Chapter 2

How languisheth the primrose of love's garden! How trill her tears, th' elixir of my senses! Ambitious sickness, what doth thee so harden? Oh spare, and plague thou me for her offences! Ah roses, love's fair roses, do not languish; Blush through the milk-white veil that holds you covered. If heat or cold may mitigate your anguish, I'll burn, I'll freeze, but you shall be recovered. Good God, would beauty mark now she is crased, How but one shower of sickness makes her tender, Her judgments then to mark my woes amazed, To mercy should opinion's fort surrender! And I,--oh would I might, or would she meant it! Should hery[A] love, who now in heart lament it.

[Footnote A: _hery_, praise.]

VIII

No stars her eyes to clear the wandering night, But shining suns of true divinity, That make the soul conceive her perfect light! No wanton beauties of humanity Her pretty brows, but beams that clear the sight Of him that seeks the true philosophy! No coral is her lip, no rose her fair, But even that crimson that adorns the sun. No nymph is she, but mistress of the air, By whom my glories are but new begun. But when I touch and taste as others do, I then shall write and you shall wonder too.

IX

The dewy roseate Morn had with her hairs In sundry sorts the Indian clime adorned; And now her eyes apparrelèd in tears, The loss of lovely Memnon long had mourned, When as she spied the nymph whom I admire, Combing her locks, of which the yellow gold Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire, Which heaven itself with wonder might behold; Then red with shame, her reverend locks she rent, And weeping hid the beauty of her face, The flower of fancy wrought such discontent; The sighs which midst the air she breathed a space, A three-days' stormy tempest did maintain, Her shame a fire, her eyes a swelling rain.

X

The rumour runs that here in Isis swim Such stately swans so confident in dying, That when they feel themselves near Lethe's brim, They sing their fatal dirge when death is nighing. And I like these that feel my wounds are mortal, Contented die for her whom I adore; And in my joyful hymns do still exhort all To die for such a saint or love no more. Not that my torments or her tyranny Enforce me to enjoin so hard a task, But for I know, and yield no reason why, But will them try that have desire to ask. As love hath wreaths his pretty eyes to seel, So lovers must keep secret what they feel.

XI

My frail and earthly bark, by reason's guide, Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail, By my desires, the winds of bad betide, Hath sailed these worldly seas with small avail, Vain objects serve for dreadful rocks to quail My brittle boat from haven of life that flies To haunt the sea of mundane miseries. My soul that draws impressions from above, And views my course, and sees the winds aspire, Bids reason watch to scape the shoals of love; But lawless will enflamed with endless ire Doth steer empoop,[B] whilst reason doth retire. The streams increase; love's waves my bark do fill; Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will.

[Footnote B: steer empoop (_text_: steerem poop): _en poupe_.]

XII

Ah trees, why fall your leaves so fast? Ah rocks, where are your robes of moss? Ah flocks, why stand you all aghast? Trees, rocks, and flocks, what, are you pensive for my loss? The birds methinks tune naught but moan, The winds breathe naught but bitter plaint, The beasts forsake their dens to groan; Birds, winds, and beasts, what doth my loss your powers attaint? Floods weep their springs above their bounds, And echo wails to see my woe, The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds; Floods, echo, grounds, why do you all these tears bestow? The trees, the rocks, and flocks reply, The birds, the winds, the beasts report, Floods, echo, grounds, for sorrow cry, We grieve since Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort.

XIII

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 shoots 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 will I praise thy deity. But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.

XIV

I wrote in Mirrha's bark, and as I wrote, Poor Mirrha wept because I wrote forsaken; 'Twas of thy pride I sung in weeping note, When as her leaves great moan for pity maken. The falling fountains from the mountains falling, Cried out, alas, so fair and be so cruel! And babbling echo never ceasèd calling, Phillis, disdain is fit for none but truthless. The rising pines wherein I had engraved Thy memory consulting with the wind, Are trucemen to thy heart and thoughts depraved, And say, thy kind should not be so unkind. But, out alas! so fell is Phillis fearless, That she hath made her Damon well nigh tearless.

XV

My Phillis hath the morning sun At first to look upon her. And Phillis hath morn-waking birds, Her risings for to honour. My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers, That smile when she treads on them, And Phillis hath a gallant flock, That leaps since she doth own them. But Phillis hath so hard a heart-- Alas that she should have it!-- As yields no mercy to desert, Nor grace to those that crave it. Sweet sun, when thou look'st on, Pray her regard my moan. Sweet birds, when you sing to her, To yield some pity woo her. Sweet flowers, whenas she treads on, Tell her, her beauty deads one. And if in life her love she nill agree me, Pray her before I die, she will come see me.

XVI

I part; but how? from joy, from hope, from life; I leave; but whom? love's pride, wit's pomp, heart's bliss; I pine; for what? for grief, for thought, for strife; I faint; and why? because I see my miss. Oh ceaseless pains that never may be told, You make me weep as I to water would! Ah weary hopes, in deep oblivious streams Go seek your graves, since you have lost your grounds! Ah pensive heart, seek out her radiant gleams! For why? Thy bliss is shut within those bounds! All traitorous eyes, to[o] feeble in for[e] sight, Grow dim with woe, that now must want your light! I part from bliss to dwell with ceaseless moan, I part from life, since I from beauty part, I part from peace, to pine in care alone, I part from ease to die with dreadful smart. I part--oh death! for why? this world contains More care and woe than with despair remains. Oh loath depart, wherein such sorrows dwell, As all conceits are scant the same to tell!

XVII

Ah fleeting weal, ah sly deluding sleep, That in one moment giv'st me joy and pain! How do my hopes dissolve to tears in vain, As wont the snows, 'fore angry sun to weep! Ah noisome life that hath no weal in keep! My forward grief hath form and working might; My pleasures like the shadows take their flight; My path to bliss is tedious, long and steep. Twice happy thou Endymion that embracest The live-long night thy love within thine arms, Where thou fond dream my longèd weal defacest Whilst fleeting and uncertain shades thou placest Before my eyes with false deluding charms! Ah instant sweets which do my heart revive, How should I joy if you were true alive!

XVIII

As where two raging venoms are united, Which of themselves dissevered life would sever, The sickly wretch of sickness is acquited, Which else should die, or pine in torments ever; So fire and frost, that hold my heart in seizure, Restore those ruins which themselves have wrought, Where if apart they both had had their pleasure, The earth long since her fatal claim had caught. Thus two united deaths keep me from dying; I burne in ice, and quake amidst the fire, No hope midst these extremes or favour spying; Thus love makes me a martyr in his ire. So that both cold and heat do rather feed My ceaseless pains, than any comfort breed.

XIX

Thou tyrannizing monarch that dost tire My love-sick heart through those assaulting eyes, That are the lamps which lighten my desire! If nought but death thy fury may suffice, Not for my peace, but for thy pleasure be it, That Phillis, wrathful Phillis that repines me All grace but death, may deign to come and see it, And seeing grieve at that which she assigns me. This only boon for all my mortal bane I crave and cry for at thy mercy seat: That when her wrath a faithful heart hath slain, And soul is fled, and body reft of heat, She might perceive how much she might command, That had my life and death within her hand.

XX

Some praise the looks, and others praise the locks Of their fair queens, in love with curious words; Some laud the breast where love his treasure locks, All like the eye that life and love affords. But none of these frail beauties and unstable Shall make my pen riot in pompous style; More greater gifts shall my grave muse enable, Whereat severer brows shall never smile. I praise her honey-sweeter eloquence, Which from the fountain of true wisdom floweth, Her modest mien that matcheth excellence, Her matchless faith which from her virtue groweth; And could my style her happy virtues equal, Time had no power her glories to enthral.

EGLOGA PRIMA DEMADES DAMON

DEMADES

Now scourge of winter's wrack is well nigh spent, And sun gins look more longer on our clime, And earth no more to sorrow doth consent, Why been thy looks forlorn that view the prime? Unneth thy flocks may feed to see thee faint, Thou lost, they lean, and both with woe attaint. For shame! Cast off these discontented looks; For grief doth wait on life, though never sought; So Thenot wrote admired for pipe and books. Then to the spring attemper thou thy thought, And let advice rear up thy drooping mind, And leave to weep thy woes unto the wind.

DAMON

Ah Demades, no wonder though I wail, For even the spring is winter unto me! Look as the sun the earth doth then avail, When by his beams her bowels warmèd be; Even so a saint more sun-bright in her shining First wrought my weal, now hastes my winter's pining. Which lovely lamp withdrawn from my poor eyes, Both parts of earth and fire drowned up in woe In winter dwell. My joy, my courage dies; My lambs with me that do my winter know For pity scorn the spring that nigheth near, And pine to see their master's pining cheer. The root which yieldeth sap unto the tree Draws from the earth the means that make it spring; And by the sap the scions fostered be, All from the sun have comfort and increasing And that fair eye that lights this earthly ball Kills by depart, and nearing cheereth all. As root to tree, such is my tender heart, Whose sap is thought, whose branches are content; And from my soul they draw their sweet or smart, And from her eye, my soul's best life is lent; Which heavenly eye that lights both earth and air, Quells by depart and quickens by repair.

DEMADES

Give period to the process of thy plaint, Unhappy Damon, witty in self-grieving; Tend thou thy flocks; let tyrant love attaint Those tender hearts that made their love their living. And as kind time keeps Phillis from thy sight, So let prevention banish fancy quite.

Cast hence this idle fuel of desire, That feeds that flame wherein thy heart consumeth; Let reason school thy will which doth aspire, And counsel cool impatience that presumeth; Drive hence vain thoughts which are fond love's abettors, For he that seeks his thraldom merits fetters.

The vain idea of this deity Nursed at the teat of thine imagination, Was bred, brought up by thine own vanity, Whose being thou mayst curse from the creation; And so thou list, thou may as soon forget love, As thou at first didst fashion and beget love.

DAMON

Peace, Demades, peace shepherd, do not tempt me; The sage-taught wife may speak thus, but not practise; Rather from life than from my love exempt me, My happy love wherein my weal and wrack lies; Where chilly age first left love, and first lost her, There youth found love, liked love, and love did foster.

Not as ambitious of their[C] own decay, But curious to equal your fore-deeds, So tread we now within your wonted way; We find your fruits of judgments and their seeds; We know you loved, and loving learn that lore; You scorn kind love, because you can no more.

Though from this pure refiner of the thought The gleanings of your learnings have you gathered Your lives had been abortive, base and naught, Except by happy love they had been fathered; Then still the swain, for I will still avow it; They have no wit nor worth that disallow it.

Then to renew the ruins of my tears Be thou no hinderer, Demades, I pray thee. If my love-sighs grow tedious in thine ears, Fly me, that fly from joy, I list not stay thee. Mourn sheep, mourn lambs, and Damon will weep by you; And when I sigh, "Come home, sweet Phillis," cry you.

Come home, sweet Phillis, for thine absence causeth A flowerless prime-tide in these drooping meadows; To push his beauties forth each primrose pauseth, Our lilies and our roses like coy widows Shut in their buds, their beauties, and bemoan them, Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them.

The trees by my redoubled sighs long blasted Call for thy balm-sweet breath and sunny eyes, To whom all nature's comforts are hand-fasted; Breathe, look on them, and they to life arise; They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest, And droop with me, when thy fair brow thou bendest.

I woo thee, Phillis, with more earnest weeping Than Niobe for her dead issue spent; I pray thee, nymph who hast our spring in keeping, Thou mistress of our flowers and my content, Come home, and glad our meads of winter weary, And make thy woeful Damon blithe and merry.

Else will I captive all my hopes again, And shut them up in prisons of despair, And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain, And sigh such sighs as shall eclipse the air, And cry such cries as love that hears my crying Shall faint and weep for grief and fall a-dying.

My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it, Except thy little world her light discover, Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it. Oh how I fear lest absent Jove should love her! I fear it, Phillis, for he never saw one That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure and awe one.

I swear to thee, all-seeing sovereign Rolling heaven's circles round about our center, Except my Phillis safe return again, No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter. All hope (but future hope to be renowned, For weeping Phillis) shall in tears be drowned.

DEMADES

How large a scope lends Damon to his moan, Wafting those treasures of his happy wit In registering his woeful woe-begone! Ah bend thy muse to matters far more fit! For time shall come when Phillis is interred, That Damon shall confess that he hath erred.

When nature's riches shall, by time dissolved, Call thee to see with more judicial eye How Phillis' beauties are to dust resolved, Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail, To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail.

Have mercy on thyself, cease being idle, Let reason claim and gain of will his homage; Rein in these brain-sick thoughts with judgment's bridle, A short prevention helps a mighty domage. If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so That if she fly, thou may'st love's fire forego.

Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame; Show passions in thy words, but not in heart; Lest when thou think to bring thy thoughts in frame, Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine art. Play with these babes of love, as apes with glasses, And put no trust in feathers, wind, or lasses.

DAMON

Did not thine age yield warrantise, old man, Impatience would enforce me to offend thee; Me list not now thy forward skill to scan, Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee. Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth, grass, sky, stars shall banish, Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish.

So get thee gone, and fold thy tender sheep, For lo, the great automaton of day In Isis stream his golden locks doth steep; Sad even her dusky mantle doth display; Light-flying fowls, the posts of night, disport them, And cheerful-looking vesper doth consort them.

Come you, my careful flock, forego you master, I'll fold you up and after fall a-sighing; Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster; Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing. Farewell, old Demades.

DEMADES

Damon, farewell. How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel!

[Footnote C: Our?]

AN ELEGY

Ah cruel winds, why call you hence away? Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me? Ye traitorous floods, why nil your floats delay Until my latest moans discoursèd be? For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain Of all your floats and gentle winds be still, While I have wept such tears as might restrain The rage of tides and winds against their will. Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes? And must my soul his life and glory leave? Must I forsake the bower where solace lives, To trust to tickle fates that still deceive? Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change, That each man tract this labyrinth of life With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange, Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife! Ah joy! No joy because so soon thou fleetest, Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being! Oh life! No life, since with such chance thou meetest! Oh eyes! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing! Soul, be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers To crystal tears, and by their pores express The grief that my distressèd soul devours! Clothe thou my body all in heaviness; My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure, But now the vale of absence overclouds them; They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them. Yea, die! Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing, That I may die the death whilst she regardeth! For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing, If she look on who all my life awardeth. Oh thou that art the portion of my joy, Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime; Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy That wounds my soul upon this sorry time! Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee. Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses, Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee. And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented! The winds are fair the sails are hoisèd high, The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented, Grief so subdues my heart as it should die. A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender, And with my tears my papers are distained. Which closèd up, my heart in them I render, To tell thee how at parting I complained. Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell, And for my sake let him with beauty dwell.

THIRSIS EGLOGA SECUNDA

Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth, Eyes are fraught with seas of languish; Heavy hope my solace harmeth, Mind's repast is bitter anguish.

Eye of day regarded never Certain trust in world untrusty; Flattering hope beguileth ever Weary, old, and wanton lusty.

Dawn of day beholds enthronèd Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless; Darksome night doth hear him moanèd, Who before was rich and needless.

Rob the sphere of lines united, Make a sudden void in nature; Force the day to be benighted, Reave the cause of time and creature;

Ere the world will cease to vary, This I weep for, this I sorrow. Muses, if you please to tarry, Further helps I mean to borrow.

Courted once by fortune's favour, Compassed now with envy's curses, All my thoughts of sorrow savour, Hopes run fleeting like the sources.

Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimèd All the joy my heart enjoyèd; Thoughts their thinking have disclaimèd, Hate my hopes hath quite annoyèd.

Scant regard my weal hath scanted, Looking coy hath forced my lowering; Nothing liked where nothing wanted Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.

Former love was once admirèd, Present favour is estrangèd, Loath the pleasure long desirèd; Thus both men and thoughts are changèd.

Lovely swain with lucky guiding, Once (but now no more so friended) Thou my flocks hast had in minding, From the morn till day was ended.

Drink and fodder, food and folding, Had my lambs and ewes together; I with them was still beholding, Both in warmth and winter weather.

Now they languish since refusèd, Ewes and lambs are pained with pining; I with ewes and lambs confusèd, All unto our deaths declining.

Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd; Deign a doleful swain to tender; Though disdains I have endurèd, Yet I am no deep offender.

Phillis' son can with his finger Hide his scar, it is so little; Little sin a day to linger, Wise men wander in a tittle.

Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd, Though my sun he never showeth: Though I weep, I am not mournèd; Though I want, no pity groweth.

Yet for pity love my muses; Gentle silence be their cover; They must leave their wonted uses, Since I leave to be a lover.

They shall live with thee inclosèd, I will loathe my pen and paper Art shall never be supposèd, Sloth shall quench the watching taper.

Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly Though I leave them, yet I love them; Though my wit have led them blindly, Yet my swain did once approve them.

I will travel soils removèd, Night and morrow never merry; Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd, I will love that makes me weary.

If perchance the sheep estrayeth, In thy walks and shades unhaunted, Tell the teen my heart betrayeth, How neglect my joys hath daunted.

XXI