nature's graces are by looks decried,
So foul, so rough, so ugly as a clown,
And worse than this, a monster with one eye!
Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a crown,
But fair is beauty, none can that deny.

GALATEA

Nor is he foul or shapeless as you say,
Or worse; for that he clownish seems to be,
Rough, satyr-like, the better he will play,
And manly looks the fitter are for me.
His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard,
His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one.
This me contents, and others make afeard.
He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none.

DORIS

Nay, then I see, sweet nymph, thou art in love,
And loving, dotes; and doting, dost commend
Foul to be fair; this oft do lovers prove;
I wish him fairer, or thy love an end.

GALATEA

Doris, I love not, yet I hardly bear
Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn.
You are not loved; and that's the cause I fear;
For why? My love of Jove himself was born.
Feeding his sheep of late amidst this plain,
Whenas we nymphs did sport us on the shore,
He scorned you all, my love for to obtain;
That grieved your hearts; I knew as much before.
Nay, smile not, nymphs, the truth I only tell,
For few can brook that others should excel.

DORIS

Should I envy that blind did you that spite?
Or that your shape doth please so foul a groom?
The shepherd thought of milk, you looked so white;
The clown did err, and foolish was his doom.
Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed;
But far from fair, where white doth want his red.

GALATEA

Though pale my look, yet he my love did crave,
And lovely you, unliked, unloved I view;
It's better far one base than none to have;
Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue.
My love doth tune his love unto his harp.
His shape is rude, but yet his wit is sharp.

DORIS

Leave off, sweet nymph, to grace a worthless clown.
He itched with love, and then did sing or say;
The noise was such as all the nymphs did frown,
And well suspected that some ass did bray.
The woods did chide to hear this ugly sound
The prating echo scorned for to repeat;
This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground,
Whilst artless fingers did his harpstrings beat.
Two bear-whelps in his arms this monster bore,
With these new puppies did this wanton play;
Their skins was rough but yet your loves was more;
He fouler was and far more fierce than they.
I cannot choose, sweet nymph, to think, but smile
That some of us thou fear'st will thee beguile.

GALATEA

Scorn not my love, until it can be known
That you have one that's better of your own.

DORIS

I have no love, nor if I had, would boast;
Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed:
But him to love, the shame of all the coast,
So ugly foul, as yet I have no need.
Now thus we learn what foolish love can do,
To think him fair that's foul and ugly too.

To hear this talk, I sat behind an oak,
And marked their words and penned them as they spoke.

AD LECTOREM, DISTICHON

CUJUSDAM DE AUTORE

Lascivi quaeres fuerit cur carminis autor:
Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat.

A LOVER'S MAZE

True are my thoughts, my thoughts that are untrue,
Blind are my eyes, my eyes that are not blind,
New is my love, my love that is not new,
Kind is that fair, that fair that is not kind.
Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest fair, my love,
Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.

True are my thoughts because they never flit,
Untrue my thoughts because they me betrayed;
Blind are my eyes because in clouds I sit,
Not blind my eyes because I looks obeyed.
Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest fair may view
In sight, in love, not blind, nor yet untrue.

New is my love because it never dies,
Old is my love because it ever lives;
Kind is that fair because it hate denies,
Unkind that fair because no hope it gives.
Thus new my love, and still that fair unkind,
Renews my love, and I no favour find.

Sweet are my dreams, my dreams that are not sweet,
Long are the nights, the nights that are not long,
Meet are the pangs, these pangs that are unmeet,
Wronged is my heart, my heart that hath no wrong.
Thus dreams, and night, my heart, my pangs, and all
In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.

Sweet are my dreams because my love they show,
Unsweet my dreams because but dreams they are;
Long are the nights because no help I know,
Meet are the nights because they end my care.
Thus dreams and nights wherein my love take sport,
Are sweet, unsweet, are long, and yet too short.

Meet are my pangs because I was too bold,
Unmeet my pangs because I loved so well;
Wronged was my heart because my grief it told,
Not wronged. For why? My grief it could not tell.
Thus you my love unkindly cause this smart,
That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.

Proud is her look, her look that is not proud,
Done all my days, my days that are not done,
Loud are my sighs, my sighs that are not loud,
Begun my death, my death not yet begun.
Thus looks and days and sighs and death might move
So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.

Proud is her look because she scorns to see,
Not proud her look for none dare say so much;
Done are my days because they hapless be,
Not done my days because I wish them such.
Thus looks and days increase this loving strife.
Not proud, nor done, nor dead, nor giving life.

Loud are my sighs because they pierce the sky,
Not loud my sighs because they are not heard;
My death begun because I artless cry,
But not begun because I am debarred.
Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give;
Both life deny, and both do make me live.

Bold are her smiles, her smiles that are not bold,
Wise are her words, those words that are not wise,
Cold are her lips, those lips that are not cold,
Ice are those hands, those hands that are not ice.
Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and she,
Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments be.

Bold are her smiles, because they anger slay,
Not bold her smiles because they blush so oft;
Wise are her words because they wonders say,
Not wise her words because they are not soft.
Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,
So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.

Cold are her lips because they breathe no heat,
Not cold her lips because my heart they burn;
Ice are her hands because the snow's so great,
Not ice her hands that all to ashes turn.
Thus lips and hands cold ice my sorrow brew;
Hands, warm white snow and lips cold cherry-red.

Small was her waist, the waist that was not small,
Gold was her hair, the hair that was not gold,
Tall was her shape, the shape that was not tall;
Folding the arms, the arms that did not fold.
Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,
Did make me love, and loving made me waste.

Small was her waist, because I could it span,
Not small her waist because she wanted all;
Gold was her hair because a crown it wan,
Not gold her hair because it was more pale.
Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make,
And finest hair most fast a lover take.

Tall was her shape because she touched the sky,
Not tall her shape because she comely was;
Folding her arms because she hearts could tie,
Not folded arms because all bands they pass.
Thus shape and arms with love my heart did ply,
That hers I am, and must be till I die.

Sad was her joy, her joy that was not sad,
Short was her stay, her stay that was not short,
Glad was her speech, her speech that was not glad,
Sporting those toys, those toys that were not sport.
Thus was my heart with joy, speech, toys and stay,
Possessed with love, and so stol'n quite away.

Sad was her joy because she did respect,
Not sad her joy because her joy she had,
Short was her stay because to small effect,
Long was her stay because I was so sad.
Thus joy and stay, both crossed a lover's sport,
The one was sad, the other too too short.

Glad was her speech because she spake her mind,
Not glad her speech because afraid to speak;
Sporting her toys because my love was kind,
Not toys in sport because my heart they break.
Thus speech and toys my love began in jest;
Sweet, yield to love, and make thy servant blest.

Tread you the maze, sweet love, that I have run,
Mark but the steps which I imprinted have;
End but your love whereas my thoughts begun;
So shall I joy and you a servant have.
If not, sweet love, then this my suit deny;
So shall you live, and so your servant die.

AN ELEGY