That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion breed:
But desperately at hazard, throws the dice,
Neglecting due regard of friends' advice;
That wrestles with his fortune and his fate,
Which had ordained to better his estate;
That hath no care of wealth, no fear of lack,
But ventures forward, though he see his wrack;
That with Hope's wings, like ICARUS doth fly,
Though for his rashness, he like fortune try;
That, to his fame, the world of him may tell
How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell.
And so True Love awarded him his doom
In scaling heaven, to have made the sea his tomb;
That making shipwreck of his dearest fame,
Betrays himself to poverty and shame;
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent,
No dread of perils far or imminent;
But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf,
The sweet of love as dearer than himself.
Who, were his passage stopped by sword and fire,
Would make way through, to compass his Desire.
For which he would (though heaven and earth forbad it)
Hazard to lose a kingdom, if he had it.
These be the things wherein I glory most,
Whereof, this my Accuser cannot boast:
Who was indifferent to his loss or gain;
And better pleased to fail, than to obtain.
All qualified affections, LOVE doth hate!
And likes him best that's most intemperate.
But hence, proceeds his malice and despite;
While he himself bars of his own delight.
For when as he, ALCILIA first affected,
(Like one in show, that love little respected)
He masqued, disguised, and entertained his thought
With hope of that, which he in secret sought;
And still forbare to utter his desire,
Till his delay receive her worthy hire.
And well we know, what maids themselves would have,
Men must sue for, and by petition crave.
But he regarding more his Wealth, than Will;
Hath little care his Fancy to fulfil.
Yet when he saw ALCILIA loved another;
The secret fire, which in his breast did smother,
Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame:
If Temperance had not allayed the same.
Which, afterward, so quenched he did not find
But that some sparks remainèd still behind.
Thus, when time served, he did refuse to crave it;
And yet envied another man should have it!
As though, fair maids should wait, at young men's pleasure,
Whilst they, 'twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure.
Nay, at the first! when it is kindly proffered!
Maids must accept; least twice, it be not offered!
Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune,
Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.
Thus, as this Fondling coldly went about it;
So in the end, he clearly went without it.
For while he, doubtful, seemed to make a stay,
A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away;
For which, though he lamented much in shew,
Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so.
Now, REASON! you may plainly judge by this,
Not I, but he, the false dissembler is:
Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed,
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:
And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies,
Which, without Passion, he did oft devise;
So to delude the ignorance of such
That pitied him, thinking he loved too much.
And with conceit, rather to shew his Wit,
Than manifest his faithful Love by it.
Much more than this, could I lay to his charge;
But time would fail to open all at large.
Let this suffice to prove his bad intent,
And prove that LOVE is clear and innocent."
Thus, at the length, though late, he made an end,
And both of us did earnestly, attend
The final judgement, REASON should award:
When thus she 'gan to speak. "With due regard,
The matter hath been heard, on either side.
For judgement, you must longer time abide!
The cause is weighty, and of great import."
And so she, smiling, did adjourn the Court.
Little availed it, then, to argue more;
So I returned in worse case than before.
_LOVE Deciphered._
[Illustration]
LOVE and I are now divided,
Conceit, by Error, was misguided.
ALCILIA hath my love despised!
"No man loves, that is advised."
"Time at length, hath Truth detected."
LOVE hath missed what he expected.
Yet missing that, which long he sought;
I have found that, I little thought.
"Errors, in time, may be redrest,"
"The shortest follies are the best."
Love and Youth are now asunder;
Reason's glory, Nature's wonder.
My thoughts, long bound, are now enlarged;
My Folly's penance is discharged:
Thus Time hath altered my estate.
"Repentance never comes too late."
Ah, well I find that Love is nought
But folly, and an idle thought.
The difference is 'twixt LOVE and me,
That he is blind, and I can see.
Love is honey mixed with gall!
A thraldom free, a freedom thrall!
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour!
Got in a year, lost in an hour!
A peaceful war, a warlike peace!
Whose wealth brings want; whose want, increase!
Full long pursuit, and little gain!
Uncertain pleasure, certain pain!
Regard of neither right nor wrong!
For short delights, repentance long!
Love is the sickness of the thought!
Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought!
A restless Passion of the mind!
A labyrinth of errors blind!
A sugared poison! fair deceit!
A bait for fools! a furious heat!
A chilling cold! a wondrous passion
Exceeding man's imagination!
Which none can tell in whole, or part,
But only he that feels the smart.
Love is sorrow mixt with gladness!
Fear, with hope! and hope, with madness!
Long did I love, but all in vain;
I loving, was not loved again:
For which my heart sustained much woe.
It fits not maids to use men so!
Just deserts are not regarded,
Never love so ill rewarded!
But "all is lost that is not sought!"
"Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought!
Women were made for men's relief;
To comfort, not to cause their grief.
Where most I merit, least I find:
No marvel! since that love is blind.
Had She been kind, as She was fair,
My case had been more strange and rare.
But women love not by desert!
Reason in them hath weakest part!
Then, henceforth, let them love that list,
I will beware of "Had I wist!"
These faults had better been concealed,
Than to my shame abroad revealed.
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,
My harms may make others more wary.
Love is but a youthful fit,
And some men say "It's sign of wit!"
But he that loves as I have done;
To pass the day, and see no sun:
Must change his note, and sing _Erravi!_
Or else may chance to cry _Peccavi!_
The longest day must have his night,
Reason triumphs in Love's despite.
I follow now Discretion's lore;
"Henceforth to like; but love no more!"
Then gently pardon what is past!
For LOVE draws onwards to his last.
"He walks," they say, "with wary eye;
Whose footsteps never tread awry!"
My Muse a better work intends:
And here my Loving Folly ends.
After long storms and tempests past,
I see the haven at the last;
Where I must rest my weary bark,
And there unlade my care and cark.
My pains and travails long endured,
And all my wounds must there be cured.
Joys, out of date, shall be renewed;
To think of perils past eschewed.
When I shall sit full blithe and jolly,
And talk of lovers and their folly.
Then LOVE and FOLLY, both adieu!
Long have I been misled by you.
FOLLY may new adventures try!
But REASON says that "LOVE must die!"
Yea, die indeed, although grieve him;
For my cold heart cannot relieve him!
Yet for her sake, whom once I loved,
(Though all in vain, as time hath proved)
I'll take the pain, if She consent!
To write his Will and Testament.
_LOVE's last Will and Testament._
[Illustration]
My spirit, I bequeath unto the air!
My Body shall unto the earth repair!
My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell;
T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell!
For well I ween, above nor under ground,
A greater pain than that, may not be found.
My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight,
To EREBUS! and to Eternal Night!
My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments,
Distrust, Despair; all these my hourly rents,
With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral:
Unto OBLIVION, I bequeath them all!
My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to REASON!
My Cruelties, my Slights, and forged Treason,
To Womankind! and to their seed, for aye!
To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay.
Reserving only for ALCILIA's part,
Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart.
For She is from the vulgar sort excepted;
And had She, PHILOPARTHEN's love respected,
Requiting it with like affection,
She might have had the praise of all perfection.
This done; if I have any Faith and Troth;
To PHILOPARTHEN, I assign them both!
For unto him, of right, they do belong
Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong.
TIME shall be sole Executor of my will;
Who may these things, in order due fulfil,
To warrant this my Testament for good;
I have subscribed it, with my dying blood."
And so he died, that all this bale had bred.
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:
For, sure, I fear, should I ALCILIA spy;
She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye!
Such power divine remaineth in her sight;
To make him live again, in Death's despite.
[Illustration]
_The Sonnets following were written by the Author,
after he began to decline from his Passionate
Affection; and in them, he seemeth to
please himself with describing the
Vanity of Love, the Frailty
of Beauty, and the
sour fruits of
Repentance._
I.
[Sidenote: _Chi non si fida, non vient ingannato._]
[Illustration]
Now have I spun the web of my own woes,
And laboured long to purchase my own loss.
Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows.
And that which once seemed gold, now
proves but dross.
Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved.
"He never tried that never was deceived.
II.
Once did I love, but more than once repent;
When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten.
Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent;
And all for that, which Time hath made forgotten.
O strange effects of time! which, once being lost,
Make men secure of that they loved most.
III.
Thus have I long in th'air of Error hovered,
And run my ship upon Repentance's shelf.
Truth hath the veil of Ignorance uncovered,
And made me see; and seeing, know myself.
Of former follies, now, I must repent,
And count this work, part of my time ill spent.
IV.
What thing is LOVE? "A tyrant of the Mind!"
"Begot by heat of Youth; brought forth by Sloth;
Nursed with vain Thoughts, and changing as the wind!"
"A deep Dissembler, void of faith and troth!"
"Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdain,
And all the plagues that earth and hell contain!"
V.
Like to a man that wanders all the day
Through ways unknown, to seek a thing of worth,
And, at the night, sees he hath gone astray;
As near his end, as when he first set forth:
Such is my case, whose hope untimely crost,
After long errors, proves my labour lost.
VI.
Failed of that hap, whereto my hope aspired,
Deprived of that which might have been mine own:
Another, now, must have what I desired;
And things too late, by their events are known.
Thus do we wish for that cannot be got;
And when it may, then we regard it not.
VII.
Ingrateful LOVE! since thou hast played thy part!
(Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free)
It rests with me, to use both Wit and Art,
That of my wrongs I may revenged be:
And in those eyes, where first thou took'st thy fire!
Thyself shalt perish, through my cold desire.
VIII.
"Grieve not thyself, for that cannot be had!
And things, once cureless, let them cureless rest!"
"Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad!
What's past and gone will never be redrest."
"The only help, for that cannot be gained,
Is to forget it might have been obtained."
IX.
How happy, once, did I myself esteem!
While Love with Hope, my fond Desire did cherish:
My state as blissful as a King's did seem,
Had I been sure my joys should never perish.
"The thoughts of men are fed with expectation."
"Pleasures themselves are but imagination."
X.
Why should we hope for that which is to come,
Where the event is doubtful, and unknown?
Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom,
When things expected we count as our own;
Whose issue, ofttimes, in the end proves nought
But hope! a shadow, and an idle thought.
XI.
In vain do we complain our life is short,
(Which well disposed, great matters might effect)
While we ourselves, in toys and idle sport,
Consume the better part without respect.
And careless (as though time should never end it)
'Twixt sleep, and waking, prodigally spend it.
XII.
Youthful Desire is like the summer season
That lasts not long; for winter must succeed:
And so our Passions must give place to Reason;
And riper years, more ripe effects must breed.
Of all the seed, Youth sowed in vain desires,
I reaped nought, but thistles, thorns, and briars.
XIII.
[Sidenote: _Chi non fa, non falla; chi falla, l'amenda._]
"To err and do amiss, is given to men by Kind."
"Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry?"
But to continue still in errors blind,
A bad and bestial nature doth descry.
"Who proves not; fails not; and brings nought to end:
Who proves and fails, may, afterward, amend."
XIV.
There was but One, and doubtless She the best!
Whom I did more than all the world esteem:
She having failed, I disavow the rest;
For, now, I find "things are not as they seem."
"Default of that, wherein our will is crost,
Ofttimes, unto our good availeth most."
XV.
[Sidenote: _Chi va, e ritorna, fa buon viaggio._]
I fare like him who, now his land-hope spent,
By unknown seas, sails to the Indian shore;
Returning thence no richer than he went,
Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore.
Since "Whoso ventures forth upon the Main,
Makes a good mart, if he return again."
XVI.
Lovers' Conceits are like a flatt'ring Glass,
That makes the lookers fairer than they are;
Who, pleased in their deceit, contented pass.
Such once was mine, who thought there was none fair,
None witty, modest, virtuous but She;
Yet now I find the Glass abusèd me.
XVII.
Adieu, fond Love! the Mother of all Error!
Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain.
False fire of Fancy! full of care and terror.
Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short, and vain!
Die, loathèd Love! Receive thy latest doom!
"Night be thy grave! and Oblivion be thy tomb!"
XVIII.
[Sidenote: _Nihil agenda male agere discimus._]
Who would be rapt up into the third heaven
To see a world of strange imaginations?
Who, careless, would leave all at six and seven,
To wander in a labyrinth of Passions?
Who would, at once, all kinds of folly prove;
When he hath nought to do, then let him love!
XIX.
What thing is Beauty? "Nature's dearest Minion!"
"The Snare of Youth! like the inconstant moon
Waxing and waning!" "Error of Opinion!"
"A Morning's Flower, that withereth ere noon!"
"A swelling Fruit! no sooner ripe, than rotten!"
"Which sickness makes forlorn, and time forgotten!"
XX.
The Spring of Youth, which now is in his prime;
Winter of Age, with hoary frosts shall nip!
Beauty shall then be made the prey of Time!
And sour Remorse, deceitful Pleasures whip!
Then, henceforth, let Discretion rule Desire!
And Reason quench the flame of CUPID'S fire!
XXI.
O what a life was that sometime I led!
When Love with Passions did my peace encumber;
While, like a man neither alive nor dead,
I was rapt from myself, as one in slumber:
Whose idle senses, charmed with fond illusion,
Did nourish that which bred their own confusion.
XXII.
The child, for ever after, dreads the fire;
That once therewith by chance his finger burned.
Water of Time distilled doth cool Desire.
"And far he ran," they say, "that never turned."
After long storms, I see the port at last.
Farewell, Folly! For now my love is past!
XXIII.
Base servile thoughts of men, too much dejected,
That seek, and crouch, and kneel for women's grace!
Of whom, your pain and service is neglected;
Yourselves, despised; rivals, before your face!
The more you sue, the less you shall obtain!
The less you win, the more shall be your gain!
XXIV.
In looking back unto my follies past;
While I the present, with times past compare,
And think how many hours I then did waste
Painting on clouds, and building in the air:
I sigh within myself, and say in sadness,
"This thing which fools call Love, is nought but Madness!"
XXV.
"The things we have, we most of all neglect;
And that we have not, greedily we crave.
The things we may have, little we respect;
And still we covet, that we cannot have.
Yet, howsoe'er, in our conceit, we prize them;
No sooner gotten, but we straight despise them."
XXVI.
Who seats his love upon a woman's will,
And thinks thereon to build a happy state;
Shall be deceived, when least he thinks of ill,
And rue his folly when it is too late.
He ploughs on sand, and sows upon the wind,
That hopes for constant love in Womankind.
XXVII.
I will no longer spend my time in toys!
Seeing Love is Error, Folly, and Offence;
An idle fit for fond and reckless boys,
Or else for men deprived of common sense.
'Twixt Lunacy and Love, these odds appear;
Th' one makes fools, monthly; th' other, all the year.
XXVIII.
While season served to sow, my plough stood still;
My graffs unset, when other's trees did bloom.
I spent the Spring in sloth, and slept my fill;
But never thought of Winter's cold to come;
Till Spring was past, the Summer well nigh gone;
When I awaked, and saw my harvest none.
XXIX.
Now LOVE sits all alone, in black attire;
His broken bow, and arrows lying by him;
His fire extinct, that whilom fed Desire;
Himself the scorn of lovers that pass by him:
Who, this day, freely may disport and play;
For it is PHILOPARTHEN's Holiday.
XXX.
[Sidenote: _Otia si tellas periere Cupidinis arcus._]
Nay, think not LOVE! with all thy cunning slight,
To catch me once again! Thou com'st too late!
Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight:
And Time hath changed both my name and state.
Then seek elsewhere for mates, that may befriend thee!
For I am busy, and cannot attend thee!
XXXI.
Loose Idleness! the Nurse of fond Desire!
Root of all ills that do our youth betide;
That, whilom, didst, through love, my wrack conspire:
I banish thee! and rather wish t'abide
All austere hardness, and continual pain;
Than to revoke thee! or to love again!
XXXII.
The time will come when, looking in a glass,
Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see!
And sighing, say, "It is not as it was!
These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be!
But now, what once made me so much admired
Is least regarded, and of none desired!"
XXXIII.
[Sidenote: _Temporis soltus honesta est avaritia._]
Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast!
A morning's dew! a shadow quickly gone!
A painted flower, whose colour will not last!
Time steals away, when least we think thereon.
Most precious time! too wastefully expended;
Of which alone, the sparing is commended.
XXXIV.
How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire,
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine;
As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire;
And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine,
Who of itself continues constant still;
And doth us good, ofttimes against our will.
XXXV.
In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe,
Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way.
Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe;
And Will and he together went astray.
Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought!
Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought.
XXXVI.
[Sidenote: _Est virtus placitis abstinuisse bonis._]
He that in matters of delight and pleasure,
Can bridle his outrageous affection;
And temper it in some indifferent measure,
Doth prove himself a man of good direction.
In conquering Will, true courage most is shown;
And sweet temptations makes men's virtues known.
XXXVII.
[Sidenote: _Invidia fatorum series summisque negatum staro diu._]
Each natural thing, by course of Kind, we see,
In his perfection long continueth not.
Fruits once full ripe, will then fall from the tree;
Or in due time not gathered, soon will rot.
It is decreed, by doom of Powers Divine,
Things at their height, must thence again decline.
XXXVIII.
Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear!
Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn!
Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear!
Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn)
Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night;
And yield more cause of terror, than delight!
XXXIX.
[Sidenote: _Quanto piace al mondo, e breue sogno._]
Lo here, the Record of my follies past,
The fruits of Wit unstaid, and hours misspent!
Full wise is he that perils can forecast,
And so, by others' harms, his own prevent.
All Worldly Pleasure that delights the Sense,
Is but a short Sleep, and Time's vain expense!
XL.
The sun hath twice his annual course performed,
Since first unhappy I, began to love;
Whose errors now, by Reason's rule reformed,
Conceits of Love but smoke and shadows prove.
Who, of his folly, seeks more praise to win;
Where I have made an end, let him begin!
_J. C._
FINIS.
[Illustration]
DAIPHANTUS,
OR
The Passions of Love.
Comical to read,
_But Tragical to act:_
As full of Wit, as Experience.
By AN. SC. Gentleman.
_Fœlix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum._
Whereunto is added,
_The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage._
[Illustration]
LONDON:
Printed by T. C. for WILLIAM COTTON: and are
to be sold at his shop, near Ludgate. 1604.
[Illustration]
_The Argument._
[Illustration]
Daiphantus, a younger brother, very honourably descended, brought up
but not born in Venice; naturally subject to Courting, but not to Love;
reputed a man rather full of compliment, than of true courtesy; more
desirous to be thought honest, than so to be wordish beyond discretion;
promising more to all, than friendship could challenge; mutable in
all his actions, but his affections aiming indeed to gain opinion
rather than goodwill; challenging love from greatness, not from merit;
studious to abuse his own wit, by the common sale of his infirmities;
lastly, under the colour of his natural affection (which indeed was
very pleasant and delightful) coveted to disgrace every other to his
own discontent: a scourge to Beauty, a traitor to Women, and an infidel
to Love.
This He, this creature, at length, falls in love with two at one
instant; yea, two of his nearest allies: and so indifferently
[_equally_] yet outrageously, as what was commendable in the one, was
admirable in the other. By which means, as not despised, not regarded!
if not deceived, not pitied! They esteemed him as he was in deed, not
words. He protested, they jested! He swore he loved in sadness; they
in sooth believed, but seemed to give no credence to him: thinking
him so humorous as no resolution could be long good; and holding this
his attestation to them of affection in that kind, [no] more than his
contesting against it before time.
Thus overcome of that he seemed to conquer, he became a slave to his
own fortunes. Laden with much misery, utter mischief seized upon him.
He fell in love with another, a wedded Lady. Then with a fourth,
named VITULLIA. And so far was he imparadised in her beauty (She not
recomforting him) that he fell from Love to Passion, so to Distraction,
then to Admiration [_wonderment_] and Contemplation, lastly to Madness.
Thus did he _act_ the Tragical scenes, who only penned the Comical:
became, if not as brutish as ACTÆON, as furious as ORLANDO. Of whose
Humours and Passions, I had rather you should read them, than I act
them!
In the end, by one, or rather by all, he was recovered. A Voice did mad
him; and a Song did recure him! Four in one sent him out of this world;
and one with four redeemed him to the world. To whose unusual strains
in Music, and emphatical emphasis in Love; I will leave you to turn
over a new leaf!
This only I will end with:
Who, of Love should better write,
Than he that Love learns to indite?
[Illustration]
To the mighty, learned, and ancient Potentate,
QUISQUIS, Emperor of +, King of
Great and Little A., Prince of B. C. and
D., &c.; ALIQUIS wisheth the much
increase of true subjects, free from
Passion, spleen, and melancholy;
and endued with virtue,
wisdom, and magnanimity.
Or to the Reader.
[Illustration]
_An Epistle to the Reader! Why! that must have his Forehead or first
entrance like a Courtier, fair-spoken and full of expectation; his
Middle or centre like your citizen's warehouse, beautified with
enticing vanities, though the true riches consist of bald commodities;
his_ Rendezvous _or conclusion like the lawyer's case, able to pocket
up any matter; but let good words be your best evidence! In the General
or foundation, he must be like Paul's Church, resolved to let every
Knight and Gull travel upon him: yet his Particulars or lineaments
may be Royal as the Exchange, with ascending steps, promising new but
costly devices and fashions. It must have Teeth like a Satyr, Eyes like
a critic; and yet may your Tongue speak false Latin, like your panders
and bawds of poetry. Your Genius and Species should march in battle
array with our politicians: yet your Genius ought to live with an
honest soul indeed._