HAVING this day, my horse, my hand, my lance
Guided so well; that I obtained the prize:
Both by the judgment of the English eyes;
And of some sent by that sweet enemy, France!
Horsemen, my skill in horsemanship advance;
Townsfolk, my strength; a daintier judge applies
His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise ;
Some lucky wits impute it but to chance ;
Others, because, of both sides, I do take
My blood from them who did excel in this;
Think Nature me a man-at-arms did make.
How far they shot awry! The true cause is,
Stella lookt on, and from her heavenly face
Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.
BECAUSE I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use set colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan,
The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan
Of them who in their lips, Love's standard bear :
"What he!" say they of me,
66 now I dare swear
He cannot love. No, no, let him alone!"
And think so still! so Stella know my mind.
not Cupid's art :
But you, fair maids! at length this true shall find,
That his right badge is but worn in the heart.
Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove.
They love indeed who quake to say they love.
LOVE still a boy, and oft a wanton is ;
Schooled only by his mother's tender eye.
What wonder then, if he his lesson miss ;
When for so soft a rod, dear play he try?
And yet my Star, because a sugared kiss
In sport I suckt, while she asleep did lie :
Doth lower ; nay, chide; ; nay, threat for only this!
"Sweet! It was saucy Love, not humble I."
But, no 'scuse serves; she makes her wrath appear
In Beauty's throne. See now! who dares come near
Those scarlet judges, threat'ning bloody pain?
O heavenly fool! Thy most kiss-worthy face,
Anger invests with such a lovely grace;
That Anger's self I needs must kiss again!
DOUBT you to whom my Muse these notes in
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth ?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only in you, my song begins and endeth.
Who hath the eyes which marry State with Pleasure?
Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only for you, the heaven forgat all measure.
Who hath the lips, where Wit in fairness reigneth?
Who womankind at once both decks and staineth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only by you, Cupid his crown maintaineth.
1 The first song from "Astrophel and Stella".
Who hath the feet, whose steps all sweetness planteth? Who else; for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only to you, her sceptre Venus granteth.
Who hath the breast, whose milk doth passion's nourish ?
Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only through you, the Tree of life doth flourish.
Who hath the hand which without stroke subdueth?
Who long dead beauty with increase reneweth ?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only at you, all envy hopeless sueth.
Who hath the hair, which loosest fasteth tieth?
Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only of you, the flatterer never lieth.
Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders?
Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only with you, not miracles are wonders.
Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth ?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only in you, my song begins and endeth.
ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL
LOVE in my bosom, like a bee,
Doth suck his sweet;
Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:
Ah! wanton, will ye ?
And if I sleep, then percheth he
With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays if so I sing;
He lends me every lovely thing,
Yet cruel, he my heart doth sting:
Whist, wanton, still ye?
Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long to play,
For your offence ;
I'll shut my eyes to keep you in ;
I'll make you fast it for your sin;
I'll count your power not worth a pin ;
Alas! what hereby shall I win,
If he gainsay me?
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be ;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid! so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee.
LOVE'S WANTONNESS
LOVE guides the roses of thy lips,
And flies about them like a bee;
If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.
Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
And sleeps within their pretty shine,
And if I look the boy will lower,
And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
Love works thy heart within his fire,
And in my tears doth firm the same,
And if I tempt it will retire,
And of my plaints doth make a game.
Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
And pity me, and calm her eye,
Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
Then I will praise thy deity.
LIKE to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair
Whether unfolded, or in twines :
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink;
The gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think
Heigh ho, would she were mine!
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