DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE
OF A LOVER, WITH SUIT TO HIS LADY, TO
RUE ON HIS DYING HEART.
THE sun hath twice brought forth his tender green, Twice clad the earth in lively lustiness;
Once have the winds the trees despoiled clean,
And once again begins their cruelness;
Since I have hid under my breast the harm
That never shall recover healthfulness.
The winter's hurt recovers with the warm;
The parched green restored is with shade;
What warmth, alas! may serve for to disarm
The frozen heart, that mine in flame hath made?
What cold again is able to restore
My fresh green years, that wither thus and fade?
Alas! I see nothing hath hurt so sore
But Time, in time, reduceth a return:
In time my harm increaseth more and more,
And seems to have my cure always in scorn.
Strange kinds of death in life that I do try!
At hand, to melt; far off in flame to burn.
And like as time list to my cure apply,
So doth each place my comfort clean refuse.
All thing alive, that seeth the heavens with eye,
With cloak of night, may cover, and excuse
It self from travail of the day's unrest,
Save I, alas! against all others use,
That then stir up the torments of my breast;
And curse each star as causer of my fate.
And when the sun hath eke the dark opprest,
And brought the day, it doth nothing abate
The travails of mine endless smart and pain.
For then, as one that hath the light in hate,
I wish for night, more covertly to plain;
And me withdraw from every haunted place,
Lest by my chere my chance appear too plain.
And in my mind I measure pace by pace,
To seek the place where I myself had lost,
That day that I was tangled in the lace,
In seeming slack, that knitteth ever most.
But never yet the travail of my thought,
Of better state, could catch a cause to boast.
For if I found, some time that I have sought,
Those stars by whom I trusted of the port,
My sails do fall, and I advance right nought;
As anchor'd fast my spirits do all resort
To stand agazed, and sink in more and more1
The deadly harm which she doth take in sport.
Lo! if I seek, how I do find my sore!
And if I flee, I carry with me still
1 To stand at gaze and suck in more and more. MSS. cited by Dr. Nott.
The venom'd shaft, which doth his force restore
By haste of flight; and I may plain my fill
Unto myself, unless this careful song
Print in your heart some parcel of my tene.1
For I, alas! in silence all too long,
Of mine old hurt yet feel the wound but green.
Rue on my Life; or else your cruel wrong
Shall well appear, and by my death be seen.
WHEREIN EVERY THING RENEWS, SAVE ONLY THE LOVER.
THE SOote 2 season, that bud and bloom forth brings
With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale.
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs,
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he slings;
The fishes flete with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; 4
The busy bee her honey now she mings; 5
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs!
DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE OF A LOVER.
WHEN youth had led me half the race
That Cupid's scourge had made me run;
I looked back to mete the place
From whence my weary course begun.
And then I saw how my desire
By guiding ill had lett the way:
Mine eyen, too greedy of their hire,
Had made me lose a better prey.
For when in sighs I spent the day,
And could not cloak my grief with game;
The boiling smoke did still bewray
The present heat of secret flame.
And when salt tears do bain my breast,
Where Love his pleasant trains hath sown;
Her beauty hath the fruits opprest,
Ere that the buds were sprung and blown.
And when mine eyen did still pursue
The flying chase of their request;
Their greedy looks did oft renew
The hidden wound within my breast.
When every look these cheeks might stain,
From deadly pale to glowing red;
By outward signs appeared plain,
To her for help my heart was fled.
But all too late Love learneth me
To paint all kind of colours new;
To blind their eyes that else should see
My speckled cheeks with Cupid's hue.
And now the covert breast I claim,
That worshipp'd Cupid secretly;
And nourished his sacred flame,
From whence no blazing sparks do fly.
DESCRIPTION OF THE FICKLE AFFECTIONS, PANGS, AND SLIGHTS OF LOVE.
SUCH wayward ways hath Love, that most part in discord
Our wills do stand, whereby our hearts but seldom do accord.
Deceit is his delight, and to beguile and mock
The simple hearts, which he doth strike with froward, diverse stroke.
He causeth the one to rage with golden burning dart; And doth allay with leaden cold again the other's
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