Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
Feels never any touch of my desert.
Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice:
Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes.
* * * * *
Think'st thou, then, by feigning
Sleep, with a grand disdaining;
Or, with thy crafty closing,
Thy cruel eyes reposing;
To drive me from thy sight!
When sleep yields more delight,
Such harmless beauty gracing:
And while sleep feignèd is
May not I steal a kiss
Thy quiet arms embracing?
O that thy sleep dissembled,
Were to a trance resembled!
Thy cruel eyes deceiving,
Of lively sense bereaving:
Then should my love requite
Thy love's unkind despite,
While fury triumphed boldly
In beauty's sweet disgrace;
And lived in deep embrace
Of her that loved so coldly,
Should then my love aspiring,
Forbidden joys desiring,
So far exceed the duty
That Virtue owes to Beauty?
No! Love seek not thy bliss
Beyond a simple kiss!
For such deceits are harmless
Yet kiss a thousand fold;
For kisses may be bold
When lovely sleep is armless.
* * * * *
Come away! come, sweet love!
The golden morning breaks;
All the earth, all the air,
Of love and pleasure speaks!
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss!
Eyes were made for beauty's grace
Viewing, ruing, love's long pains;
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
Come away! come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to the naked morn!
Lilies on the river's side,
And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:
Ornament is Nurse of Pride.
Pleasure measure, love's delight,
Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!
* * * * *
Rest awhile, you cruel cares!
Be not more severe than love!
Beauty kills and beauty spares,
And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove.
LAURA, fair Queen of my delight!
Come grant me love, in love's despite!
And if I ever fail to honour thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
If I speak! My words want weight.
Am I mute! My heart doth break.
If I sigh! She fears deceit.
Sorrow then for me, must speak!
Cruel! unkind! with favour view
The wound that first was made by you!
And if my torments feignèd be,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
Never hour of pleasing rest,
Shall revive my dying ghost,
Till my soul hath repossesst
The sweet hope, which love hath lost:
Laura! redeem the soul that dies
By fury of thy murdering eyes!
And if it proves unkind to thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
* * * * *
Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love!
Let not my Love, be with my love diseased!
Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move!
But pine you with my longings long displeased:
Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
But O, the fury of my restless fear!
The hidden anguish of my flesh desires!
The glories and the beauties that appear
Between her brows, near CUPID'S closèd fires!
Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest;
Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure;
Peace in my Love, and yet my love opprest;
Impatient, yet of perfect temperature.
Sleep dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake!
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
* * * * *
All ye, whom love or fortune hath betrayed!
All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief!
All ye whose hopes are evermore delayed!
All ye whose sighs or sickness want relief!
Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man!
That sings my sorrows like the dying swan!
Care that consumes the heart with inward pain,
Pain that presents sad care in outward view;
Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain,
But still in vain, for none my plaints will rue:
Tears, sighs, and ceaseless cries alone I spend.
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow, end.
* * * * *
Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
Of my heart, and so leave me?
Farewell!
But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel!
Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel!
Farewell!
Hope by disdain grows cheerless
Fear doth love, love doth fear
Beauty peerless.
Farewell!
If no delays can move thee!
Life shall die, death shall live
Still to love thee.
Farewell!
Yet be thou mindful ever!
Heat from fire, fire from heat,
None can sever.
Farewell!
True love cannot be changed,
Though delight from desert
Be estranged.
Farewell!
* * * * *
Would my conceit that first inforced my woe,
Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase,
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so;
Which now are such, as nothing can release.
Whose life is death; whose sweet, each change of sour;
And eke whose hell reneweth every hour.
Each hour, amidst the deep of hell I fry,
Each hour, I waste and wither where I sit;
But that sweet hour, wherein I wish to die,
My hope, alas, may not enjoy it yet.
Whose hope is such bereaved of the bliss,
Which unto all, save me, allotted is.
To all, save me, is free to live or die;
To all, save me, remaineth hap or hope.
But all, perforce, I must abandon!
Since Fortune still directs my hap aslope;
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust,
But to my thrals I yield: for so I must.
* * * * *
Come again! Sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces that refrain
To do me due delight;
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss,
To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy!
Come again! that I may cease to mourn
Through thy unkind disdain!
For now, left and forlorn,
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
In deadly pain, and endless misery.
All the day, the sun that lends me shine
By frowns doth cause me pine,
And feeds me with delay.
Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow:
Her frowns, the winters of my woe.
All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams,
My eyes are full of streams;
My heart takes no delight
To see the fruits and joys that some do find,
And mark the storms are me assigned.
Out, alas! my faith is ever true;
Yet she will never rue,
Nor yield me any grace.
Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made:
Whom tears nor truth may once invade.
Gentle LOVE draw forth thy wounding dart!
Thou can'st not pierce her heart!
For I (that do approve
By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts)
Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs.
* * * * *
(_On the British Museum Copy, G9, there is the following pencil
note to this Song._ These words by [ROBERT DEVEREUX] the Earl of
ESSEX, and sung before Queen ELIZABETH, in a Masque at Greenwich.)
His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned.
O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing.
Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green.
His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees,
And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms;
A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms:
But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits, in homely cell,
H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song;
_Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well!_
_Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong!_
Goddess! Allow this aged man his right!
To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight.
* * * * *
Awake, sweet love! Thou art returned!
My heart, which long in absence mourned,
Lives now in perfect joy.
Only herself hath seemèd fair;
She only could I love.
She only drave me to despair,
When she unkind did prove.
Let love which never, absent, dies;
Now live for ever in her eyes!
Whence came my first annoy:
Despair did make me wish to die
That I my joys might end,
She only, which did make me fly,
My state may now amend.
If she esteem thee now ought worth;
She will not grieve thy love henceforth!
Which so despair hath proved.
Despair hath proved now in me
That love will not unconstant be,
Though long in vain I loved.
If she, at last, reward thy love
And all thy harms repair!
Thy happiness will sweeter prove,
Raised up from deep despair.
And if that now thou welcome be,
When thou with her doth meet;
She all this while, but played with thee,
To make thy joys more sweet.
* * * * *
Come, heavy Sleep! the Image of true Death!
And close up these my weary weeping eyes!
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath,
And tears my heart with sorrow's sigh-swollen cries.
Come, and possess my tired thoughts! worn soul!
That living dies, till thou on me bestoule!
Come, Shadow of my End; and Shape of Rest!
Allied to Death, Child to this black-fast Night!
Come thou, and charm these rebels in my breast!
Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright.
O come, sweet Sleep! Come, or I die for ever!
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never!
* * * * *
Away with these self-loving lads,
Whom CUPID's arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,
In love of them that lie and sleep!
For CUPID is a meadow god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
God CUPID's shaft, like Destiny,
Doth either good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his feet doth go.
What fools are they, that have not known
That LOVE likes no laws, but his own!
My songs, they be CYNTHIA's praise:
I wear her rings on holidays.
On every tree, I write her name,
And every day I read the same:
Where HONOUR, CUPID's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.
If CYNTHIA crave her ring of me,
I'll blot her name out of the tree!
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then "Well fare nothing!" once a year:
For many run, but one must win.
Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in!
The worth that worthiness should move
Is love; which is the bow of LOVE:
And love as well the For'ster can,
As can the mighty Nobleman.
Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be!
Yet, without love, nought worth to me!
[Illustration]
+R[?ICHARD]. Y[?OUNG].+
_The state of a Christian lively set forth,_
_by an allegory of a Ship under Sail._
[This Writer was evidently a forerunner of JOHN BUNYAN.]
Prov. xxxi. 14. Job ix. 26. Isaiah xxiii. 1. Rev. viii. 9.
[Original broadside, inserted in a
distinct work of the Author, called
_The Victory of Patience_. 1636.]
My body is the Hull, the Keel my back, my neck the Stem; the Sides
are my ribs, the Beams my bones, my flesh the Planks; gristles and
ligaments are the Pintels and Knee-timbers; arteries, veins, and
sinews, the several Seams of the ship; my blood is the Ballast, my
heart the Principal Hold, my stomach the Cook-room, my liver the
Cistern, my bowels the Sink; my lungs the Bellows, my teeth the
Chopping-knives; except you divide them, and then they are the 32
Points of the Compass, both agreeing in number. Concoction is the
Cauldron, and hunger the Salt or Sauce. My belly is the Lower Deck,
my kidneys Close Cabins or receptacles, my thighs are Long Galleries
for the grace of the ship; my arms and hands the Canhooks, my midriff
is a large partition or Bulkhead. Within the circumference of my head
is placed the Steeridge Room and Chief Cabins, with the Round-house
[_now called the Captain's Cabin_] where the Master lieth: and these
for the more safety and decency are enclosed in a double fence; the
one _Dura mater_, something hard and thick [_the skull_], the other
_Pia mater_, very thin and soft [_the hair_], which serveth instead
of hangings. The ears are two doors or Scuttles fitly placed for
entertainment; the two eyes are Casements to let in light; under them,
is my mouth, the Stowage or Steward's Room. My lips are Hatches for
receipt of goods, my two nostrils serve as Gratings to let in air. At
the one end stands my chin, which is the Beakhead. My forehead is the
Upper Deck; all which being trimmed with my fat instead of Pitch, and
hair instead of Oakum, are coloured with my skin.
The Fore Deck is humility, the Stern, charity. Active obedience, the
Sails; which being hoisted up with the several Yards, Halliards, and
Bowlines of holy precepts and good purposes; are let down again by
fickleness, faintings and inconstancy. Reason is my Rudder, experience
the Helm, hope of salvation my Anchor, passive obedience the Capstan,
holy revenge the Cat and Fish to haul the Sheet Anchor or last hope.
Fear of offending is the Buoy, virtues are the Cables, holy desires
and sudden ejaculations the Shrouds. The zeal of GOD's glory is my
Mainmast, premeditation the Foremast, desire of my own salvation the
Mizenmast, saving knowledge the Bowsprit, circumspection a Sounding
line.
My Light is illumination; justice is the Card [_Map_]; GOD's Word, the
Compass; the meditation of life's brevity, a Four-Hour Glass [_i.e._,
_the length of a ship's watch_]; contemplation of the creatures, the
Cross-staff or Jacob's-staff; the creed, a Sea-Grammar; the life of
CHRIST, my Load-Star. The saint's falls are Sea-marks; good examples,
Land-marks. Repentance pumps out the sink of my sins, a good conscience
keeps me clean. Imputative righteousness is my Flag, having this motto,
_Being cast down, we perish not!_ the Flag-staff is sincerity.
The ship is victualled afresh by reading, hearing, receiving. Books
are Long-boats, letters are little Skiffs to carry and recarry my
spiritual merchandise. Perseverance is my Speed, and patience my Name.
My Fire is lust, which will not be clean extinguished: full feeding
and strong drink are the Fuel to maintain it; whose Flame, if it be
not suppressed, is jealousy; whose Sparks are evil words, whose Ashes
are envy; whose Smoke is infamy. Lascivious talk is a Flint and Steel,
concupiscence as Tinder, opportunity the Match to light it, sloth and
idleness are the Servants to prepare it.
The LAW OF GOD is my Pilot, FAITH my Captain, FORTITUDE the Master,
CHASTITY the Master's Mate, my WILL the Coxswain, CONSCIENCE the
Preacher [_or, as we now say, Chaplain_], APPLICATION OF CHRIST'S
DEATH the Surgeon, MORTIFICATION the Cook, VIVIFICATION the Caulker,
SELF-DENIAL an Apprentice of his, TEMPERANCE the Steward, CONTENTATION
his Mate, TRUTH the Purser, THANKFULNESS the Purser's Mate,
REFORMATION the Boatswain, the Four HUMOURS, SANGUINE, CHOLER, &c.,
are the Quarter-masters; CHRISTIAN VIGILANCY undertakes to supply the
office of the Starboard and Larboard Watches, MEMORY is the Clerk of
the Cheque, ASSURANCE the Corporal, the Armour INNOCENCY, the Mariners,
ANGELS.
Schismatics are Searchers sent abroad. My UNDERSTANDING, as Master
Gunner, culls out from those two Budge-casks of the _Old_ and _New
Testaments_ certain threats and promises which are my only Powder and
Shot; and with the assistance of the Gunner's Mate, HOLY ANGER AGAINST
SIN, chargeth my tongue, which, like to a piece of ordnance, shoots
them to the shame and overthrow of my spiritual Adversaries.
My noble passengers are JOY IN THE HOLY GHOST and PEACE OF CONSCIENCE,
whose retinue are DIVINE GRACES. My ignoble or rather mutinous
passengers are WORLDLY COGITATIONS and VAIN DELIGHTS which are more
than a good many; besides some that are arrant thieves and traitors,
namely, PRIDE, ENVY, PREJUDICE: but all these I will bid farewell to,
when I come to my journey's end; though I would, but cannot, before.
Heaven is my Country, where I am Registered in the Book of Life, my
King is JEHOVAH. My Tribute alms-deeds: they which gather it are the
poor. Love is my country's Badge, my Language is holy conference, my
Fellow Companions are the saints.
I am poor in performances, yet rich in GOD's acceptation. The
Foundation of all my good is GOD's free election. I became Bound
into the Corporation of the Church to serve Him, in my baptism. I
was Enrolled at the time when He first called me. My Freedom is
justification. It was Purchased with the blood of CHRIST. My Evidence
is the earnest of His spirit. My Privileges are His sanctifying graces.
My Crown, reserved for me on high, is glorification.
My Maker and Owner is GOD; who built me by His Word, which is CHRIST;
of earth, which was the Material; He freighted it with the essence of
my Soul, which is the Treasure; and hath set me to sail in the Sea
of this world, till I attain to the Port of death: which letteth the
terrestrial part into the Harbour of the grave, and the celestial part
into the Kingdom of Heaven. In which voyage, conveniency of estate
[_comfortable circumstances_] is as sea room; good affections serve as
a tide; and prayer as a prosperous gale, a wind to help forward.
But innumerable are the impediments and perils. For here I meet with
the profers of unlawful gain and sensual delights, as so many SIRENS;
the baits of prosperity, as High Banks, on the right hand or Weather
Shore; and there with evil suggestions and crabbed adversity, as Rocks,
on the left hand or Lee Shore, ready to split me. The fear of hell,
like Quicksands, threatens to swallow me; original sin like Weeds clog
me, and actual transgressions like so many Barnacles hang about me.
Yea, every sin I commit springs a new Leak. My senses are as so many
Storms of Rain, Hail, and Snow to sink me. Lewd affections are Roaring
Billows and Waves. Self-confidence, or to rely upon anything but the
Divine assistance, is to lose the Bowsprit. Restitution is heaving
goods overboard to save the ship. Melancholy is want of Fresh Water.
The scoffs of atheists, and contempt of religion in all places is a
notable becalming; the lewd lives and evil examples of them most a
contagious air. Idleness furrs it, and is a shrewd decay, both of the
Hull and Tackling.
* * * * *
Moreover, sailing along, and keeping Watch (for they that be CHRIST's
friends, you know! must look for all they meet to be their enemies), we
no sooner look up, but presently we ken a Man of War, and then we must
be for war too, and provide for a skirmish.
Now the Galleon that hath our Pinnace in chase, and always watcheth
for advantages to surprise it, is the Piracy of Hell; the Synagogue
of SATAN. Her Freight is temptations and persecutions, with all the
engines of mischief. In which the DEVIL is Master, MALICE the Master's
Mate, CRUELTY the Captain, MURDER the Cook, FLATTERY the Caulker,
PROFANENESS a Quartermaster, RIOT the Steward, NEVER CONTENT his Mate,
PRIDE the Coxswain, SUPERSTITION the Preacher, HYPOCRISY the Boatswain,
COVETOUSNESS the Purser, LUST the Swabber, FURY the Gunner, PRESUMPTION
the Corporal, SEDITION the Trumpeter, DRUNKENNESS the Drummer.
Vices are the Sails, custom the Mainmast, example of the multitude
the Foremast, lusts and passions the Cables, blindness of mind the
Rudder, hardness of heart the Helm, the wisdom of the flesh the Card,
the mystery of iniquity the Compass. The five senses, or if you will,
scoffing Atheists, profane foul-mouthed drunkards, and all the rabble
of hell are the Mariners. Lewd affections the Passengers, LITTLE
CONSCIENCE the Load star.
She hath two tire of great ordnance planted in her, Heresy and
Irreligion; being either for a false god, or none. Oaths, blasphemy,
and curses are the Powder and Shot: which they spit against all that
worship the LAMB, or fight under the Ensign of Faith. Her Armour is
carnal security. The Flag in her Top is infidelity: the motto, _There
is no god, but gain!_
Her Ballast, which keeps her upright, is Ignorance. Most of her
Tackling she has from Rome, or Amsterdam. ANTICHRIST, as Pilot, steers
her in such a course that she goes on swiftly, proudly, securely,
scorning and scoffing (SENNACHERIB like) to hear that any Lord should
deliver this poor Pinnace out of her hands.
Yet in the sequel, this silly Pink, having the Insurance of GOD's
omnipresence, finds not only succour from the Stock of the Church's
prayers, which, like another Merchantman, come in to the rescue: but,
likewise that GOD's Almighty power and providence is near at hand, as
a strong Castle of Defence to free her, whereby she escapes, even as
a bird out of the snare of the hunter, to praise the LORD: who hath
not given her as a prey unto their teeth, that would have swallowed
up all quick; but delivered her from such swelling waters, floods
of affliction and streams of persecution, as else had gone over her
and even drowned her soul, as it is _Psalm_ cxxiv. While this great
Galleon (though it seems like that Invincible Armada) flies; and,
having no Anchor, when the storms of GOD's wrath arise, down she
sinks to desperation; and perisheth in the bottomless pit or burning
lake of fire and brimstone: where we will leave her to receive a just
recompense of reward.
R. Y.
_London. Printed by THOMAS COTES for the Author; and_
_are to be sold by Sarah Fairbeard, at the_
_North Door of the Royal Exchange_,
1636.
[? +THOMAS OCCLEVE+,
Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.]
_The Letter of CUPID._
[Old forms like _servin_, serve; _wollin_, will; _tellin_, tell;
_doin_, done; and the Imperatives _bethe_, be; _telleth_, tell;
occur in this Poem.]
[Urry's edition of CHAUCER's _Works_. ii. 534. _Ed._ 1721.]
Cupido, (unto whose commandèment
The gentle kindred of goddis on high
And people infernal be obedient;
And all mortal folk servin busily),
Of the goddess son, CYTHEREA only;
Unto all those that, to our deity
Be subjects, heartily greeting, send we!
In general, we wollin that ye know
That Ladies of honour and reverence,
And other Gentlewomen havin sow[n]
Such seed of complaint in our audience,
Of men that do them outrage and offence;
That it our earis grieveth for to hear,
So piteous is the effect of this matere.
Passing all landis, on the little isle
That clepèd is Albion, they most complain,
They say that there, is crop and root of guile:
So can those men dissimulin and feign,
With standing dropis in their eyin twain;
When that their heartis feeleth no distress,
To blindin women with their doubleness.
Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly,
With so piteous a cheer and countenance
That every wight that meaneth truly
Deemeth they in heart havin such grievance.
They say, "So importable is their penance,
That but their lady lust to shew them grace
They, right anon, must starvin in the place."
"Ah, Lady mine!" they say, "I you ensure
As doth me grace! and I shall ever be,
While that my life may lasting and endure
To you as humble and low in each degree
As possible is, and keep all things in secre[t]
Right as your selfin listeth that I do!
And ellis mine heartè must burst in two."
Full hard it is, to know a manis heart
For outward may no man the truthè deem.
When word out of the mouth, may none astert
But it, by reason seemed a wight to queme,
So it is said of heart, as it would seem.
O faithful woman! full of innocence!
Thou art deceivèd by false appearance!
By process moveth oft woman's pity.
Weening all things were as these men ysay,
They grant them grace, of their benignity,
For that men shouldin not, for their sake die,
And with good heart, settin them in the way
Of blissful love: keepin it, if they con!
And thus, otherwhile, women bethe ywon.
And when this man, the pan hath by the steel
And fully is in his possession;
With that woman keepeth he no more to deal
After, if he may findin in the town
Any woman, his blind affection
Unto bestow. But evil mote he preve!
A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe!
And for that every false Man hath a Make,
(As unto every wight is light to know)
When this traitor, this woman hath forsake,
He fast speedeth him unto his fellow.
Till he be there, his heart is on a low;
His false deceit ne may him not suffice,
But of his treason telleth all the wise.
Is this a fair avaunt? Is this honour?
A man himself accuse thus and defame!
Is it good to confess himself a traitor?
And bring a woman into slanderous name
And tell how he her body hath do shame?
No worship may he thus, to him conquer,
But great dislander unto him and her!
To her! Nay! Yet ywas it no reprefe;
For all for virtue was, that she ywrought!
But he that brewèd hath all this mischief,
That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought;
His, be the slander! as it by reason ought
And unto Her be thank perpetual
That, in such a need, helpin can so well.
Although through manis sleight and subtilty,
A silly simple and innocent woman
Betrayed is: no wonder! since the city
Of Troyè, as the story tellin can,
Betrayèd was, through the deceit of man,
And set on fire, and all down overthrown;
And finally destroyèd, as men knowèn.
Betrayin not men, cities great and kings?
What wight is it that can shape remedy
Against these falsely proposèd things?
When can the craft, such crafts to espy
But man? whose wit is e'er ready to apply
To thing that sowning is into falshede?
Woman! bethe 'ware of false men! I thee rede!