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Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
Think not alone under the sun
Although my lute and I have done.
May chance thee lie wither'd and old
Plaining in vain unto the moon :
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
And wish and want, as I have done!
Now cease my lute: this is the last
And ended is that we begun;
My lute be still, for I have done!
That each Thing is hurt of itself. Why fearest thou thy outward foe,
When thou thyself thy harm dost feed?
Of grief or hurt, of pain or wo,
Within each thing is sown the seed.
So fine was never yet the cloth,
No smith so hard his ir'n did beat,
Th' other with canker all to-fret.
The knotty oak, and wainscot old,
roll'd Always within itself doth burn.
Thus every thing that Nature wrought
Within itself his hurt doth bear :
Where enemies be within so near.
The Lover in Liberty smileth at them in Thraldom,
that sometime scorned his Bondage. At liberty I sit, and see
Them that have erst laugh’d me to scorn, Whipp'd with the whip that scourged me,
And now they ban' that they were born!
I see them sit full soberly,
And think their earnest looks to hide; Now in themselves they cannot spy
That they, or this, in me have spied !
I see them sitting all alone,
Marking the steps, each word, and look: And now they tread where I have gone!
The painful path that I forsook !
I see them wander all alone,
And tread full fast in dreadful doubt The self-same path that I have gone !
Blessed be hap that brought me out!
At liberty all this I see ;
And say no word but erst among ; Smiling at them that laugh’d at me;
Lo such is hap! mark well my song!
The Lover in Despair lamenteth his Case.
ADIEU desert, how art thou spent !
Ah dropping tears, how do you waste ! ! Ah scalding sighs, how be ye spent, To prick them forth that will not haste !
" I do not understand this expression. VOL. II.
Ah pained heart, thou gap'st for grace
As easy 't is the stony rock
From place to place for to remove, As by thy plaint for to provoke
A frozen heart from hate to love. What should I say? such is thy lot, To fawn on them that force thee not.
Thus may'st thou safely say and swear
That rigour reign’th and ruth doth fail, In thankless thoughts thy thoughts do wear,
Thy truth, thy faith may nought avail For thy good will. Why should thou so Still graft where grace it will not grow?
Alas, poor heart, thus hast thou spent
Thy flowering time, thy pleasant years ! With sighing voice weep and lament,
, For of thy hope no fruit appears : Thy true meaning is paid with scorn, That ever sow'th and reap'th no corn.
And where thou seeks a quiet port,
Thou dost but weigh against the wind;
For where thou gladdest wouldst resort,
There is no place for thee assign'd. Thy destiny hath set it so That thy true heart should cause thy wo.
A Praise of his Lady.
Give place, you ladies, and be gone.
Boast not yourselves at all !
you all !
The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone :
To read or look upon.
In each of her two chrystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy: It would
all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy.
I think Natùre hath lost the mould:
Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.
i So ed. 1.-Ed. 1567, “ gladdiest.”