Chapter LXIII

Upon the ocean of conceited error,
My weary spirits, many storms have past;
Which now in harbour, free from wonted terror,
Joy the possession of their rest at last.
And, henceforth, safely may they lie at road!
And never rove for "Had I wist!" abroad!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 9: _DIOGENES._]

[Footnote 10: _CHAUCER._]

_LOVE'S Accusation at the Judgement Seat_ _of REASON; wherein the Author's whole_ _success in his love is covertly_ _deciphered._

[Compare this, with GASCOIGNE'S poem, _Vol. I. p._ 63.]

IN REASON'S Court, myself being Plaintiff there,
LOVE was, by process, summoned to appear.
That so the wrongs, which he had done to me,
Might be made known; and all the world might see:
And seeing, rue what to my cost I proved;
While faithful, but unfortunate I loved.

After I had obtainèd audience;
I thus began to give in evidence.

[_The Author's Evidence against LOVE._]

"Most sacred Queen! and Sovereign of man's heart!
Which of the mind dost rule the better part!
First bred in heaven, and from thence, hither sent
To guide men's actions by thy regiment!
Vouchsafe a while to hear the sad complaint
Of him that LOVE hath long kept in restraint;
And, as to you it properly belongs,
Grant justice of my undeservèd wrongs!
It's now two years, as I remember well,
Since first this wretch, (sent from the nether hell,
To plague the world with new-found cruelties),
Under the shadow of two crystal Eyes,
Betrayed my Sense; and, as I slumbering lay,
Feloniously conveyed my heart away;
Which most unjustly he detained from me,
And exercised thereon strange tyranny.
Sometime his manner was, in sport and game,
With briars and thorns, to raze and prick the same;
Sometime with nettles of Desire to sting it;
Sometime with pincons[11] of Despair to wring it;
Sometime again, he would anoint the sore,
And heal the place that he had hurt before:
But hurtful helps! and ministered in vain!
Which servèd only to renew my pain.
For, after that, more wounds he added still,
Which piercèd deep, but had no power to kill.
Unhappy medicine! which, instead of cure,
Gives strength to make the patient more endure!
But that which was most strange of all the rest
(Myself being thus 'twixt life and death distrest),
Ofttimes, when as my pain exceeded measure,
He would persuade me that the same was pleasure;
My solemn sadness, but contentment meet;
My travail, rest; and all my sour, sweet;
My wounds, but gentle strokes: whereat he smiled,
And by these slights, my careless youth beguiled.
Thus did I fare, as one that living died,
(For greater pains, I think, hath no man tried)
Disquiet thoughts, like furies in my breast
Nourished the poison that my spirits possesst.
Now Grief, then Joy; now War, then Peace unstable,
Nought sure I had, but to be miserable.
I cannot utter all, I must confess.
Men may conceive more than they can express!
But (to be short), which cannot be excused,
With vain illusions, LOVE, my hope abused;
Persuading me I stood upon firm ground
When, unawares, myself on sands I found.
This is the point which most I do enforce!
That Love, without all pity or remorse,
Did suffer me to languish still in grief
Void of contentment, succour, or relief:
And when I looked my pains should be rewarded,
I did perceive, that they were nought regarded.
For why? Alas, these hapless eyes did see
ALCILIA loved another more than me!
So in the end, when I expected most;
My hope, my love, and fortune thus were crost."

Proceeding further, REASON bad me stay
For the Defendant had some thing to say.
Then to the Judge, for justice, loud I cried!
And so I pausèd: and LOVE thus replied.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 11: _pincers._]

[_LOVE'S Reply to the Author._]

"Since REASON ought to lend indifferent ears
Unto both parties, and judge as truth appears;
Most gracious Lady! give me leave to speak,
And answer his Complaint, that seeks to wreak
His spite and malice on me, without cause;
In charging me to have transgressed thy laws!
Of all his follies, he imputes the blame
To me, poor LOVE! that nought deserves the same.
Himself it is, that hath abusèd me!
As by mine answer, shall well proved be.
Fond youth! thou knowest what I for thee effected!
Though, now, I find it little be respected.
I purged thy wit, which was before but gross.
The metal pure, I severed from the dross,
And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire
That kindled in thee Courage and Desire:
Not like unto those servile Passions
Which cumber men's imaginations
With Avarice, Ambition, and Vainglory;
Desire of things fleeting and transitory.
No base conceit, but such as Powers above
Have known and felt, I mean, th' Instinct of Love;
Which making men, all earthly things despise,
Transports them to a heavenly paradise.
Where thou complain'st of sorrows in thy heart,
Who lives on earth but therein hath his part?
Are these thy fruits? Are these thy best rewards
For all the pleasing glances, sly regards,
The sweet stol'n kisses, amorous conceits,
So many smiles, so many fair intreats,
Such kindness as ALCILIA did bestow
All for my sake! as well thyself dost know?
That LOVE should thus be used, it is hateful!
But 'all is lost, that's done for one ungrateful.'
Where he allegeth that he was abusèd
In that he truly loving, was refusèd:
That's most untrue! and plainly may be tried.
Who never asked, could never be denied!
But he affected rather single life,
Than yoke of marriage, matching with a wife.
And most men, now, make love to none but heires[ses]
Poor love! GOD wot! that poverty empairs.
Worldly respects, LOVE little doth regard.
'Who loves, hath only love for his reward!'

[Sidenote: _The description
of a
foolhardy
Lover._]

He merits a lover's name, indeed!
That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion breed:
But desperately at hazard, throws the dice,
Neglecting due regard of friends' advice;
That wrestles with his fortune and his fate,
Which had ordained to better his estate;
That hath no care of wealth, no fear of lack,
But ventures forward, though he see his wrack;
That with Hope's wings, like ICARUS doth fly,
Though for his rashness, he like fortune try;
That, to his fame, the world of him may tell
How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell.
And so True Love awarded him his doom
In scaling heaven, to have made the sea his tomb;
That making shipwreck of his dearest fame,
Betrays himself to poverty and shame;
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent,
No dread of perils far or imminent;
But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf,
The sweet of love as dearer than himself.
Who, were his passage stopped by sword and fire,
Would make way through, to compass his Desire.
For which he would (though heaven and earth forbad it)
Hazard to lose a kingdom, if he had it.
These be the things wherein I glory most,
Whereof, this my Accuser cannot boast:
Who was indifferent to his loss or gain;
And better pleased to fail, than to obtain.
All qualified affections, LOVE doth hate!
And likes him best that's most intemperate.
But hence, proceeds his malice and despite;
While he himself bars of his own delight.
For when as he, ALCILIA first affected,
(Like one in show, that love little respected)
He masqued, disguised, and entertained his thought
With hope of that, which he in secret sought;
And still forbare to utter his desire,
Till his delay receive her worthy hire.
And well we know, what maids themselves would have,
Men must sue for, and by petition crave.
But he regarding more his Wealth, than Will;
Hath little care his Fancy to fulfil.
Yet when he saw ALCILIA loved another;
The secret fire, which in his breast did smother,
Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame:
If Temperance had not allayed the same.
Which, afterward, so quenched he did not find
But that some sparks remainèd still behind.
Thus, when time served, he did refuse to crave it;
And yet envied another man should have it!
As though, fair maids should wait, at young men's pleasure,
Whilst they, 'twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure.
Nay, at the first! when it is kindly proffered!
Maids must accept; least twice, it be not offered!
Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune,
Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.
Thus, as this Fondling coldly went about it;
So in the end, he clearly went without it.
For while he, doubtful, seemed to make a stay,
A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away;
For which, though he lamented much in shew,
Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so.
Now, REASON! you may plainly judge by this,
Not I, but he, the false dissembler is:
Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed,
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:
And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies,
Which, without Passion, he did oft devise;
So to delude the ignorance of such
That pitied him, thinking he loved too much.
And with conceit, rather to shew his Wit,
Than manifest his faithful Love by it.
Much more than this, could I lay to his charge;
But time would fail to open all at large.
Let this suffice to prove his bad intent,
And prove that LOVE is clear and innocent."

Thus, at the length, though late, he made an end,
And both of us did earnestly, attend
The final judgement, REASON should award:
When thus she 'gan to speak. "With due regard,
The matter hath been heard, on either side.
For judgement, you must longer time abide!
The cause is weighty, and of great import."
And so she, smiling, did adjourn the Court.

Little availed it, then, to argue more;
So I returned in worse case than before.

_LOVE Deciphered._

LOVE and I are now divided,
Conceit, by Error, was misguided.
ALCILIA hath my love despised!
"No man loves, that is advised."
"Time at length, hath Truth detected."
LOVE hath missed what he expected.
Yet missing that, which long he sought;
I have found that, I little thought.
"Errors, in time, may be redrest,"
"The shortest follies are the best."

Love and Youth are now asunder;
Reason's glory, Nature's wonder.
My thoughts, long bound, are now enlarged;
My Folly's penance is discharged:
Thus Time hath altered my estate.
"Repentance never comes too late."
Ah, well I find that Love is nought
But folly, and an idle thought.
The difference is 'twixt LOVE and me,
That he is blind, and I can see.

Love is honey mixed with gall!
A thraldom free, a freedom thrall!
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour!
Got in a year, lost in an hour!
A peaceful war, a warlike peace!
Whose wealth brings want; whose want, increase!
Full long pursuit, and little gain!
Uncertain pleasure, certain pain!
Regard of neither right nor wrong!
For short delights, repentance long!

Love is the sickness of the thought!
Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought!
A restless Passion of the mind!
A labyrinth of errors blind!
A sugared poison! fair deceit!
A bait for fools! a furious heat!
A chilling cold! a wondrous passion
Exceeding man's imagination!
Which none can tell in whole, or part,
But only he that feels the smart.

Love is sorrow mixt with gladness!
Fear, with hope! and hope, with madness!
Long did I love, but all in vain;
I loving, was not loved again:
For which my heart sustained much woe.
It fits not maids to use men so!
Just deserts are not regarded,
Never love so ill rewarded!
But "all is lost that is not sought!"
"Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought!

Women were made for men's relief;
To comfort, not to cause their grief.
Where most I merit, least I find:
No marvel! since that love is blind.
Had She been kind, as She was fair,
My case had been more strange and rare.
But women love not by desert!
Reason in them hath weakest part!
Then, henceforth, let them love that list,
I will beware of "Had I wist!"

These faults had better been concealed,
Than to my shame abroad revealed.
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,
My harms may make others more wary.
Love is but a youthful fit,
And some men say "It's sign of wit!"
But he that loves as I have done;
To pass the day, and see no sun:
Must change his note, and sing _Erravi!_
Or else may chance to cry _Peccavi!_

The longest day must have his night,
Reason triumphs in Love's despite.
I follow now Discretion's lore;
"Henceforth to like; but love no more!"
Then gently pardon what is past!
For LOVE draws onwards to his last.
"He walks," they say, "with wary eye;
Whose footsteps never tread awry!"
My Muse a better work intends:
And here my Loving Folly ends.

After long storms and tempests past,
I see the haven at the last;
Where I must rest my weary bark,
And there unlade my care and cark.
My pains and travails long endured,
And all my wounds must there be cured.
Joys, out of date, shall be renewed;
To think of perils past eschewed.
When I shall sit full blithe and jolly,
And talk of lovers and their folly.

Then LOVE and FOLLY, both adieu!
Long have I been misled by you.
FOLLY may new adventures try!
But REASON says that "LOVE must die!"
Yea, die indeed, although grieve him;
For my cold heart cannot relieve him!
Yet for her sake, whom once I loved,
(Though all in vain, as time hath proved)
I'll take the pain, if She consent!
To write his Will and Testament.

_LOVE's last Will and Testament._

My spirit, I bequeath unto the air!
My Body shall unto the earth repair!
My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell;
T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell!
For well I ween, above nor under ground,
A greater pain than that, may not be found.
My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight,
To EREBUS! and to Eternal Night!
My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments,
Distrust, Despair; all these my hourly rents,
With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral:
Unto OBLIVION, I bequeath them all!
My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to REASON!
My Cruelties, my Slights, and forged Treason,
To Womankind! and to their seed, for aye!
To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay.
Reserving only for ALCILIA's part,
Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart.
For She is from the vulgar sort excepted;
And had She, PHILOPARTHEN's love respected,
Requiting it with like affection,
She might have had the praise of all perfection.
This done; if I have any Faith and Troth;
To PHILOPARTHEN, I assign them both!
For unto him, of right, they do belong
Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong.
TIME shall be sole Executor of my will;
Who may these things, in order due fulfil,
To warrant this my Testament for good;
I have subscribed it, with my dying blood."

And so he died, that all this bale had bred.
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:
For, sure, I fear, should I ALCILIA spy;
She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye!
Such power divine remaineth in her sight;
To make him live again, in Death's despite.

_The Sonnets following were written by the Author,
after he began to decline from his Passionate
Affection; and in them, he seemeth to
please himself with describing the
Vanity of Love, the Frailty
of Beauty, and the
sour fruits of
Repentance._