Chapter II: Part 2

Because a witty writer of this time
Doth make some mention in a pleasant rime
Of Lepidus and of his famous dog,
Thou, Momus, that dost loue to scoffe and cog,
Prat'st amongst base companions, and giv'st out
That unto me herein is meant a flout.
Hate makes thee blind, Momus: I dare be sworn,
He meant to me his loue, to thee his scorn.
Put on thy envious spectacles, and see
Whom doth he scorn therein, the dog or me?
The dog is grac'd, comparèd with great Banks,
Both beasts right famous for their pretty pranks;
Although in this I grant the dog was worse,
He only fed my pleasure, not my purse:
Yet that same dog, I may say this and boast it,
He found my purse with gold when I haue [had] lost it.
Now for myself: some fooles (like thee) may judge
That at the name of Lepidus I grudge:
No sure; so far I think it from disgrace,
I wisht it cleare to me and to my race.
Lepus, or Lepos, I in both haue part;
That in my name I beare, this in mine heart.
But Momus, I perswade myself that no man
Will deigne thee such a name, English or Roman.
Ile wage a but of Sack, the best in Bristo,
Who cals me Lepid, I will call him Tristo."

Epigrams, Book iii. Ep. 21. edition folio. D.]

[Footnote 128: In other editions as Isham, but dropped out inadvertently from our text. G.]

[Footnote 129: Isham badly 'last.' G.]

Finis. I. D.

_Appendix to Epigrams_:

(FROM THE HARLEIAN MSS. 1836.)

As explained in the Note, page 6 _ante_, I have gleaned a few additions to these Epigrams. At close of those of HUTTON,--in the MS. marked 60 and in Hutton's own volume 56,--on folio 15_d_, is the word 'finis.' Immediately under this, the MS. is continued in the same handwriting on to folio 19, whereon 'finis' is again placed: and on folios 19 and 20 Lines 'of Tobacco' with 'finis' once more. These Lines on 'Tobacco' are curious: and somewhat resemble those on 'Moly' given in the Hitherto Unpublished Poems of Davies, onward. G.

1. IN SUPERBIAM. Epi. 4.

I tooke the wall, one thrust me rudely by,
And tould me the King's way did open lye.
I thankt him y^{t} he did me so much grace,
to take the worse, leave me the better place;
For if by th' owners wee esteeme of things,
the wall's the subjects, but the way's the King's.

2. Epi. 5.

NIX { SNOW
IX { 9
CORNIX { A CROW.

NIX:. I that the Winter's daughter am whilst thus my letters stand,
Am whiter then the plumbe[130] of swan or any ladye's hand;

IX:. Take but away my letter first, and then I doe encline
That stood before for milke white snowe to be the figure nine.
And if that further you desire by change to doe som trickes,
As blacke as any bird I am.

CORNIX:. by adding COR to NIX.

[Footnote 130: = plumage. G.]

3. Epi. 6.

Health is a jewell true, which when we buy
Physitians value it accordingly.

4. IN AMOROSUM. Epi. 7.

A wife you wisht me (sir) rich, faire and young
with French, Italian, and the Spanish tongue:
I must confesse yo^{r} kindnesse verie much
but yet in truth, Sir, I deserve none such,
for when I wed--as yet I meane to tarry--
A woman of one language i'le but marry,
and with that little portion of her store,
expect such plenty, I would wish no more.

5. Epi. 9.

Westminster is a mill that grinds all causes,
but grinde his cause for mee there, he y^{t} list:
For by demures and errours, stayes and clauses,
the tole is oft made greater then the grist.

6. Epi. 10.

He that doth aske St. James they [?] say, shall speed:
O y^{t} Kinge James would answere to my need.

V. GULLINGE SONNETS.

NOTE.

These 'Gullinge Sonnets' were first printed in my reproduction of the Dr. Farmer MS. for the Chetham Society (2 vols. 4to., 1873) in Part I. pp. 76-81. There seems no question that these Sonnets belong to Sir John Davies. Besides the "J. D." and "Mr. Dauyes" of the MS., his most marked turns of thought and epithet are readily discernible in them. See critical remarks on them and their probable _motif_ in Memorial-Introduction.

The Sir Anthony Cooke to whom these Sonnets are dedicated descended from the Sir Anthony who was Preceptor to King Edward VI., and for Letters from whom whoso cares may consult the "Reformation" correspondence of the Parker Society. His daughter Mildred was second wife of Lord Burleigh, and his daughter Anne was mother of _the_ Bacon. His son and heir, Richard Cooke, died in 1579, and was succeeded by his son Anthony (this Sir Anthony), who was knighted in 1596 by the Earl of Essex at the sacking of Cadiz. He was buried at Romford, Essex, on the 28th December, 1604. G.

[Dedicatory Sonnet.]

TO HIS GOOD FREINDE S^{R} ANTH. COOKE.

Here my Camelion Muse her selfe doth chaunge
to diuers shapes of gross absurdities,
and like an Antick[131] mocks w^{th} fashion straunge
the fond[132] admirers of lewde gulleries.
Your iudgement sees w^{th} pitty, and w^{th} scorne
The bastard Sonnetts of these Rymers bace,
W^{ch} in this whiskinge age are daily borne
To their own shames, and Poetrie's disgrace.
Yet some praise those and some perhappes will praise
euen these of myne: and therefore thes I send
to you that pass in Courte yo^{r} glorious dayes;
Y^{t} if some rich rash gull these Rimes commend
Thus you may sett this formall witt to schoole,
Vse yo^{r} owne grace, and begg him for a foole.

J. D.

[Footnote 131: = motley-dressed jester or fool. G.]

[Footnote 132: = foolish. G.]

_Gullinge Sonnets._

1* The Louer Vnder burthen of his M^{ris} love
W^{ch} lyke to Ætna did his harte oppre[s][s]e:
did giue [s]uch piteous grones y^{t} he did moue
the heau'nes at length to pitty his di[s]tre[s][s]e
but for the fates in theire highe Courte aboue
forbad to make the greuous burthen le[s][s]e.
the gracous powers did all con[s]pire to proue
Yt miracle this mi[s]cheife mighte redre[s][s]e;
therefore regardinge y^{t} y^{e} loade was [s]uch
as noe man mighte w^{th} one man's mighte [s]u[s]tayne
and y^{t} mylde patience[133] imported much
to him that [s]hold indure an endles payne:
By there decree he [s]oone transformèd was
into a patiente burden-bearinge A[s][s]e.
2* As when y^{e} brighte Cerulian firmament
hathe not his glory w^{th} black cloudes defas'te,
Soe were my thoughts voyde of all di[s]content;
and w^{th} noe my[s]te of pa[s][s]ions ouerca[s]t
they all were pure and cleare, till at the la[s]t
an ydle careles thoughte forthe wandringe wente
and of y^{t} poy[s]onous beauty tooke a ta[s]te
W^{ch} doe the harts of louers [s]o torment:
then as it chauncethe in a flock of [s]heepe
when [s]ome contagious yll breedes fir[s]t in one
daylie it [s]preedes & [s]ecretly doth creepe
till all the [s]illy troupe be ouergone.
So by clo[s]e neighbourhood w^{th} in my bre[s]t
one [s]curuy thoughte infecteth all the re[s]t.

[Footnote 133: A trisyllable. G.]

3* What Eagle can behould her [s]unbrighte eye,
her [s]unbrighte eye y^{t} lights the world w^{th} loue,
the world of Loue wherein I liue and dye,
I liue and dye and diuers chaunges proue,
I chaunges proue, yet [s]till the [s]ame am I,
the [s]ame am I and neuer will remoue,
neuer remoue vntill my [s]oule dothe flye,
my [s]oule dothe fly, and I [s]urcea[s]e to moue,
I cea[s]e to moue w^{ch} now am mou'd by you,
am mou'd by you y^{t} moue all mortall hartes,
all mortall hartes who[s]e eyes yo^{r} eyes doth veiwe,
Yo^{r} eyes doth veiwe whence Cupid [s]hoots his darts,
whence Cupid [s]hootes his dartes and woundeth tho[s]e
that honor you and neuer weare[134] his foes.

[Footnote 134: = were. G.]

4* The hardnes of her harte and truth of myne
when the all [s]eeinge eyes of heauen did [s]ee
they [s]treight concluded y^{t} by powre devine
to other formes our hartes should turnèd be.
then hers as hard as flynte, a Flynte became
and myne as true as [s]teele, to [s]teele was turned,
and then betwene o^{r} hartes [s]prange forthe the flame
of kinde[s]t loue, w^{ch} vnextingui[s]h'd burned;
And longe the [s]acred lampe of mutuall loue
ince[s][s]antlie did burne in glory brighte;
Vntill my folly did her fury moue
to recompence my [s]eruice w^{th} de[s]pighte,
and to put out w^{th} [s]nuffers of her pride
the lampe of loue w^{ch} els had neuer dyed.

5* Myne Eye, mine eare, my will, my witt, my harte
did [s]ee, did heare, did like, di[s]cerne, did loue:
her face, her [s]peche, her fa[s]hion, iudgem^{t}, arte,
w^{ch} did charme, plea[s]e, delighte, confounde and moue.
Then fancie, humo^{r}, loue, conceipte, and thoughte
did [s]oe drawe, force, inty[s]e, per[s]wade, deui[s]e,
that [s]he was wonne, mou'd, caryed, compa[s]t, wrought
to thinck me kinde, true, comelie, valyant, wi[s]e;
that heauen, earth, hell, my folly and her pride
did worke, contriue, labor, con[s]pire and [s]weare
to make me [s]corn'd, vile, ca[s]t of, bace, defyed
W^{th} her my loue, my lighte, my life, my deare:
So that my harte, my witt, will, eare, and eye
doth greiue, lament, sorrowe, di[s]paire and dye.

6* The [s]acred Mu[s]e that fir[s]te made loue deuine
hath made him naked and w^{th}out attyre,
but I will cloth him w^{th} this penn of myne
that all the world his fa[s]hion [s]hall admyre,
his hatt of hope, his bande of beautye fine,
his cloake of crafte, his doblett of de[s]yre,
greife for a girdell, [s]hall aboute him twyne,
his pointes of pride, his Ilet holes of yre,
his ho[s]e of hate, his Cod peece of conceite,
his [s]tockings of [s]terne [s]trife, his [s]hirte of [s]hame,
his garters of vaine glorie gaye and [s]lyte;
his pantofels of pa[s][s]ions I will frame,
pumpes[135] of pre[s]umption [s]hall adorne his feete
and Socks of fullennes excedinge [s]weete.

[Footnote 135: = slipper-shoes. G.]

7* Into the midle Temple of my harte
the wanton Cupid did him[s]elfe admitt
and gaue for pledge yo^{r} Eagle-[s]ighted witt
Y^{t} he wold play noe rude vncivill parte:
Longe tyme he cloak'te his nature w^{th} his arte
and [s]add and graue and [s]ober he did [s]itt,
but at the la[s]t he gan to reuell it,
to breake good rules, and orders to peruerte:
Then loue and his younge pledge were both conuented
before [s]add[136] Rea[s]on, that old Bencher graue,
who this [s]add [s]entence vnto him pre[s]ented
by dilligence, y^{t} [s]lye and [s]ecreate knaue
That loue and witt, for euer [s]hold departe
out of the midle Temple of my harte.

[Footnote 136: = serious; and so 'sadly' = seriously, e. g. Skelton:

"I have not offended, I trust,
If it be _sadly_ discust." G.

]

8* My ca[s]e is this, I loue Zepheria brighte,
Of her I hold my harte by fealtye:
W^{ch} I di[s]charge to her perpetuallye,
Yet [s]he thereof will neuer me accquite.
for now [s]uppo[s]inge I w^{th} hold her righte
[s]he hathe di[s]treinde my harte to [s]atisfie
the duty w^{ch} I neuer did denye,
and far away impounds it w^{th} de[s]pite;
I labor therefore iu[s]tlie to repleaue[137]
my harte w^{ch} she vniu[s]tly doth impounde
but quick conceite w^{ch} nowe is loue's highe Sheife
retornes it as e[s]loynde, not to be founde:
Then w^{ch} the lawe affords I onely craue
her harte for myne in wit her name to haue.

[Footnote 137: = recover (a legal term) G.]

9* To Loue my lord I doe knightes [s]eruice owe
and therefore nowe he hath my witt in warde,
but while it is in his tuition [s]oe
me thincks he doth intreate it pa[s][s]inge hard;
for thoughe he hathe it marryed longe agoe
to Vanytie, a wench of noe regarde,
and nowe to full, and perfect age doth growe,
Yet nowe of freedome it is mo[s]t debarde.
But why [s]hould loue after minoritye
when I am pa[s]t the one and twentith yeare
perclude my witt of his [s]weete libertye,
and make it [s]till y^{e} yoake of ward[s]hippe beare.
I feare he hath an other Title gott
and holds my witte now for an Ideott.

M^{r} Dauyes.

VI. MINOR POEMS.

Minor Poems.

I. _Yet other Twelve Wonders of the World._[138]

[Footnote 138: This and the three following, are from the celebrated collection of early English poetry called the 'Poetical Rhapsody' by Davison. Our text is from the third edition (1621) which in our case is preferable, as having presumably been revised (in his contributions) by Sir John: It is to be noted that in this edition the original simple I. D. is in the second poem changed to Sir I. D., and that to the third his name is given in full. I have included the Hymn on Music, though the initials I. D. have been assigned to Dr. John Donne by Sir Egerton Brydges and others. It seems to me that as (1) I. D. is our Poet's designation in the 'Rhapsody' throughout, and as (2) the Lines were not claimed for Donne by himself, or by his son when he collected his father's Poems--we are warranted in assigning them to Sir John Davies. Sir Egerton favours their Donne authorship simply because "they seem rather to partake of the conceits of Donne than of the simple vigour of Davies" but he forgot the 'Hymnes to Astræa' and 'Orchestra'; which are in the same vein. It is to be regretted that Sir Nicholas Harris Nicolas _modernized_ the text in his reprint of the 'Rhapsody': (2 vols. crown 8vo. 1826, Pickering): and perhaps equally so, that Mr. Collier in his careful and beautiful private one, has selected the first incomplete edition. The following is the title-page of the edition of the 'Rhapsody' used by us:

DAVISONS

POEMS,

OR

_A POETICALL RAPSODIE_.

Deuided into sixe Bookes.

The first, _contayning Poems and Deuises_.
The second, _Sonets and Canzonets_.
The third, _Pastoralls and Elegies_.
The fourth, _Madrigalls and Odes_.
The fift, _Epigrams and Epitaphs_.
The sixt, _Epistles and Epithalamions_.

* * * * *

For variety and pleasure, the like neuer
published.
_The Bee and Spider by a diuers power,
Sucke hony and poyson from the selfe same flower._
The fourth Impression,
Newly corrected and augmented, and put into
a forme more pleasing to the Reader.
London.

Printed by B. A. for _Roger Iackson_, 1621 (small 12^{o}.) See our Preface for account of an autograph MS. of "Yet other Twelve Wonders of the World." G.]

I. _The Courtier._

Long haue I liu'd in Court, yet learn'd not all this while,
To sel poore sutors, smoke: nor where I hate, to smile:
Superiors to adore, Inferiors to despise,
To flye from such as fall, to follow such as rise;
To cloake a poore desire vnder a rich array,
Not to aspire by vice, though twere the quicker way.

II. _The Divine._

My calling is Diuine, and I from God am sent,
I will no chop-Church be, nor pay my patron rent,
Nor yeeld to sacriledge; but like the kind true mother,
Rather will loose all the child, then part it with another;
Much wealth, I will not seeke, nor worldly masters serue,
So to grow rich and fat, while my poore flock doth sterue.

III. _The Souldier._

My occupation is, the noble trade of Kings,
The tryall that decides the highest right of things:
Though _Mars_ my master be, I doe not _Venus_ loue,
Nor honour _Bacchus_ oft, nor often sweare by _Ioue_;
Of speaking of my selfe, I all occasion shunne,
And rather loue to doe, then boast what I haue done.

IV. _The Lawyer._

The Law my calling is, my robe, my tongue, my pen,
Wealth and opinion gaine, and make me Iudge of men.
The knowne dishonest cause, I neuer did defend,
Nor spun out sutes in length, but wisht and sought an end:
Nor counsell did bewray, nor of both parties take,
Nor euer tooke I fee for which I neuer spake.

V. _The Physition._

I study to vphold the slippery state of man,
Who dies, when we haue done the best and all we can.
From practise and from bookes, I draw my learnèd skill,
Not from the knowne receipt of 'Pothecaries bill.
The earth my faults doth hide,[139] the world my cures doth see,
What youth, and time effects, is oft ascribde to me.

[Footnote 139: 'The earth my faults doth hide.' This recalls the somewhat irate remonstrance of a bibulous Sexton under the reproaches of a medical church-warden at a parish-meeting: "O Sir, _you_ are the last that ever I expected to expose me, seeing I have covered up many of your faults" (i.e. in the graves of his patients.) G.]

VI. _The Merchant._

My trade doth euery thing to euery land supply,
Discouer unknowne coasts, strange Countries to ally;
I neuer did forestall, I neuer did ingrosse,
No custome did withdraw, though I return'd with losse.
I thriue by faire exchange, by selling and by buying,
And not by Jewish vse,[140] reprisall, fraud, or lying.

[Footnote 140: = usury. G.]

VII. _The Country Gentleman._

Though strange outl[=a]dish spirits praise towns, and country scorn,
The country is my home, I dwel where I was born:
There profit and command with pleasure I pertake,
Yet do not Haukes and dogs, my sole companions make.
I rule, but not oppresse, end quarrels, not maintaine;
See towns, but dwel not there, t'abridge my charg or train.

VIII. _The Bacheler._

How many things as yet are deere alike to me,
The field, the horse, the dog, loue, armes or liberty.
I haue no wife as yet, whom I may call mine owne,
I haue no children yet, that by my name are knowne.
Yet if I married were, I would not wish to thriue,
If that I could not tame the veriest shrew aliue.

IX. _The Married Man._

I only am the man, among all married men,
That do not wish the Priest, to be unlinckt agen.
And thogh my shoo did wring,[141] I wold not make my mone,
Nor think my neighbors chance, more happy then mine own,
Yet court I not my wife, but yeeld obseruance due,
Being neither fond[142] nor crosse, nor iealous, nor vntrue.

[Footnote 141: = pinch. G.]

[Footnote 142: = foolish. G.]

X. _The Wife._

The first of all our Sex came from the side of man,
I thither am return'd, from whence our Sex began;
I doe not visite oft, nor many, when I doe,
I tell my mind to few, and that in counsell too:
I seeme not sick in health, nor sullen but in sorrow,
I care for somewhat else of, then what to weare to morrow.

XI. _The Widdow._

My dying[143] husband knew, how much his death would grieue me,
And therefore left me wealth, to comfort and relieue me.
Though I no more will haue, I must not loue disdaine,
_Penelope_ her selfe did sutors entertaine;
And yet to draw on such, as are of best esteeme,
Nor yonger then I am, nor richer will I seeme.

[Footnote 143: In Sir Egerton Brydges edition of the Rhapsody this line stands

"My _dying_ husband knew," &c.

an interpolation which, though perhaps called for by the metre, does not appear to be justified by either of the four editions supposed to have been printed during the life-time of the original editor. Nicolas. [True, but as it _is_ found in an autograph MS. of the poem, it is inserted. See our Preface. G.]]

XII. _The Maid._

I marriage would forsweare, but that I heare men tell,
That she that dies a maid, must leade an Ape in Hell;
Therefore if fortune come, I will not mock and play,
Nor driue the bargaine on, till it be driuen away.
Tithes and lands I like, yet rather fancy can,
A man that wanteth gold, then gold that wants a man. (pp. 1-4.)

II. A CONTENTION

_Betwixt a Wife, a Widdow, and a Maide._[144]

[Footnote 144: See Introductory Note to the first of these Minor Poems, _ante_. In Mr. Collier's History of English Dramatic Poetry, Vol. I. p. 323 _seqq._ interesting details are given of an Entertainment to the Queen at Sir Robert Cecil's "newe house in the Strand," at which she was "royally entertained." From Extracts from a Barrister's Diary among the Harleian MSS. adduced herein, we glean a notice of the present Poem, _e. g._ "Sundry devises at hir entrance: three women, a maid, a widow and a wife, eache contending [for] their own states, but the virgin preferred." In Nichols' Progs. of Elizabeth (iii. 601) the poem is also ascribed on authority of John Chamberlain to Davies (6th December, 1602). See Letters of Chamberlain published by CAMDEN Society, p. 169: December 23rd, 1602. Miss Sarah Williams, in her careful edition of CHAMBERLAIN'S Letters for the Camden Society, by an oversight, has annotated this reference _in loco_ as to Davies of Hereford. Chamberlain calls it a "pretty dialogue." The Barrister's Diary _supra_ [Manningham] has been edited for the Camden Society by the late lamented Mr. John Bruce of London. G.]

_Wife._ Widdow, well met, whether goe you to day?
Will you not to this solemne offering go?
You know it is _Astreas_ holy day:
The Saint to whom all hearts deuotion owe.

_Widow._ Marry, what else? I purpos'd so to doe:
Doe you not marke how all the wiues are fine?
And how they haue sent presents ready too,
To make their offering at _Astreas_ shrine?

See then, the shrine and tapers burning bright,
Come, friend, and let vs first ourselues advance,
We know our place, and if we haue our right,
To all the parish we must leade the dance.

But soft, what means this bold presumptuous maid,
To goe before, without respect of vs?
Your forwardnesse (proude maide) must now be staide:
Where learnd you to neglect your betters thus?

_Maid._ Elder you are, but not my betters here,
This place to maids a priuiledge must giue:
The Goddesse, being a maid, holds maidens deare,
And grants to them her own prerogatiue.

Besides, on all true virgins, at their birth.
Nature hath set[145] a crowne of excellence,
That all the wiues and widdowes of the earth,
Should giue them place, and doe them reuerence?

_Wife._ If to be borne a maid be such a grace,
So was I borne and grac't by nature to,
But seeking more perfection to embrace
I did become a wife as others doe.

_Widow._ And if the maid and wife such honour have,
I haue beene both, and hold a third degree.
Most maides are Wardes, and euery wife a slaue,
I haue my livery sued,[146] and I am free.

_Maid._ That is the fault, that you haue maidens beene,
And were not constant to continue so:
The fals of Angels did increase their sinne,
In that they did so pure a state forgoe:

But Wife and Widdow, if your wits can make,
Your state and persons of more worth then mine,
Aduantage to this place I will not take;
I will both place and priuilege resigne.

_Wife._ Why marriage is an honourable state.
_Widow._ And widdow-hood is a reuerend degree:
_Maid._ But maidenhead, that will admit no mate,
Like maiestie itselfe must sacred be.

_Wife._ The wife is mistresse of her family.
_Widow._ Much more the widdow, for she rules alone:
_Maid._ But mistresse of mine owne desires am I,
When you rule others wils and not your owne.

_Wife._ Onely the wife enjoys the vertuous pleasure.
_Widow._ The widow can abstaine from pleasures known:
_Maid._ But th' vncorrupted maid preserues[147] such measure,
As being by pleasures wooed she cares for none.

_Wife._ The wife is like a faire supported vine.
_Widow._ So was the widdow, but now stands alone:
For being growne strong, she needs not to incline.
_Maid._ Maids, like the earth, supported are of none.

_Wife._ The wife is as a Diamond richly set;
_Maid._ The maide vnset doth yet more rich appeare.
_Widow._ The widdow a Iewel in the Cabinet,
Which though not worn is stil esteem'd as deare.

_Wife._ The wife doth loue, and is belou'd againe.
_Widow._ The widdow is awakt out of that dreame.
_Maid._ The maids white minde had neuer such a staine,
No passion troubles her cleare vertues streame.

Yet if I would be lou'd, lou'd would I be,
Like her whose vertue in the bay is seene:
Loue to wife fades with satietie,
Where loue neuer enioyed is euer greene.

_Widow._ Then whats a virgin but a fruitlesse bay?
_Maid._ And whats a widdow but a rose-lesse bryer?
And what are wiues, but woodbinds which decay
The stately Oakes by which themselues aspire?

And what is marriage but a tedious yoke?
_Widow._ And whats virginitie but sweete selfe-loue?
_Wife._ And whats a widdow but an axell broke,
Whose one part failing, neither part can mooue?
_Widow._ Wiues are as birds in golden cages kept.
_Wife._ Yet in those cages chearefully they sing:
_Widow._ Widdowes are birds out of these cages lept,
Whose ioyfull notes makes all the forrest ring.

_Maid._ But maides are birds amidst the woods secure,
Which neuer h[=a]d could touch, nor yet[148] could take;
Nor whistle could deceiue, nor baite allure,
But free vnto themselues doe musicke make.

_Wife._ The wife is as the turtle with her mate.
_Widow._ The widdow, as the widdow doue alone;
Whose truth shines most in her forsaken state.
_Maid._ The maid a Ph[oe]nix, and is still but one.

_Wife._ The wifes a soule vnto her body tyed.
_Widow._ The widdow a soule departed into blisse.
_Maid._ The maid, an Angell, which was stellified,
And now t' as faire a house descended is.

_Wife._ Wiues are faire houses kept and furnisht well.
_Widow._ Widdowes old castles voide, but full of state:
_Maid._ But maids are temples where the Gods do dwell,
To whom alone themselues they dedicate.
But marriage is a prison during life,
Where one way out, but many entries be:
_Wife._ The Nun is kept in cloyster, not the wife,
Wedlocke alone doth make the virgin free.

_Maid._ The maid is ever fresh, like morne in May:
_Wife._ The wife with all her beames is beautified,
Like to high noone, the glory of the day:
_Widow._ The widow, like a milde, sweet, euen-tide.

_Wife._ An office well supplide is like the wife.
_Widow._ The widow, like a gainfull office voide:
_Maid._ But maids are like contentment in this life,
Which al the world haue sought, but none enioid:

Go wife to Dunmow, and demaund your flitch.
_Widow._ Goe gentle maide, goe leade the Apes in hell.
_Wife._ Goe widow make some younger brother rich,
And then take thought and die, and all is well.

Alas poore maid, that hast no help nor stay.
_Widow._ Alas poore wife, that nothing dost possesse;
_Maid._ Alas poore widdow, charitie doth say,
Pittie the widow and the fatherlesse.

_Widow._ But happy widdowes haue the world at will.
_Wife._ But happier wiues, whose ioys are euer double.
_Maid._ But happiest maids whose hearts are calme and still,
Whom feare, nor hope, nor loue, nor hate doth trouble.

_Wife._ Euery true wife hath an indented[149] heart,
Wherein the covenants of loue are writ,
Whereof her husband keepes the counterpart,
And reads his comforts and his ioyes in it.

_Widow._ But euery widdowes heart is like a booke,
Where her ioyes past, imprinted doe remaine,
But when her iudgements eye therein doth looke;
She doth not wish they were to come againe.

_Maid._ But the maids heart a faire white table is,
Spotlesse and pure, where no impressions be
But the immortal Caracters of blisse,
Which onely God doth write, and Angels see.

_Wife._ But wiues haue children, what a ioy is this?
_Widow._ Widows haue children too, but maids haue none.
_Maid._ No more haue Angels, yet they haue more blisse
Then euer yet to mortall man was knowne.

_Wife._ The wife is like a faire manurèd[150] field;
_Widow._ The widow once was such, but now doth rest.
_Maid._ The maide, like Paradice, vndrest, vntil'd,
Beares crops of natiue vertue in her breast.

_Wife._ Who would not dye as wife, as Lucrece died?
_Widow._ Or liue a widdow, as Penelope?
_Maid._ Or be a maide, and so be stellified,[151]
As all the vertues and the graces be.

_Wife._ Wiues are warme Climates well inhabited;
But maids are frozen zones where none may dwel.
_Maid._ But fairest people in the North are bred,
Where Africa breeds Monsters blacke as hell.

_Wife._ I haue my husbands honour and his place.
_Widow._ My husbands fortunes all suruiue to me.
_Maid._ The moone doth borrow light, you borrow grace,
When maids by their owne vertues gracèd be.

White is my colour; and no hew but this
It will receiue, no tincture can it staine.
_Wife._ My white hath tooke one colour, but it is
My honourable purple dyed in graine.[152]

_Widow._ But it hath beene my fortune to renue
My colour twice from that it was before.
But now my blacke will take no other hue,
And therefore now I meane to change no more.

_Wife._ Wiues are faire Apples seru'd in golden dishes.
_Widow._ Widows good wine, which time makes better much.
_Maid._ But Maids are grapes desired by many wishes,
But that they grow so high as none can touch.

_Wife._ I haue a daughter equals you, my girle.
_Maid._ The daughter doth excell the mother then:
As pearles are better then the mother of pearle
Maids loose their value wh[=e] they match with men.
_Widow._ The man with wh[=o] I matcht, his worth was such
As now I scorne a maide should be my peare:[153]
_Maid._ But I will scorne the man you praise so much,
For maids are matchlesse, and no mate can beare.

Hence is it that the virgine neuer loues,
Because her like she finds not anywhere;
For likenesse euermore affection moues,
Therefore the maide hath neither loue nor peere.

_Wife._ Yet many virgins married wiues would be.
_Widow._ And many a wife would be a widdow faine.
_Maid._ There is no widdow but desires to see,
If so she might, her maiden daies againe.

_Widow._[154] There neuer was a wife that liked her lot:
_Wife._ Nor widdow but was clad in mourning weeds.
_Maid._ Doe what you will, marry, or marry not,
Both this estate and that, repentance breedes.

_Wife._ But she that this estate and that hath seene,
Doth find great ods betweene the wife and girle.
_Maid._ Indeed she doth, as much as is betweene
The melting haylestone and the solid pearle.

_Wife._ If I were Widdow, my merry dayes were past.
_Widow._ Nay, then you first become sweete pleasures guest,
_Wife._[155] For mayden-head is a continuall fast,
And marriage is a continual feast.

_Maid._ Wedlock indeed hath oft comparèd bin
To publike Feasts where meete a publike rout;
Where they that are without would faine go in,
And they that are within would faine go out.

Or to the Iewell which this vertue had,
That men were mad till they might it obtaine,
But when they had it, they were twise as mad,
Till they were dipossest of it againe.

_Wife._ Maids cannot iudge, because they cannot tell,
What comforts and what ioyes in marriage be:

_Maid._ Yes, yes, though blessed Saints in heauen do dwell,
They doe the soules in Purgatory see.

_Widow._ If euery wife do liue in Purgatory.
Then sure it is, that Widdowes liue in blisse:
And are translated to a state of glory,
But Maids as yet haue not attain'd to this.

_Maid._ Not Maids? To spotlesse maids this gift is giuen,
To liue in incorruption from their birth;
And what is that but to inherit heauen
Euen while they dwell vpon the spotted earth?

The perfectest of all created things,
The purest gold, that suffers no allay;[156]
The sweetest flower that on th' earths bosome springs,
The pearle vnbord, whose price no price can pay:

The Christall Glasse that will no venome hold,[157]
The mirror wherein Angels loue to looke,
_Dianaes_ bathing Fountaine cleere and cold,
Beauties fresh Rose, and vertues liuing booke.

Of loue and fortune both, the Mistresse borne,
The soueraigne spirit that will be thrall to none;
The spotlesse garment that was neuer worne,
The Princely Eagle that still flyes alone.

She sees the world, yet her cleere thought doth take
No such deepe print as to be chang'd thereby;
As when we see the burning fire doth make,
No such impression as doth burne the eye.

_Wife._ No more (sweete maid) our strife is at an end,
Cease now: I fear we shall transformèd be
To chattering Pies, as they that did contend
To match the Muses in their harmony.

_Widow._ Then let us yeeld the honour and the place,
And let vs both be sutors to the maid;
That since the Goddesse giues her speciall grace,
By her cleere hands the offring be conuaide.

_Maid._ Your speech I doubt hath some displeasure mou'd,
Yet let me haue the offring, I will see;
I know she hath both wiues and widdowes lou'd,
Though she would neither wife nor widdow be. (pp 5-15.)

[Footnote 145: Misprinted 'sent.' G.]

[Footnote 146: A legal phrase = freedom or liberty. G.]

[Footnote 147: Nicolas, as before, has 'observes.' G.]

[Footnote 148: Nicolas, as before, reads 'net.' G.]

[Footnote 149: The reference is to the wavy or vandyked cutting of the vellum MS. whereby the one copy fits into the other. Recently two very ancient MSS. were thus unexpectedly brought together in H. M. Public Record Office. G.]

[Footnote 150: = cultivated. G.]

[Footnote 151: Cf. 'Orchestra,' Vol. I., page 192, with relative note. G.]

[Footnote 152: = in the fabric. G.]

[Footnote 153: = peer. G.]

[Footnote 154: In the previous editions of the Rhapsody, this line has always been imputed to the Wife, and the following one to the Widow; but as throughout the Contention each party praises her own state, whilst she ridicules that of the other, the transposition in the text appeared to be imperiously called for. Nicolas.]

[Footnote 155: By the rule of note 8, Wife seems necessary to be here prefixed; but see our Memorial-Introduction for a critical notice of this and other portions. G.]

[Footnote 156: = alloy. G.]

[Footnote 157: It was long a "Vulgar Error" that certain 'christall glasses' flew into bits on poison being put into them. G.]

III. A LOTTERY.[158]

[Footnote 158: See Introductory-note to the preceding poem. G.]

_Presented before the late Queenes Maiesty at the Lord Chancelors House, 1602._[159]

[Footnote 159: This Lottery was presented to the Queen in the year 1602, at York House, the residence of Thomas Egerton, Lord Keeper, not in 1601, as stated in Nichols' _Progresses_, vol iii. p. 570. See our Memorial-Introduction for authority for this correction, and for the names of the ladies who drew the successive 'lots,' and also other points. COLLIER, as before, in a strangely curious remark, supposes these lottery verses may be Samuel Rowland's "When gossips meet," and as strangely does not connect them with Davies' name at all. He, however, supplies interesting _memorabilia_, relating to these Elizabethan Entertainments. He mis-names the poet-compiler of the 'Rhapsody' throughout, Davidson.]

_A Marriner with a Boxe vnder his arme, contayning all the seuerall things following, supposed to come from the Carrick,[160] came into the Presence, singing this Song_:

[Footnote 160: Or _Caract_, a large ship. Chaucer speaks of Satan having "a tayle, broder than of a Carrike is the sayl." Sir Walter Raleigh,--a contributor to the _Rhapsody_,--observes "in which river the largest _Carack_ may, &c." Nicolas.]

_Cynthia_ Queene of Seas and Lands,
That fortune euery where commands,
Sent forth fortune to the Sea,
To try her fortune euery way.
There did I fortune meet, which makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

All the Nymphs of _Thetis_ traine
Did _Cinthias_ fortunes entertaine:
Many a Iewell, many a Iem,
Was to her fortune brought by them.
Her fortune sped so well, as makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

Fortune that it might be seene,
That she did serue a royall Queene,
A franke and royall hand did beare,
And cast her fauors euery where.
Some toyes fell to my share, which makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.[161]

[Footnote 161: Mr. Nichols, in his _Progresses of Queen Elizabeth_, cites the following passage from a speech made at her entertainment at Cowdray, to prove that the line in the text was an "olde saying." "Madame it is an olde saying '_There is no fishing to the sea, nor service to the King_;' but it holds when the sea is calm, and the King virtuous."... Vol. iii., pp. 95-571. Nicolas. The sense is that there is no fishing to be compared (in result) to sea-fishing, nor any service to be compared with the king's. G.]

And the Song ended, he vttred this short Speech:

_God saue you faire Ladies all: and for my part, if euer I be brought
to answere for my sinnes, God forgiue my sharking, and lay vsury to
my charge. I am a Marriner, and am now come from the sea, where I had
the fortune to light upon these few trifles. I must confesse I came
but lightly by them, but I no sooner had them, but I made a vow, that
as they came to my hands by Fortune, so I would not part with them but
by Fortune. To that end I haue euer since carried these Lots about me,
that if I met with fit company I might deuide my booty among them. And
now, (I thanke my good Fortune,)! I am lighted into the best company
of the world, a company of the fairest Ladyes that euer I saw. Come
Ladies try your fortunes, and if any light upon an unfortunate Blanke,
let her thinke that Fortune doth but mock her in these trifles, and
meanes to pleasure her in greater matters._

_The Lots._

1. _Fortunes Wheele._

Fortune must now no more in triumph ride,
The wheeles are yours that did her Chariot guide.

2. _A Purse._

You thriue, or would, or may, your Lots a Purse
Fill it with gold, and you are nere the worse.

3. _A Maske._

Want you a Maske? heere Fortune gives you one,
Yet nature giues the Rose and Lilly none.

4. _A Looking-Glasse._

Blinde Fortune doth not see how faire you be,
But giues a glasse that you your selfe may see.

5. _A Hankerchiefe._

Whether you seeme to weepe, or weepe indeed,
This Hand-kerchiefe will stand you well in steed.

6. _A Plaine Ring._

Fortune doth send[162] you, hap it well or ill,
This plaine gold Ring, to wed you to your will.

[Footnote 162: Manningham, in the original MS., has these variants: l. 1, 'hath sent'; l. 2, 'A plaine.' G.]

7. _A Ring, with this Poesie:

As faithfull as I find._
Your hand by Fortune on this Ring doth light,
And yet the words[163] do hit your humour right.

[Footnote 163: Manningham, as before, has 'word doth'--a reading which brings it more into accord with the language of the times, 'word' being then used for a sentence of import, impressa, or posy. He has also 'fit' for 'hit.' G.]

8. _A Pair of Gloues._

Fortune these Gloues to you in challenge sends,
For that you loue not fooles that are her friends.[164]

[Footnote 164: Manningham again reads here:--

... "to you in double challenge sends
For you hath fools and flatterers hir best friends." G.]

9. _A Dozen of Points._[165]

You are in euery point a louer true,
And therefore Fortune giues the points to you.

[Footnote 165: A tagged lace used for attaching and keeping up or together various parts of the dress. G.]

10. _A Lace._

Giue her the Lace that loues to be straight lac'd,
So Fortunes little gift is aptly plac'd.

11. _A Paire of Kniues._

Fortune doth giue this paire of Kniues to you,
To cut the thred of loue, if 't be not true.

12. _A Girdle._

By Fortunes Girdle you may happy be,[166]
But they that are lesse happy are more free.

[Footnote 166: Manningham reads, "With Fortune's ... happy may you be." G.]

13. _A Payre of Writing-Tables._

These Tables may containe your thoughts[167] in part,
But write not all, that's written in your heart.

[Footnote 167: _Ibid_, 'thought.' G.]

14. _A Payre of Garters._

Though you haue Fortunes Garters, you must be
More staid and constant in your steps then she.

15. _A Coife and Crosse-Cloth._

Frowne in good earnest, or be sick in iest,
This Coife and Cross-Cloth will become you best.

16. _A Scarfe._

Take you this Scarfe, bind _Cupid_ hand and foote,
So loue must aske you leaue before hee shoote.

17. _A Falling Band._

Fortune would have you rise, yet guides your hand,
From other Lots to take the falling band.

18. _A Stomacher._

This Stomacher is full of windowes[168] wrought,
Yet none through them can see into your thought.

[Footnote 168: = worked openings in the dress. G.]

19. _A Pair of Sizzers._[169]

These sizzers do your huswifery bewray,
You loue to work though you are borne to play.

[Footnote 169: Manningham has 'scisser case,' which shows the scissors were in a case. He also reads 'you be borne.' G.]

20. _A Chaine._

Because you scorne loue's Captiue to remaine,
Fortune hath sworne to leade you in a Chaine.

21. _A Prayer-Booke._

Your Fortune may prooue[170] good another day,
Till Fortune come, take you a booke to pray.

[Footnote 170: _Ibid_, 'may be.' Then l. 2 was first as in text, but over 'Till that day' is inserted above 'Till Fortune come,' though the latter is not erased. G.]

22. _A Snuftkin._[171]

'Tis Summer yet, a Snuftkin is your Lot,
But 'twill be winter one day, doubt you not.

[Footnote 171: A small muff for Winter-wear. _Ibid_ in heading and l. 1, 'Mufkin': in l. 2 'It will be.' G.]

23. _A Fanne._

You loue to see, and yet to be vnseen,
Take you this Fanne to be your beauties skreene.

24. _A Pair of Bracelets._

Lady, your hands are fallen into a snare,
For _Cupids_ manicles these Bracelets are.

25. _A Bodkin._

Euen with this Bodkin you may lie unharmed,
Your beauty is with vertue so well armed.

26. _A Necklace._

Fortune giues your faire neck this lace to weare,
God grant a heauier yoke it neuer beare.

27. _A Cushinet._

To her that little cares what Lot she wins,
Chance gives a little Cushinet to stick pinnes.

28. _A Dyall._

The Dyal's your's, watch time least it be lost,
Yet they most lose it that do watch it most.[172]

[Footnote 172: _Ibid_, this variant:--

"And yet they spend it worst that watch it most." G.]

29. _A Nutmeg with a Blanke Parchment in it._

This Nutmeg holds a Blanke, but chance doth hide it:
Write your owne wish, and Fortune will prouide it.

30. _Blanke._

Wot you not why Fortune giues you no prize,
Good faith she saw you not, she wants her eyes.

31. _Blanke._

You are so dainty to be pleaz'd, God wot,
Chance knowes not what to giue you for a Lot.

32. _Blanke._

Tis pitty such a hand should draw in vaine,
Though it gaine nought, yet shall it pitty gaine.

33. _Blanke._

Nothing's your Lot, that's more then can be told,
For nothing is more precious then gold.

34. _Blanke._

You faine would haue, but what, you cannot tell.
In giuing nothing, Fortune serues you well.

SIR I. D. (pp. 42-46.)

IV. CANZONET.

_A Hymne in Praise of Musicke._[173]

[Footnote 173: See Introductory-Note to the first of these Minor Poems. I include this 'Canzonet' because originally it bore the initials of Davies' other pieces in the 'Rhapsody,' viz., I. D.--G.]

Praise, pleasure, profite, is that threefold band,
Which ties mens minds more fast then Gordions knots:
Each one some drawes, all three none can withstand,
Of force conioynd, Conquest is hardly got.
Then Musicke may of hearts a Monarch be,
Wherein prayse, pleasure, profite so agree.

Praise-worthy Musicke is, for God it praiseth,
And pleasant, for brute beasts therein delight,
Great profit from it flowes, for why it raiseth
The mind ouerwhelmed with rude passions might:
When against reason passions fond rebell,
Musicke doth that confirme, and those expell.

If Musicke did not merit endlesse praise,
Would heauenly Spheares delight in siluer round?[174]
If ioyous pleasure were not in sweet layes
Would they in Court and Country so abound?
And profitable needes we must that call,
Which pleasure linkt with praise, doth bring to all.

[Footnote 174: Qu: sound? or it may be = their circular movement (supposed). G.]

Heroicke minds with praises most incited,
Seeke praise in Musicke and therein excell:
God, man, beasts, birds, with Musicke are delighted,
And pleasant t'is which pleaseth all so well:
No greater profit is then self-content,
And this will Musicke bring, and care preuent.

When antique Poets Musick's praises tell,
They say it beasts did please, and stones did moue:
To proue more dull then stones, then beasts more fell,
Those men which pleasing Musicke did not loue;
They fain'd, it Cities built, and States defended
To shew the profite great on it depended.

Sweet birds (poor men's Musitians) neuer slake
To sing sweet Musickes praises day and night:
The dying Swans in Musicke pleasure take,
To shew that it the dying can delight:
In sicknesse, health, peace, warre, we do it need,
Which proues sweet Musicks profit doth exceed.

But I by niggard praising, do dispraise
Praise-worthy Musicke in my worthlesse Rime:
Ne can the pleasing profit of sweet laies,
Any saue learnèd Muses well define:
Yet all by these rude lines may clearely see,
Praise, pleasure, profite in sweet musicke be. [pp. 138-9.]

(No sig. but in 1602. I. D.)

V. TEN SONETS TO PHILOMEL.[175]

[Footnote 175: In my edition of Donne I have assigned these Ten Sonnets to him, but for reasons given in Memorial-Introduction now reclaim them for Davies. Our text is as with the others from the 'Rhapsody' of 1621, where they are numbered in the class of sonnets xxxiv. to xlii. They were originally signed Melophilus. The various readings are merely orthographical. G.]

SONNET I.

_Vpon Loues entring by the eares._

Oft did I heare our eyes the passage weare,
By which Loue entred to assaile our hearts:
Therefore I garded them, and void of feare,
Neglected the defence of other parts.
Loue knowing this, the vsuall way forsooke:
And seeking found a by-way by mine eare.
At which he entring, my heart prisoner tooke,
And vnto thee sweete Phylomel did beare.
Yet let my heart thy heart to pitty moue,
Whose paine is great, although small fault appeare.
First it lies bound in fettring chaines of loue,
Then each day it is rackt with hope and feare.
And with loues flames tis euermore consumed,
Only because to loue thee it presumed.

O why did Fame my heart to loue betray,
By telling my Deares vertue and perfection?
Why did my Traytor eares to it conuey
That Syren-song, cause of my hearts infection?
Had I been deafe, or Fame her gifts concealed,
Then had my heart beene free from hopelesse Loue:
Or were my state likewise by it reuealed,
Well might it Philomel to pitty moue.
Than should she know how loue doth make me languish,
Distracting me twixt hope and dreadfull feare:
Then should she know my care, my plaints and anguish,
All which for her deare selfe I meekely beare.
Yea I could quietly deaths paines abide,
So that she knew that for her sake I dide.

_Of his owne, and his Mistresse sicknesse at one time._

Sicknesse entending my loue to betray,
Before I should sight of my deere obtaine:
Did his pale colours in my face display,
Lest that my fauour might her fauours gaine.
Yet not content herewith, like meanes it wrought,
My Philomels bright beauty to deface:
And natures glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceiuèd loue it might displace.
But my firme loue could this assault well beare,
Which vertue had, not beauty for his ground.
And yet bright beames of beauty did appeare,
Through sicknesse vaile, which made my loue abound;
If sicke (thought I) her beauty so excell,
How matchlesse would it be if she were well.

_Another of her sicknesse and recovery._

Pale Death himselfe did loue my Philomell,
When he her vertues and rare beauty saw,
Therefore he sicknesse sent: which should expell
His riuals life, and my deare to him draw.
But her bright beauty dazled so his eyes,
That his dart life did misse, though her it hit:
Yet not therewith content, new meanes he tries,
To bring her vnto Death, and make life flit.
But Nature soone perceiuing, that he meant
To spoyle her onely Ph[oe]nix, her chiefe pride,
Assembled all her force, and did preuent
The greatest mischiefe that could her betide.
So both our liues and loues, Nature defended:
For had she di'de, my loue and life had ended.

_Allusion to Theseus voyage to Crete, against the Minotaure._

My loue is sail'd against dislike to fight,
Which like vile monster, threatens his decay:
The ship is hope, which by desires great might,
Is swiftly borne towards the wishèd bay:
The company which with my loue doth fare,
(Though met in one) is a dissenting crew:
They are ioy, griefe, and neuer-sleeping care,
And doubt, which neere beleeues good newes for true:
Blacke feare the flag is, which my ship doth beare,
Which (Deere) take downe, if my loue victor be:
And let white comfort in his place appeare.
When loue victoriously returnes to me:
Least I from rock despaire come tumbling downe,
And in a sea of teares be for'st to drowne.

_Vpon her looking secretly out at a window as he passed by._

Once did my Philomel reflect on me,
Her Cristall pointed eyes as I past by;
Thinking not to be seene, yet would me see:
But soone my hungry eies their food did spy.
Alas, my deere, couldst them suppose, that face
Which needs not enuy Ph[oe]bus chiefest pride,
Could secret be, although in secret place,
And that transparent glasse such beames could hide?
But if I had been blinde, yet Loues hot flame,
Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright eye,
Did plainly shew when it so neere thee came,
By more the vsuall heate then cause was nie,
So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye
Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy.

When time nor place would let me often view
Natures chiefe Mirror, and my sole delight;
Her liuely picture in my heart I drew,
That I might it behold both day and night;
But she, like Philips Sonne, scorning that I
Should portraiture, which wanted Apelles Art,
Commanded Loue (who nought dare her deny)
To burne the picture which was in my heart.
The more loue burn'd, the more her Picture shin'd:
The more it shin'd, the more my heart did burne:
So what to hurt her Picture was assign'd,
To my hearts ruine and decay did turne.
Loue could not burne the Spirit, it was divine,
And therefore fir'd my heart, the Saints poor shrine.

_To the Sunne of his Mistresse beauty eclipsed with frownes._

When as the Sunne eclipsèd is, some say
It thunder, lightning, raine, and wind portendeth;
And not vnlike but such things happen may,
Sith like effects my Sunne eclipsèd sendeth!
Witnesse my throat made hoarse with thundring cries,
And heart with loues hot flashing lightnings fired:
Witnesse the showers which still fall from mine eies,
And breast with sighes like stormy winds neare riued.
O shine then once againe sweet Sunne on me,
And with thy beames dissolue clouds of despaire,
Whereof these raging Meteors framèd be,
In my poore heart by absence of my faire.
So shalt thou prooue thy beames, thy heate, thy light,
To match the Sunne in glory, grace, and might.

_Vpon sending her a gold ring with this Posie._

Pure and Endlesse.
If you would know the love which I you beare,
Compare it to the Ring which your faire hand
Shall make more precious, when you shall it weare:
So my loues nature you shall vnderstand.
Is it of mettall pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyall thought did staine.
Hath it no end? so endlesse is my loue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more tis tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas gold the more t'is purifide
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent:
My loue doth waxe more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.

_The hearts captivitie._

My cruell deere hauing captiu'de my heart,
And bound it fast in chaines of restlesse loue:
Requires it out of bondage to depart,
Yet is she sure from her it cannot moue.
Draw backe (said she) your helpeless loue from me,
Your worth requires a farre more worthy place:
Vnto your suite though I cannot agree,
Full many will it louingly embrace.
It may be so (my deere) but as the Sunne,
When it appeares doth make the starres to vanish!
So when your selfe into my thoughts do runne,
All others quite out of my heart you banish.
The beames of your perfections shine so bright,
That straight-way they dispell all other light.

I. D.

VI. TO GEORGE CHAPMAN ON HIS OVID.[176]