Part 20

Yours most assured, PHILARETES.

Author ipse φιλοπάρθενος ad libellum suum.

_Parve liber Domini vanos dicture labores, Insomnes noctes, sollicitosque dies, Errores varios, languentis tædia vitæ, Mærores certos, gaudia certa minus, Peruigiles curas, suspiria, vota, querelas, Et quæcunque pati dura coegit amor. I precor intrepidus, duram comiterque salutans Hæc me ejus causa sustinuisse refer. Te grato excipiet vultu rubicundula, nomen Cum titulo inscriptum viderit esse suum. Forsitan et nostri miserebitur illa doloris, Dicet et, ah quantum deseruisse dolet: Seque nimis sœvam, crudelemque ipsa vocabit, Cui non est fidei debita cura meæ; Quod siquidem eveniet, Domino solaminis illud, Et tibi supremi muneris instar erit. Si quis (ut est æquum) fatuos damnaverit ignes, Pigritiæ fructus ingeniique levis: Tu Dominum cæcis tenebris errasse, sed ipsum Erroris tandem pænituisse sui, Me quoque re vera nec tot, nec tanta tulisse, Sed ficta ad placitum multa fuisse refer. Ab quanto satius (nisi mens mihi vana) fuisset Ista meo penitus delituisse sinu: Quam levia in lucem prodire, aut luce carentis Insanam Domini prodere stultitiam. Nil amor est aliud, quam mentis morbus et error Nil sapienter agit, nil bene, quisquis amat. Sed non cuique datur sapere, aut melioribus uti, Forte erit alterius, qui meus error erat. Cautior incedit, qui nunquam labitur, atqui Jam proprio evadam cautior ipse malo. Si cui delicto gravior mea pœna videtur; Illius in laudes officiosus eris. Te si quis simili qui carpitur igne videbit, Ille suam sortem flebit, et ille meam. ALCILIÆ obsequium supplex præstare memento, Non minima officii pars erit illa tui. Te fortasse sua secura recondet in arca, Et Solis posthæc luminis orbus eris. Nil referet, fateor me non prudenter amasse; Ultima deceptæ sors erit illa spei. Bis proprio PHŒBUS cursu lustraverat orbem, Conscius erroris, stultitiœque meæ, A quo primus amor cœpit penetrare medullas, Et falsa accensos nutriit arte focos. Desino jam nugas amplecti, seria posthæc (Ut Ratio monet) ac utiliora sequor._

_Amoris Præludium._

[_Vel, Epistola ad Amicam._]

To thee, ALCILIA! solace of my youth! These rude and scattered rhymes I have addressed! The certain Witness of my Love and Truth, That truly cannot be in words expressed: Which, if I shall perceive thou tak'st in gree, I will, from henceforth, write of none but thee!

Here may you find the wounds yourself have made! The many sorrows, I have long sustained! Here may you see that LOVE must be obeyed! How much I hoped, how little I have gained! That as for you, the pains have been endured; Even so by you, they may, at length, be cured!

I will not call for aid to any Muse (It is for learned Poets so to do): Affection must, my want of Art excuse, My works must have their patronage from You! Whose sweet assistance, if obtain I might! I should be able both to speak and write

[Sidenote: _Nemini datur amare simul et sapere._]

Meanwhile, vouchsafe to read this, as assigned To no man's censure; but to yours alone! Pardon the faults, that you therein shall find; And think the writer's heart was not his own! Experience of examples daily prove "That no man can be well advised, and love!"

And though the work itself deserve it not (Such is your Worth, with my great Wants compared!); Yet may my love unfeignèd, without spot, Challenge so much (if more cannot be spared!). Then, lovely Virgin! take this in good part! The rest, unseen, is sealed up in the heart.

Judge not by this, the depth of my affection! Which far exceeds the measure of my skill; But rather note herein your own perfection! So shall appear my want of Art, not will: Wherefore, this now, as part in lieu of greater, I offer as an insufficient debtor!

_Sic incipit Stultorum Tragicomedia._

It was my chance, unhappy chance to me! As, all alone, I wandered on my way; Void of distrust, from doubt of dangers free, To pass a grove where LOVE in ambush lay: Who aiming at me with his feathered dart, Conveyed it by mine eye unto my heart.

Where, retchless boy! he let the arrow stick, When I, as one amazèd, senseless stood. The hurt was great, yet seemèd but a prick! The wound was deep, and yet appeared no blood! But inwardly it bleeds. Proof teacheth this. When wounds do so, the danger greater is.

Pausing a while, and grievèd with my wound, I looked about, expecting some relief: Small hope of help, no ease of pain I found. Like, all at once, to perish in my grief: When hastily, I pluckèd forth the dart; But left the head fast fixèd in my heart.

Fast fixèd in my heart, I left the head, From whence I doubt it will not be removed. Ah, what unlucky chance that way me led? O LOVE! thy force thou might'st elsewhere have proved! And shewed thy power, where thou art not obeyed! "The conquest's small, where no resist is made."

But nought, alas, avails it to complain; I rest resolved, with patience to endure. The fire being once dispersed through every vein, It is too late to hope for present cure. Now PHILOPARTHEN must new follies prove, And learn a little, what it is to love!

_These Sonnets following were written by the Author (who giveth himself this feigned name of PHILOPARTHEN as his accidental attribute), at divers times, and upon divers occasions; and therefore in the form and matter they differ, and sometimes are quite contrary one to another: which ought not to be misliked, considering the very nature and quality of Love; which is a Passion full of variety, and contrariety in itself._

I.

[Sidenote: _Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error._]

Unhappy Eyes! that first my heart betrayed, Had you not seen, my grief had not been such! And yet, how may I, justly, you upbraid! Since what I saw delighted me so much? But hence, alas, proceedeth all my smart: Unhappy Eyes! that first betrayed my heart!

II.

To seek adventures, as Fate hath assigned, My slender Bark now floats upon the main; Each troubled thought, an Oar; each sigh, a Wind, Whose often puffs have rent my Sails in twain. LOVE steers the Boat, which (for that sight, he lacks) Is still in danger of ten thousand wracks.

III.

What sudden chance hath changed my wonted cheer, Which makes me other than I seem to be? My days of joy, that once were bright and clear, Are turned to nights! my mirth, to misery! Ah, well I ween that somewhat is amiss; But, sooth to say, I know not what it is!

IV.

What, am I dead? Then could I feel no smart! But still in me the sense of grief reviveth. Am I alive? Ah, no! I have no heart; For she that hath it, me of life depriveth. O that she would restore my heart again; Or give me hers, to countervail my pain!

V.

If it be Love, to waste long hours in grief; If it be Love, to wish, and not obtain; If it be Love, to pine without relief; If it be Love, to hope and never gain; Then may you think that he hath truly loved, Who, for your sake! all this and more, hath proved!

VI.

If that, in ought, mine eyes have done amiss; Let them receive deserved punishment! For so the perfect rule of Justice is, Each for his own deeds, should be praised, or shent. Then, doubtless, is it both 'gainst Law and Sense, My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes' offence.

VII.

I am not sick, and yet I am not sound; I eat and sleep, and yet, methinks, I thrive not. I sport and laugh, and yet my griefs abound; I am not dead, and yet, methinks, I live not. "What uncouth cause hath these strange passions bred, To make at once, sick, sound, alive, and dead?"

VIII.

Something I want; but what, I cannot say. O, now I know! It is myself I want! My Love, with her, hath ta'en my heart away; Yea, heart and all, and left me very scant. "Such power hath Love, and nought but Love alone, To make divided creatures live in one."

IX.

PHILOPARTHEN. "Come, gentle Death! and strike me with thy dart! Life is but loathsome to a man opprest." DEATH. "How can I kill thee! when thou hast no heart? That which thou hadst, is in another's breast!" PHILOPARTHEN. "Then, must I live, and languish still in pain?" DEATH. "Yea, till thy Love restore thy heart again!"

X.

Were Love a Fire, my tears might quench it lightly; Or were it Water, my hot heart might dry it. If Air, then might it pass away more slightly; Or were it Earth, the world might soon descry it. If Fire nor Water, Air nor Earth it be; What then is it, that thus tormenteth me?

XI.

To paint her outward shape and gifts of mind, It doth exceed my wit and cunning far. She hath no fault, but that she is unkind. All other parts in her so complete are, That who, to view them throughly would devise, Must have his body nothing else but eyes.

XII.

Fair is my Love! whose parts are so well framed, By Nature's special order and direction; That She herself is more than half ashamed, In having made a work of such perfection. And well may Nature blush at such a feature; Seeing herself excelled in her creature.

XIII.

Her body is straight, slender, and upright; Her visage comely, and her looks demure Mixt with a cheerful grace that yields delight; Her eyes, like stars, bright, shining, clear and pure: Which I describing, LOVE bids stay my pen, And says, "It's not a work for mortal men!"

XIV.

The ancient poets write of Graces three, Which meeting all together in one creature, In all points, perfect make the Frame to be; For inward virtues, and for outward feature But smile, ALCILIA! and the world shall see That in thine eyes, a hundred Graces be!

XV.

As LOVE had drawn his bow, ready to shoot, Aiming at me, with resolute intent; Straight, bow and shaft he cast down at his foot, And said, "Why, needless, should one shaft be spent? I'll spare it then, and now it shall suffice Instead of shafts, to use ALCILIA'S eyes."

XVI.

Blush not, my Love! for fear lest PHŒBUS spy! Which if he do, then, doubtless, he will say, "Thou seek'st to dim his clearness with thine eye!" That clearness, which, from East, brings gladsome day: But most of all, lest JOVE should see, I dread; And take thee up to heaven like GANYMEDE.

XVII.

PHILOPARTHEN. "What is the cause ALCILIA is displeased?" LOVE. "Because she wants that which should most content her." PHILOPARATHEN. "O did I know it, soon should she be eased!" LOVE. "Perhaps, thou dost! and that doth most torment her." PHILOPARTHEN. "Yet, let her ask! what she desires to have." LOVE. "Guess, by thyself! For maidens must not crave!"

XVIII.

My Love, by chance, her tender finger pricked; As, in the dark, I strivèd for a kiss: Whose blood, I seeing, offered to have licked, But half in anger, she refusèd this. O that she knew the difference of the smart 'Twixt her pricked finger, and my piercèd heart!

XIX.

PHILOPARTHEN. "I pray thee, tell! What makes my heart to tremble, When, on a sudden, I, ALCILIA spy?" LOVE. "Because thy heart cannot thy joy dissemble! Thy life and death are both lodged in her eye." PHILOPARTHEN. "Dost thou not her, with self-same passion strike?" LOVE. "O, no! Her heart and thine are not alike."

XX.

Such are thy parts of body and of mind; That if I should not love thee as I do, I should too much degenerate from Kind, And think the world would blame my weakness too. For he, whom such perfections cannot move, Is either senseless, or not born to love.

XXI.

ALCILIA'S eyes have set my heart on fire, The pleasing object that my pain doth feed: Yet still to see those eyes I do desire, As if my help should from my hurt proceed. Happy were I, might there in her be found A will to heal, as there was power to wound.

XXII.

Unwise was he, that painted LOVE a boy; Who, for his strength, a giant should have been. It's strange a child should work so great annoy; Yet howsoever strange, too truly seen. "But what is he? that dares at LOVE repine; Whose works are wonders, and himself divine!"

XXIII.

My fair ALCILIA! gladly would I know it, If ever Loving Passion pierced thy heart? O, no! For, then, thy kindness soon would show it! And of my pains, thyself wouldst bear some part. Full little knoweth he that hath not proved, What hell it is to love, and not be loved.

XXIV.

LOVE! Art thou blind? Nay, thou canst see too well! And they are blind that so report of thee! That thou dost see, myself by proof can tell; (A hapless proof thereof is made by me); For sure I am, hadst thou not had thy sight, Thou never couldst have hit my heart so right.

XXV.

Long have I languished, and endured much smart Since hapless I, the Cruel Fair did love; And lodged her in the centre of my heart. Who, there abiding, Reason should her move. Though of my pains she no compassion take; Yet to respect me, for her own sweet sake.

XXVI.

In midst of winter season, as the snow, Whose milk white mantle overspreads the ground; In part, the colour of my love is so. Yet their effects, I have contrary found: For when the sun appears, snow melts anon; But I melt always when my sun is gone.

XXVII.

The sweet content, at first, I seemed to prove (While yet Desire unfledged, could scarcely fly), Did make me think there was no life to Love; Till all too late, Time taught the contrary. For, like a fly, I sported with the flame; Till, like a fool, I perished in the same.

XXVIII.

After dark night, the cheerful day appeareth; After an ebb, the river flows again; After a storm, the cloudy heaven cleareth: All labours have their end, or ease of pain. Each creature hath relief and rest, save I, Who only dying, live; and living, die!

XXIX.

Sometimes I seek for company to sport, Whereby I might my pensive thoughts beguile; Sometimes, again, I hide me from resort, And muse alone: but yet, alas, the while In changing place, I cannot change my mind; For wheresoe'er I fly, myself I find.

XXX.

[Sidenote: _Meritum petere grave._]

Fain would I speak, but straight my heart doth tremble, And checks my tongue that should my griefs reveal: And so I strive my Passions to dissemble, Which all the art I have, cannot conceal. Thus standing mute, my heart with longing starveth! "It grieves a man to ask, what he deserveth."

XXXI.

Since you desire of me the cause to know, For which these divers Passions I have proved; Look in your glass! which will not fail to show The shadowed portrait of my best beloved. If that suffice not, look into my heart! Where it's engraven by a new found art.

XXXII.

The painful ploughman hath his heart's delight; Who, though his daily toil his body tireth, Yet merrily comes whistling home at night, And sweetly takes the ease his pain requireth: But neither days nor nights can yield me rest; Born to be wretched, and to live opprest!

XXXIII.

O well were it, if Nature would devise That men with men together might engender, As grafts of trees, one from another rise; Then nought, of due, to women should we render! But, vain conceit! that Nature should do this; Since, well we know, herself a woman is!

XXXIV.

Upon the altar where LOVE'S fires burnèd, My Sighs and Tears for sacrifice I offered; When LOVE, in rage, from me his countenance turnèd, And did reject what I so humbly proffered. If he, my heart expect, alas, it's gone! "How can a man give that, is not his own?"

XXXV.

ALCILIA said, "She did not know my mind, Because my words did not declare my love!" Thus, where I merit most, least help I find; And her unkindness all too late I prove. Grant, LOVE! that She, of whom thou art neglected, May one day love, and little be respected!

XXXVI.

[Sidenote: _Amor est otiogorum negotium_.]

The Cynic[9] being asked, "When he should love?" Made answer, "When he nothing had to do; For Love was Sloth!" But he did never prove By his experience, what belonged thereto. For had he tasted but so much as I, He would have soon reformed his heresy.

XXXVII.

O judge me not, sweet Love, by outward show Though sometimes strange I seem, and to neglect thee! Yet didst thou, but my inward Passions know, Thou shouldst perceive how highly I respect thee! "When looks are fixed, the heart ofttimes doth tremble! "Little loves he, that cannot much dissemble!"

XXXVIII.

Parting from thee! even from myself I part. Thou art the star, by which my life is guided! I have the body, but thou hast the heart! The better part is from itself divided. Thus do I live, and this I do sustain, Till gracious Fortune make us meet again!

XXXIX.

Open the sluices of my feeble eyes, And let my tears have passage from their fountain! Fill all the earth, with plaints! the air, with cries! Which may pierce rocks, and reach the highest mountain That so, LOVE'S wrath, by these extremes appeased; My griefs may cease, and my poor heart be eased.

XL.

"After long sickness, health brings more delight." "Seas seem more calm, by storms once overblown." "The day more cheerful, by the passed night." "Each thing is, by his contrary best known." "Continual ease is pain: Change sometimes meeter." "Discords in music make music sweeter."

XLI.

Fear to offend forbids my tongue to speak, And signs and sighs must tell my inward woe: But (ay the while) my heart with grief doth break, And she, by signs, my sorrow will not know. "The stillest streams we see in deepest fords; And Love is greatest, when it wanteth words."

XLII.

"No pain so great but may be eased by Art." "Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not." "In midst of griefs, Hope always hath some part; And Time may heal, what Art and Reason could not." O what is then this Passion I endure, Which neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure?

XLIII.

Pale Jealousy! Fiend of the eternal Night! Misshapen creature, born before thy time! The Imp of Horror! Foe to sweet Delight! Making each error seem an heinous crime. Ah, too great pity! (were there remedy), That ever Love should keep Thee company!

XLIV.

[Sidenote: _Solstit: brumal._

_This Sonnet was devised upon the shortest day of the year._]

The days are now come to their shortest date; And must, in time, by course, increase again. But only I continue at one state, Void of all hope of help, or ease of pain; For days of joy must still be short with me, And nights of sorrow must prolongèd be.

XLV.

Sleep now, my Muse! and henceforth take thy rest! Which all too long thyself in vain hath wasted. Let it suffice I still must live opprest; And of my pains, the fruit must ne'er be tasted. Then sleep, my Muse! "Fate cannot be withstood." "It's better sleep; than wake, and do no good."

XLVI.

Why should I love, since She doth prove ungrateful: Since, for reward, I reap nought but disdain. Love thus to be requited, it is hateful! And Reason would, I should not love in vain. Yet all in vain, when all is out of season, For "Love hath no society with Reason."

XLVII.

Heart's Ease and I have been at odds, too long! I follow fast, but still he flies from me! I sue for grace, and yet sustain the wrong; So gladly would I reconcilèd be. LOVE! make us one! So shalt thou work a wonder; Uniting them, that were so far asunder.

XLVIII.

"Uncouth, unkist," our ancient Poet[10] said. And he that hides his wants, when he hath need, May, after, have his want of wit bewrayed; And fail of his desire, when others speed. Then boldly speak! "The worst is at first entering!" "Much good success men miss, for lack of venturing!"

XLIX.

Declare the griefs wherewith thou art opprest, And let the world be witness of thy woes! Let not thy thoughts lie buried in thy breast; But let thy tongue, thy discontents disclose! For "who conceals his pain when he is grieved, May well be pitied, but no way relieved."

L.

[Sidenote: _Ne amor ne signoria vuole compagnia._]

Wretched is he that loving, sets his heart On her, whose love, from pure affection swerveth; Who doth permit each one to have a part Of that, which none but he alone deserveth. Give all, or none! For once, of this be sure! "Lordship and Love no partners may endure."

LI.

Who spends the weary day in pensive thought, And night in dreams of horror and affright; Whose wealth is want; whose hope is come to nought; Himself, the mark for Love's and Fortune's spite: Let him appear, if any such there be! His case and mine more fitly will agree.

LII.

Fair tree, but fruitless! sometimes full of sap! Which now yields nought at all, that may delight me! Some cruel frost, or some untimely hap Hath made thee barren, only to despite me! Such trees, in vain, with hope do feed Desire; And serve for fuel to increase Love's fire.

LIII.

In company (whiles sad and mute I sit, My thoughts elsewhere, than there I seem to be) Possessed with some deep melancholy fit; One of my friends observes the same in me, And says in jest, which I in earnest prove, "He looks like one, that had lost his First Love!"

LIV.

'Twixt Hope and Fear, in doubtful balance peazed, My fate, my fortune, and my love depends. Sometimes my Hope is raised, when LOVE is pleased; Which Fear weighs down, when ought his will offends. The heavens are sometimes clear, and sometimes lower; And "he that loves, must taste both sweet and sour!"

LV.

Retire, my wandering Thoughts! unto your rest! Do not, henceforth, consume yourselves in vain! No mortal man, in all points, can be blest; What now is mine, may be another's pain. The watery clouds are clear, when storms are past; And "things, in their extremes, long cannot last."

LVI.

[Sidenote: _Visus. Sermo. Tactus._]

The fire of Love is first bred in the Eye, And thence conveys his heat unto the Heart, Where it lies hid, till time his force descry. The Tongue thereto adds fuel for his part; The touch of Lips, which doth succeed the same, Kindles the rest, and so it proves a flame.

LVII.

The tender Sprigs that sprouted in the field, And promised hope of fruit to him that planted; Instead of fruit, doth nought but blossoms yield, Though care, and pain to prune them never wanted: Even so, my hopes do nought but blossoms prove, And yield no fruits to recompense my love.

LVIII.