Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete — George Wither

Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete · George Wither

FAIRE-VIRTVE: OR, THE MISTRESSE OF PHIL'ARETE.

TWo prettie Rills doe meet, and meeting make

Within one vally, a large siluer lake:

About whose bankes the fertile mountaines stood,

In ages passed brauely crownd with wood;

Which lending Cold-sweet-shadowes, gaue it grace,

To be accounted Cynthia's Bathing place.

And from her father Neptunes brackish Court,

Faire Thetis thither often would resort,

Attended by the Fishes of the Sea,

Which in those sweeter waters came to plea.

There, would the daughter of the Sea-God diue;

And thither came the Land-Nymphs eueryevery Eue,

To wait vponupon her: bringing for her browes,

Rich garlands of sweet flowres, and Beechy boughs.

For, pleasant was that Poole; and neere it, then,

Was neither rotten Mersh, nor boggy Fen.

It was nor ouergrowne with boystrou… Sedge,

Nor grew there rudely then along the edge,

A bending Willow, nor a pricky Bush,

Nor broadleafd Flag, nor Reed, nor knotty Rush.

But here, wel order'd was a groue with Bowers:

There grassy plots set round about with Flowers.

Here, you might (through the water) see the land,

Appeare, strowd o're with white or yellow sand.

…onn, deeper was it; and the wind by whiffes.

Would make it rise, and wash the little cliffes,

On which, oft pluming sate (vnfrighted than)

The gagling Wild goose, and the snow-white Swan:

With all those flockes of Fowles, which to this day,

VponUpon those quiet waters breed, and play.

For, though those excellences wanting be,

Which once it had; it is the same, that we

By Transposition name the Ford of Arle.

And out of which along a Chalky Marle)

That Riuer trils, whose waters wash the Fort,

In which braue Arthur kept his royall Court.

North-east (not far frō this great Poole) there lies

A tract of Beechy mountaines, that arise

With leasurely-ascending to such height,

As from their tops the warlike Ile of Wight.

You in the Oceans bosome may espie,

Though neere two hundred furlongs thence it lie.

The pleasant way, as vp those hils you clime,

Is strewed o're, with Mariarome, and Thyme.

Which growes vnset. The hedge-rowes do not want

The Cowslip, violet, Primrose, nor a plant,

That freshly sents: as Birch both greene and tall;

Low Sallowes, on whose bloomings Bees doe fall.

Faire Woodbinds which, about the hedges twine;

Smooth Priuet, and the sharpesweete Eglantine.

With many moe, whose lea…es and blossomes faire,

The Earth addorne, and oft perfumes the ayre.

When you vntounto the highest doe attaine;

An intermixture both of Wood and Plaine,

You shall behold: which (though aloft it lye)

Hath downes for sheepe, and fields for husbandry▪

So much (at least) as little needeth more,

If not enough to marchandize their store.

In eueryevery Rowe hath Nature planted there,

Some banquet, for the hungry passenger.

For here, the Haste-nut and Filbird growes;

There Bulloes, and little further Sloes.

On this hand, standeth a faire weilding-tree;

On that, large thickets of blacke Cherries be.

The shrubbie fields, are Raspice Orchards there,

The new fel'd woods, like Strabery-gardens are:

And, had the King of Riuers blest those hills

With some small number of such prettie Rills

As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seene

A sweeter plot of Earth then this had beene.

For what offence this Place was scanted so

Of springing waters, no record doth show:

Nor hauehave they old tradition left, that tels;

But till this day, at fiftie fathome Wels

The Shepherds drink. And strange it was to heare

Of any Swaine that euer liued there,

Who either in a Pastorall-Ode had skill,

Or knew to set his fingers to a quill.

For, rude they were who there inhabited,

And to a dull contentment being bred,

They no such art esteem'd, nor tooke much heed

Of any thing, the world without them did.

Eu'n there; and in the least frequented place

Of all these mountaines, is a little space

Of pleasant ground hemd in with dropping trees,

And those so thicke, that Phoebus scarcely sees

The earth they grow on once in all the yeere,

Nor what is done among the shaddowes there.

Along those louely pathes (where neuer came

Report of Pan, or of Apollo's name,

Nor rumour of the Muses till of late)

Some Nymphs were wandring: and by chance, or Fate

VponUpon a Laund ariued, where they met

The little flocke of Pastor Philaret.

They, were a troupe of Beauties knowne well nigh

Through all the Plaines of happy Britany.

A Shepheards lad was he, obscure and young,

Who (being first that euer there had sung)

In homely Verse, expressed Countrey loues;

And onelyonly told them to the Beechy groues:

As if to sound his name he neuer ment,

Beyond the compasse that his Sheep-walke went.

They saw not him; nor them perceiued he:

For, in the branches of a Maple-tree

He shrouded sate, and taught the hollow hill

To Eccho foorth the Musique of his quill:

Whose tatling voice redoubled so the sound,

That where he was conceald, they quickly found.

And there, they heard him sing a Mad…igall;

That soone betrayd his cunning to them all.

Full rude it was no doubt, but such a Song,

Those rusticke, and obscured shades among,

Was neuer heard (they say) by any care;

Vntill his Muses had inspir'd him there.

Though meane and plain, his Country habit seemd,

Yet by his Song the Ladies rightly deemd,

That either he had trauailed abrode,

Where Swaines of better knowledge make abode.

Or else, that some braue Nimph who vs'd that Groue,

Had dained to inrich him, with her louelove.

Approaching nearer, therefore, to this Swaine,

They him saluted; and he, them againe:

In such good fashion, as well seemd to be

According to their state and his degree.

Which greetings, being passed; and much chat,

Concerning him, the place, with this and that;

He, to an Arbor doth those beauties bring;

Where, he them prayes to sit, they him to sing:

And to expresse that vntaught Country Art,

In setting forth the Mistresse of his hart;

Which they ore…eard him practise, when vnseene,

He thought no eare had witnesse of it beene.

At first (as much vnable) he refusd;

And seemed willing to hauehave beene excusde,

From such a taske. For, tr…st me Nimphs (quoth he)

I would not purposely vnciuill be,

Nor churlish in denying what you craue;

But, as I hope Great Pan my flocke will saue,

I rather wish, that I might heard of none,

Enioy my Musick, by my selfe alone:

Or, that the murmers of some little Flood

(Ioynd with the friendly Ecchoes of the wood)

Might be th'impartial… Vmpires of my wit,

Then vent it, where the worla might heare of it.

And doubtlesse, I had sung lesse loud while-ere,

Had I but thought of any such so neere.

Not that I either wish obscurifide,

Her matchlesse Beanty; or desire to hide

Her sweet perfections. For, by LoueLove I sweare,

The vtmost happinesse I ayme at here,

It but to compasse worth enough to raise

A high-built Trophee equall with her praise.

Which (fairest Ladies) I shall hope in vaine:

For, I was meanly bred on yonder Plaine.

And, though I can well prooue my Blood to be

Deriu'd from no ignoble Stems to me:

Yet Fate and Time them so obscur'd and crost,

That with their Fortunes their esteeme is lost.

And whatsoere repute I striue to win,

Now, from my selfe alone, it must begin.

For, I hauehave nor estate, nor friends, nor fame,

To purchase either credit to my name,

Or gaine a good Opinion; though I doe

Ascend the height I shall aspire vntounto.

If any of those virtues yet I hauehave,

Which honour to my Predecessors gaue,

Ther's all that's left me. And though some contemn…

Such needy Iewels; yet it was for them,

My Faire-one did my humble suit affect,

And dayned my aduenturous louelove respect.

And by their helpe, I passage hope to make

Through such poore things as I dare vndertake.

But, you may say; what goodly thing alas!

Can my despised meannesse bring to passe?

Or what great Monument of honour raise

To Virtue, in these Vice abounding dayes?

In which (a thousand times) more honor finds,

Ignoble gotten meanes, then noble minds?

Indeed, the world affoordeth small reward

For honest minds; and therefore her regard

I seeke not after: neither doe I care,

If I hauehave blisse, how others thinke I fare.

For, so my thoughts hauehave rest, it yrkes not me,

Though none but I, doe know how blest they be.

Here therefore, in these groues and hidden plaines,

I pleased sit alone; and many straines

I carroll to my selfe, these hills among:

Where no man comes to interrupt my Song.

Whereas, if my rude layes make knowne I should,

Beyond their home; perhaps, some Carpers would

(Because they hauehave not heard from whence we be)

Traduce, abuse, and scoffe both them and me.

For, if our great and learned Shepheards (who

Are grac't with wit, and fame, and fauours to,)

With much adoe, escape vncensurd may;

What hopes hauehave I to passe vnscoft I pray,

Who yet vntounto the Muses am vnknowne?

And liue vnhonoured, heere among mine owne?

A gadding humour seldome taketh me,

To range out further then yonn mountaines be:

Nor hath applausiue Rumour borne my name

VponUpon the spreading wings of sounding Fame.

Nor can I thinke (faire Nymphs) that you resort

For other purpose, then to make a sport

At that simplicitie which shall appeare

Among the rude vntutor'd Shepheards here.

I know that you my Noble Mistresse weene

At best, a homely Milk-maid on the Greene;

Or some such Country Lasse, as tasked stayes

At seruile labour vntill Holy dayes.

For, poore mens vertues so neglected grow,

And are now prized at a rate so low,

As tis impossible, You should bee brought,

To let it with beleefe possesse your thought,

That any Nymph whose louelove might worthy be;

Would daigne to cast respectiue eyes on me.

You see I liue, possessing none of those

Gay things, with which the world enamor'd grows.

To woo a Courtly Beautie, I hauehave neither

Rings, Bracelets, Iewels, nor a Scarfe, nor Feather.

I vse no double dyed Cloth to weare;

No Scrip embroydered richly doe I beare:

No silken Belt, nor Sheephooke layd with pearles,

To win me fauour from the Shepherds Girles.

No place of office, or Command I keepe,

But this my little Flocke of homely sheepe.

And in a word; the summe of all my pelfe

Is this; I am the Master of my selfe.

No doubt; in Courts of Princes you hauehave beene,

And all the pleasures of the Palace seene.

There, you beheld braue Courtly passages,

Betweene Heroës and their Mistresses.

You, there perhaps (in presence of the King)

HaueHave heard his learned Bards and Poets sing.

And what contentment then, can wood, or field,

To please your curious vnderstandings yeeld?

I know, you walked hither, but to prooue,

What silly Shepheards doe conceiue of louelove:

Or to make triall how our simplenesse

Can passions force, or Beauties power expresse:

And when you are departed, you will ioy,

To laugh, or descant on the Shepheards boy.

But yet (I vow) if all the Art I had

Could any more esteeme, or glory add

To her vnmatched worth; I would not weigh

What you intended. Prethee lad, quoth they,

Distrustfull of our Courtsie doe not seeme.

Her Noblenesse can neuer want esteeme;

Nor thy concealed Measures be disgrac't,

Though in a meaner person they were plac't:

If thy too-modestly reserued Quill,

But reach that height, which we suppose it will.

Thy meannesse or obscurenesse cannot wrong,

The Nymph thou shalt eternize in thy Song.

For, as it higher reares thy glory, that

A noble Mistresse thou hast aymed at:

So, more vntounto her honour it will prooue,

That whilst deceauing shaddowes others moue,

Her constant eyes, could passe vnmoued by,

The subtill times bewitching brauery;

And those obscured virtues louelove in thee,

That with despised meannesse clouded be.

Now then, for her sweet sake, whose Beautious eye,

Hath filled thy soule with heauenly Poesie,

Sing in her praise some new inspired straine:

And, if within our power there shall remaine,

A fauour to be done may pleasure thee:

A…ke, and obtaine it whatsoere it be.

Faire Ladies quoth the lad, such words as those,

Compell me can… and, therewithall he rose;

Return'd them thanks, obeisance made, and than,

Downe sate againe, and thus to sing began.

YOV, that at a blush can tell,

Where the best perfections dwell;

And the substance can coniecture,

By a shaddow, or a Picture:

Come, and try, if you by this;

Know my Mistresse, who she is.

For, though I am farre vnable

Here to match Apelles table,

Or draw Zeuxes, cunning Lines,

Who, so painted Bacchus Vines,

That the hungry Byrds did muster,

Round the counterfeited Cluster.

Though, I vaunt not to inherit,

Petrarchs, yet vnequal'd spirit;

Nor to quaffe the sacred Well,

Halfe so deepe as Astrophill:

Though, the much commended Celi…,

Louely Laura, Stella, Delia,

(Who in former times excell'd)

Liue in Lines vnparaled;

Making vsus beleeue 'twere much,

Earth should yeeld another such.

Yet, assisted but by Nature,

I assay to paint a Creatnre

Whose rare worth, in future yeares,

Shall be praysd, as much as theirs.

Nor let any thinke amisse,

That I hauehave presumed this:

For, a gentle Nimph is shee,

And hath often honor'd me.

Shees, a noble sparke of light,

In each part so exquisit,

Had she in times passed beene,

They had made her, beauties Queene.

Then, shall cowardly despaire,

Let the most vnblemisht faire,

For default of some poore Art

(Which her fauour may impart)

And the sweetest Beauty fade,

That was euer borne or made?

Shall, of all the faire ones, shee

OnelyOnly so vnhappy be;

As to liue in such a Time,

In so rude, so dull a Clime,

Where no spirit can ascend

High enough, to apprehend

Her vnprized excellence,

Which lies hid from common sense?

Neuer shall a staine so vile,

Blemish this, our Peets Ile.

I my selfe, will rather runne,

And seeke out for Helicon.

I, will wash, and make me cleane,

In the waues of Hyppocrene:

And in spight of Fortunes barres,

Climbe the Hill that braues the starres.

Where, if I can get no Muse

That will any skill infuse,

(Or my iust attempt prefer)

I will make a Muse of Her:

Whose kind heat shall soone distill,

Art, into my ruder quill.

By her fauour, I will gaine

Helpe, to reach so rare a Straine:

That the learned Hils shall wonder,

How the vntaught vallies vnderunder,

Met with Raptures so diuine,

Without knowledge of the NINE.

I, that am a Shepheards Swaine,

Piping on the lowly plaine,

And no other Musique can,

Then what learn'd I hauehave of Pan.

I, who neuer sung the Layes,

That deserue Apollo's bayes,

Hope not onelyonly, here to frame,

Measures, which shall keepe Her name,

From the spight of wasting Times;

But (enshrin'd in sacred Rimes)

Place her, where her forme diuine,

Shall to after ages shine:

And without respect of Odds,

Vye renowne with Demy-Gods.

Then, whilst of her praise I sing,

Harken Vally, Groue and Spring;

Listen to me sacred Fountaines,

Solitarie Rocks, and Mountaines:

Satyres, and you wanton Elues,

That doe nightly sport your selues.

Shepheards, you that on the Reede,

Whistle while your lambes doe feed:

Aged Woods, and Floods, that know,

What hath beene long times agoe.

Your more serious Notes among,

Heare, how I can in my Song,

Set a N…mphs perfection forth:

And, when you hauehave heard her worth;

Say, if such another Lasse,

Euer knowne to mortall was.

Listen Lordlings; you that most,

Of your outward honors boast.

And you Gallants; that thinke scorne,

We to lowly fortunes borne,

Should attaine to any graces,

Where, you looke for sweet embraces.

See, if all those vanities,

Whereon your affection lies.

Or the Titles, or the power,

By your Fathers virtues your,

Can your Mistresses enshrine,

In such state, as I will mine:

Who am forced, to importune

Fauours, in despight of Fortune.

Beauties listen; chiefly you,

That yet know not Virtues due.

You, that thinke there are no sports,

Nor no honours but in Courts.

(Though of thousands there liues not

Two, but dye and are forgot:)

See, if any Palace yeelds

Ought more glorious, then the Fields.

And consider well, if we

May not as high-flying be

In our thoughts, as you that sing

In the Chambers of a King.

See; if our contented minds,

Whom Ambition neuer blinds:

(We, that clad in home-spun gray,

On our owne sweet Meadowes play)

Cannot honour (if we please)

Where we list as well as these.

Or as well of worth approue;

Or with equall passions louelove.

See, if beauties may not touch

Our soone-louing hearts as much:

Or our seruices effect

Fauours, with as true respect

In your good conceits to rise,

As our painted Butterflies.

And you Fairest giuegive her roome,

When your Sexes pride doth come:

For that Subiect of my song,

I inuoke these Groues among,

To be witnesse of the Layes,

Which I carroll in her praise.

And because shee soone will see,

If my Measures faultie be;

Whilst I chaunt them, let each Rime

Keepe a well proportioned time:

And with straines that are diuine,

Meet her thoughts in eueryevery line.

Let each accent there, present

To her Soule a new content;

And, with rauishings so ceaze her,

She may feele the height of pleasure.

You enchanting spells, that lye,

Lurking in sweet Poesie:

(And to none else will appeare,

But to those that worthy are)

Make Her know there is a power

Ruling in these Charmes of your;

That transcends (a thousand heights)

Ordinary mens delights:

And can leaue within her brest,

Pleasures, not to be exprest.

Let her linger, on each straine,

As if shee would heare't againe;

And were loth to part from thence,

Till shee had the quintessence,

Out of each conceit shee meets,

And had stord her, with those sweets.

Make her, by your Art to see:

I, that am her Swaine, was he,

VntoUnto whom all beauties here,

Were alike, and equall deare.

That I could of freedome boast,

And of fauours with the most:

Yet, now (nothing more affecting)

Sing of Her, the rest neglecting.

Make her heart, with full Compassion,

Iudge the merit of true passion;

And, as much my louelove prefer,

As I striue to honor Her.

Lastly; you, that will (I know)

Heare me, wh'ere you should or no.

You, that seeke to turne all Flowers,

By your breathes infectious powers,

Into such ranke lothsome weedes,

As your dunghill nature breeds.

Let your hearts be chast, or here

Come not, till you purge them cleare.

Marke; and marke then, what is worst:

For, what ere it seeme at first;

If you bring a modest minde,

You shall nought immodest finde.

But, if any too seuere,

Happ to lend a partiall eare;

Or, out of his blindnesse yawne,

Such a word, as Oh prophane:

Let him know thus much from me,

If here's ought prophane, tis he;

Who applies these excellences,

OnelyOnly to the touch of senses:

And, dimm sighted, cannot see,

Where the soule of this, may bee.

Yet, that no offence may grow,

Tis their choice, to stay, or goe.

Or, if any for despight,

Rather comes, then for delight:

For his presence Ile not pray,

Nor his absence: come he may.

Critticks shall admitted be,

Though I know theile carpe at me.

For I neither feare nor care,

What in this, their censures are.

If the Verse heere vsed, be

Their dislike; it liketh me.

If my Methode they deride,

Let them know, LoueLove is not tide

In his free Discourse, to chuse

Such strict rules-as Arts-men vse.

These may prate of LoueLove; but they,

Know him not: for Hee will play

From the matter, now and then,

Off and on, and off agen.

If this Prologue tedious seeme,

Or the rest too long they deeme:

Let them know, my louelove they win,

Though they goe ere I begin,

Iust as if they should attend me,

Till the last, and there commend me.

For, I will for no mans pleasure

Change a Syllable or measure:

Neither for their praises adde

Ought to mend what they thinke bad:

Since it neuer was my fashion,

To make worke of Recreation.

Pedants shall not tye my straines,

To our Antique Poets vaines;

As if we, in latter dayes,

Knew to louelove, but not to praise.

Being borne as free as these,

I will sing, as I shall please;

Who, as well new paths may run,

As the best before hauehave done.

I disdaine to make my Song,

For their pleasures short or long.

If I please Ile end it here:

If I list Ile sing this yeere.

And, though none regard of it,

By my selfe I pleas'd can sit,

And, with that contentment cheare me▪

As if halfe the world did heare me.

But because I am assured,

All are either so coniured,

As they will my Song attend,

With the patience of a friend;

Or (at least) take note, that I

Care not much: now willingly

I these goodly Colours lay,

Wind, nor Raine, shall we are away.

But retaine their purest glasse,

When the Statues made of brasse,

For some Princes more renowne,

Shall be wholly ouerthrowne:

Or (consum'd with cankred rust)

Lie neglected in the dust.

And my Reason giues direction,

(When I sing of such perfection)

First, those beauties to declare,

Which (though hers) without her are.

To aduance her fame, I find,

Those are of a triple kind.

Priuiledges she hath store,

At her birth, since, and before.

From before her birth, the fame,

Shee of high discents may claime;

(Whose wel-gotten honors, may

Her deseruing more display)

For, from heauenly race shee springs,

And from high and mightie Kings.

At her birth; shee was by Fate

In those Parents fortunate,

Whose estates and virtues stood,

Answerable to their Blood.

Then, the Nation, Time, and Place,

To the rest may adde some grace.

For the People, with the Clime,

And the fashions of the time;

(In all which she hath been blest,

By enioying them at best)

Doe not onelyonly mend the features,

But oft times make better natures.

Whereas, those who hap not so,

Both deform'd, and ruder grow.

In these Climes, and latter dayes,

To deserue sweet Beauties praise,

(Where so many females dwell,

That each seemeth to excell)

In more glory twenty fold,

Then it was in dayes of old,

When our ordinary Faire ones

Might hauehave been esteemed rare ones;

And hauehave made a subiect fit,

For their brauest Poets wit.

Little P…ush-lights, or a sparke,

Shineth fairely in the darke:

And, to him occasion giues

That from sight of lesser liues

To adore it: yet the Ray

Of one Torch will take away

All the light of twentie more,

That shin'd very well before.

So, those pettie Beauties, which

Made the times before vsus rich;

Though but sparkles seemd a flame,

Which hath been increast by Fame,

And their true affections, who

Better neuer liu'd to know.

Whereas, her if they had seene,

Shee had sure adored beene,

And ta…ght Ages past, to sing

Sweeter in their Sonneting.

Such a Ray, so cleare, so bright,

Had out-shined all the light,

Of a thousand such as theirs,

Who were then esteemed Starres;

And would hauehave enlightned, neere

Halfe the worlds wide Hemisphere.

Shee is fairest, that may passe

For a faire one, where the Lasse

Trips it on the Countrie greene,

That may equall Spartas Queene.

Where (in eueryevery street you see)

Throngs of Nymphs and Ladies be,

That a… faire enough to moue

Angels; and enamour louelove.

Shee must matchlesse features bring

That now mooues a Muse to sing,

When as one small Prouince may

Shew more Beauties in a day,

Then the halfe of Europe could,

Breed them in an age of old.

Such is shee, and such a lot

Hath her rare perfection got.

Since her birth; to make the coulor

Of so true a Beautie fuller;

And to giuegive a better grace

To that sweetnesse in the face:

Shee, hath all the furthrance had,

Noble educations add.

And not onelyonly knoweth all,

Which our Ladies, Courtship call,

With those knowledges, that doe

Grace her sex, and sute thereto:

But shee hath attaind to find,

(What is rare with womankind)

Excellencies, whereby she

May in soule delighted be;

And reape more contentment, than

One of twentie thousand can.

By this meanes, hath better'd bin,

All without her, and within.

For, it hath by adding Arts,

To addorne her natiue parts,

Raised to a noble flame,

(Which shall lighten forth her fame)

Those deare sparkes of sacred fire,

Which the Muses did inspire

At her birth: that she compleat,

Might with them befit a seat.

But, perhaps I doe amise,

To insist so long on this.

These, are superficiall things;

And but slender shaddowings,

To the worke I hauehave in hand.

Neither can you vnderstand,

What her excellence may be,

Till her selfe desrib'd you see.

Nor can mine, or any penn,

Paint her halfe so louely then,

As she is indeed. For, here

Might those Deities appeare,

Which young Paris view'd, at will,

Naked, vponupon Ida hill;

That I from those three might take,

All their beauties One to make

(Those, no question well compact,

Would hauehave made vp one exact)

Something yet, we misse of might,

To expresse her sweetnesse right,

Iuno's maiestie would fit;

Venus beauty, Pallas wit:

Might hauehave brought to patterne hers,

In some shew'd particulers.

But, they neuer can expresse,

Her whole frame or worthinesse:

With those excellences, which

Make both soule, and body rich.

Pallas sometimes was vntoward,

Venus wanton, Iuno froward:

Yea, all three infected were,

With such faults as women are.

And, though falsly Deifi'd,

Fraileties had, which shee'le deride.

By herselfe, must therefore she,

Or by nothing pattern'd, be.

And I hope to paynt her so,

By her selfe; that you shall know,

I hauehave seru'd no common Dame,

Of meane worth, or vulger fame,

But a Nimph that's fairer than,

Pen, or Pencill, portrait can.

And to morrow if you stray,

Backe againe this vncoth way:

I my simple art will show:

But, the time preuents me now.

For, except at yonder glade,

All the Laund is vnderunder shade.

That, before these Ewes be told,

Those my Weathers in the fold,

Ten young Wainlings driuen downe

To the well beneath the Towne;

And my Lambkins changed from

Brome leaze, to the Mead at home:

Twill be farre in night: and so,

I shall make my father woe

For my stay, and be in feare

Some what is mischanced here.

On your way, Ile therefore bring you,

And a Song or two Ile sing you,

Such as I (halfe in despaire)

Made when first I woo'd my Faire:

Whereunto my Boy shall play,

That my voyce assist, it may.

COme my Muse, if thou disdaine,

All my comforts are bereft me;

No delight doth now remaine,

I nor friend, nor flocke hauehave left me,

They are fcattered on the plaine.

(Men, alas) are too seuere,

And make scoffes at Louers Fortunes;

Women, hearted like the Beare,

That regards not who importunes,

But, doth all in pieces teare.

If I should my sorrowes show

VntoUnto Riuers, Springs, or Fountaines,

They are sencelesse of my woe;

So are groues, and rockes, and mountaines.

Then, oh whither shall I goe?

Meanes of harbour me to shield

From dispaire; Ah, know you any?

For, nor Citie, Grange, nor Field

(Though they lend content to many)

VntoUnto me, can comfort yeeld.

I hauehave wept and sighed to.

For compassion to make triall:

Yea, done all that words can doe,

Yet hane nothing but denyall.

What way is there then to wooe?

Shall I sweare, protest, and vow?

So hauehave I done most extreamely.

Should I die? I know not how.

For, from all attempts vnseemely,

LoueLove, and Virtue, keepes me now.

I have heard that Time preuailes;

But I feare mee tis a fable.

Time, and all endeavour failes;

To beare more, my heart's vnable,

Yet none careth what it ayles.

Lines, to some hauehave op't the dore,

And got entrance for affection.

Words well spoken, much implore

By the Gestures good direction:

But a Looke doth ten times more.

Tis the Eye that onelyonly reades,

To the heart, loues deepest Lectures.

By a moouing looke it pleads,

More then common sence coniectures:

And, a way to pittie leades.

This, I knowing did obserue,

(both by Words, & Looks complayning)

Yet, for pittie I may starue:

There's no hope of my obtaining;

Till I better can deserue.

Yea, and he that thinkes to winne

By desert, may bee deceiued.

For, they who hauehave worthiest bin,

Of their right hauehave beene bereaued,

And a Groome admitted in.

Wherefore Muse, to thee I call;

Thou (since nothing else auailes me)

Must redeeme mee from my thrall.

If thy sweet enchauntment failes me,

Then adue, louelove, life, and all.

2.

TEll me my hart, what Thoughts these pantings moue?

My Thoughts of LOVE.

What Flames are these, that set thee so on fire?

Flames of DESIRE.

What Meanes hast thou, contentments floure to crop?

No Meanes but HOPE.

Yet let vsus feed on Hope, and Hope the best.

For, they amid their griefes are something blest;

Whose Thoughts, & Flames, & Meanes, hauehave such free scope,

They may at once, both LOVE, DESIRE, and HOPE.

But say; what Fruit will louelove at last obtaine?

Fruitlesse DISDAINE.

What will those Hopes proue, which yet seeme so faire?

Hopelesse DESPAIRE.

What End shall runne those passions out of breath?

An endlesse DEATH.

Oh can there be such crueltie in LoueLove?

And doth my Fortune so vngentle proue,

Shee will no Fruit, nor Hope, nor End bequeath,

But cruellest DISDAIN, DISPAIRE, and DEATH?

Then what new Studie shall I now apply?

Studie to DIE.

How might I end my Care, and dye content?

Care to REPENT.

And what good Thoughts may make my end more holy?

Thinke on thy FOLLY.

Yes, so I will; and since my Fate can giuegive

No Hope, but euer without Hope to liue.

My Studies, Cares, and Thoughts, ile all apply.

To weigh my FOLLY well, REPENT and DIE.

3.

SAD Eyes what doe you ayle

To be thus ill disposed?

Why doth your sleeping faile,

Now all mens else are closed?

Wast I, that nere did bow

In any seruile dutie;

And will you make me, now,

A slaue to LoueLove and Beautie?

What though thy Mistresse smile,

And in her louelove affects thee?

Let not her eye beguile,

I feare shee disrespects thee.

Doe not poore heart depend

On those vaine thoughts that fill thee;

Theyle faile thee in the end,

So must thy passions kill thee.

What hopes hauehave I, that shee

will hold her fauours euer;

When so few women be,

That constant can perseuer?

What ere shee doe protest,

When Fortunes doe deceiue me;

Then shee, with all the rest,

I feare, alas! will leaue me.

Whil'st youth, & strength remains,

With art that may commend her;

Perhaps, she nought disdaines,

Her seruant should attend her.

But, it is one to ten,

If crosses ouertake me;

Shee will not know me, then,

But scorne, and so forsake mee.

Shall then in earnest truth,

My carefull eyes obserue her?

Shall I consurne my youth,

And short my time to serue her?

Shall I, beyond my strength,

Let passions torments prooue me,

To heare her say, at length,

Away, I cannot louelove thee?

Oh, rather let me dye,

Whil'st I thus gentle finde her;

Twere worse then death, if I,

Should finde shee prooues vnkinder.

One frowne (though but in iest)

Or one vnkindnes, fained,

Would rob me of more rest,

Then ere could be regained.

But, in her eyes I finde,

Such signes of pitie moouing;

Shee cannot be vnkinde:

Nor erre, nor faile in louing.

And, on her forehead, this,

Seemes written to relieue me;

My heart no ioy shall misse,

That LoueLove, or Shee, can giuegive me.

Which if I finde, I vow,

My seruice shall perseuer:

The same that I am now,

I will continue euer.

No others high degree,

Nor beautious looke shall change me.

My LoueLove shall constant bee,

And no estate estrange me.

When other noble Dames

By greater men attended;

Shall with their Liues, and Names,

HaueHave all their glories ended;

With fairest Queenes shall she,

Sit sharing equall glory:

And Times to come, shall be,

Delighted with our Story.

In spight of others hates,

More honour I will doe her,

Then those, that with Estates,

And helpes of Fortune wooe her.

Yea, that true worth I spie,

Though Monarchs stroue to grace it,

They should not reach more hie,

Then I dare hope to place it.

And though I neuer vaunt,

What fauours are possessed,

Much lesse content I wan,

Then if they were expressed.

Let others make their mirth,

To blab each kisse, or toying;

I know no blisse on earth,

Like, seeret LoueLove enioying.

And this shall be the worst,

Of all that can betide me;

If I, like some accurst,

Should finde my hopes deride me:

My Cares will not be long,

I know which way to mend them;

Ile thinke who did the wrong,

Sigh, breake my heart, and end them.

HAile faire Beauties, and againe,

Haile to all your goodly traine.

What I promisd yesterday,

If it please you, heare yee may:

For, now once begun hauehave I,

Sing I will, though none were by.

And, though freely on I runne,

Yet confused paths to shunne,

First, that part shalbe disclos'd,

Thats of Elements compos'd.

There, the two vnequall paire,

Water, Fire, Earth and Ayre.

(Each one suting a Complexion,)

HaueHave so cunning a Commixtion;

As they, in proportion sweet,

With the rarest temper meete.

Either, in as much as needeth,

So as neither, ought exceedeth.

This pure substance, is the same,

Which the Body we doe name.

Were that, of immortall stuffe;

Tis resin'd and pure enough,

To be cald a Soule: for sure,

Many Soules are not so pure.

I (that with a serious looke

Note of this rare Moddel tooke)

Find, that Nature in their places,

So well couched all the Graces,

As the Curioust eies that be,

Can nor blot, nor blemish see.

Like a Pine it groweth streight,

Reaching an approued height:

And hath all the choice perfections,

That inflame the best affections.

In the motion of each part,

Nature seemes to striue with Art,

Which her gestures most shall blesse,

With the guifts of Pleasingnesse.

When she sits; me, thinkes, I see,

How all virtues fixed be,

In a frame; whose constant mould,

Will the same vnchanged hold.

If you note her when she moues,

Cytherea drawne with doues:

May come learne such winning motions,

As will gaine to loues deuotions,

More then all her painted wiles;

Such as teares, or sighs, or smiles.

Some, whose bodies want true graces,

HaueHave sweete features in their faces:

Others, that doe misse them there,

Louely are some other where,

And to our desires doe fitte,

In behauiour, or in witte:

Or some inward worth appearing,

To the soule, the soule endearing:

But, in her your eie may find,

All thats good in Womankind.

What in others we preferre,

Are but sundry parts of her:

Who, most perfect, doth present,

What might one, and all content.

Yea, he that in louelove still ranges,

And each day, or howrly changes;

(Had he iudgement but to know,

What perfection in her grow)

There would find the spring of store,

Sweare a faith, and change no more.

Neither in the totall frame,

Is she only void of blame;

But, each part suruei'd a sunder,

Might beget both louelove and wonder.

If you dare to looke so high,

Or behold such maiestie;

Lift your wondring eies, and see,

Whether ought can better'd be.

Ther's her Haire, with which LoueLove angles,

And beholdes eies intangles.

For, in those faire curled snares,

They are hampred vnawares:

And compeld to sweare a duty,

To her sweete inthrauling beauty.

In my mind, tis the most faire,

That was euer called haire,

Somewhat brighter then a browne,

And her Tresses wauing downe,

At full length, and so dispread:

Mantles her from foote to head.

If you saw her Arched Brow,

Tell me pray, what Art knowes how

To hauehave made it in a line,

More exact, or more diuine.

Beauty there may be diseri'd,

In the height of all her pride,

Tis a meanly rising plaine,

Whose pure white hath many a vaine,

Interlacing like the springs,

In the earths enamilings.

If the tale be not a toy,

Of the little winged Boy;

When he meanes to strike a heart,

Thence, he throwes the fatall dart:

Which of wounds still makes a paire,

One of LoueLove, one of Dispaire.

Round her visage: or so neare,

To a roundnes doth appeare,

That no more of length it takes,

Then what best proportion makes.

Short her Chinne is; and yet so,

As it is iust long enow:

Louelines, doth seeme to glory,

In that Cyrcling Promontory.

Pretty mouing features skip,

Twixt that hillocke and the lip:

If you note her, but the while

She is pleas'd to speake, o… smile.

And her Lips (that shew no dulnes)

Full are, in the meanest fulnes:

Those, the leaues be, whose vnfolding,

Brings sweete pleasures to beholding:

For, such pearles they doe disclose,

Both the Indies match not those:

Yet, are so in order placed,

As their whitenesse is more graced.

Each part is so well disposed,

And her dainty mouth composed,

So, as there is no distortion,

Misbeseemes that sweete proportion.

When her Iuorie Teeth she buries,

Twixt her two enticing cherries,

There appeares such pleasures hidden,

As might tempt what were forbidden.

If you looke againe the whiles,

She doth part those lips in smiles:

Tis as when a flash of light,

Breakes from heauen to glad the night.

Other parts my pencill craue,

But those lips I cannot leaue;

For (me thinkes) I should goe,

And forsake those Cherries so.

Ther's a kind of excellence,

Holds me from departing hence.

I would tell you what it were,

But my cunning failes me there.

They are like in their discloses,

To the mornings dewie roses:

That beside the name of faire,

Cast perfumes that sweet the Aire.

Melting-soft her kisses be,

And had I, now, two or three;

(More inspired, by their touch)

I had praisd them twise asmuch.

But sweete Muses marke yee how,

Her faire eies doe checke me now,

That I seem'd to passe them so:

And their praises ouer goe:

And yet blame me not, that I

Would so faine hauehave past them by.

For, I feared to hauehave seene them,

Least there were some danger in them.

Yet, such gentle lookes they lend,

As might make her foe, a friend;

And by their allurings moue,

All beholders, vntounto louelove.

Such a power is also there,

As will keepe those thoughts in feare;

And command enough I saw,

To hold impudence in awe.

There, may he that knowes to louelove,

Read contents, which are aboue,

Their ignoble aimes, who know

Nothing, that so high doth grow.

Whilst she me beholding is,

My hart dares not thinke amisse:

For, her sight most peircing cleare,

Seemes to see, whats written there.

Those bright Eies, that with their light,

Often times hauehave blest my sight,

And in turning thence their shining,

Left me in sad darkenes pining:

Are the rarest, loueliest gray.

And do cast forth such a ray;

As the man, that black prefers,

More would like this gray of hers.

When their matchles beames she shrouds,

Tis like Cynthia hid in Clouds.

If againe she shew them light,

Tis like morning after night.

And, tis worthy well beholding,

With how many a pretty folding,

Her sweet eye lids grace that faire,

Meanly fring'd with beaming haire:

Whereby, neatly ouerspread,

Those bright lamps are shaddowed.

Twixt the Eyes, no hollow place,

Wrinkle nor vndecent space,

Disproportions her in ought;

Though by Enuy, faults were sought.

On those Eye-browes neuer yet,

Did disdainefull scowling sit.

LoueLove and Goodnesse gotten thither,

Sit on equall thrones together;

And doe throw iust scorne on them,

That their gouernment contemne.

Then (almost obscur'd) appeares

Those her Iewell-gracing Eares,

Whose owne Beauties more adome,

Then the richest Pearle that's worne

By the proudest Persian Dames,

Or the best that Nature frames.

There, the voice (in loues Meanders

Those their pretty cirklings, wanders:

Whose rare turnings will admit,

No rude speech to enter it.

Stretching from mount Forhead lies,

Beauties Cape betwixt her eyes.

Which two Chrystall-passing lakes,

Loues delightfull Isthmus makes;

Neither more nor lesse extending,

Then most meriteth commending.

Those, in whom that part hath beene,

Best deseruing praises seene:

Or, (surueid without affection)

Came the neerest to perfection.

Would scarce handsome ones appeare,

If with her compar'd they were.

For, it is so much excelling,

That it passeth meanes of telling.

On the either side of this,

Loues most louely Prospect is.

Those her smiling Cheekes, whose colour

Comprehends true Beautie fuller,

Then the curioust mixtures can,

That are made by art of Man.

It is Beauties Garden plot,

Where, as in a True-louelove-knot,

So, the Snowy Lilly growes,

Mixed with the Crimson Rose,

That, as friends they ioyned be.

Yet, they seeme to disagree,

Whether of the two shall raigne;

And the Lillies oft obtaine

Greatest sway, vnlesse a blush

Helpe the Roses at a push.

Hollow fallings, none there are;

Ther's no wrinkle, ther's no scar:

OnelyOnly ther's a little Mole,

Which from Venus cheeke was stole.

If it were a thing in Nature,

Possible, that any Creature,

Might decaying life repaire

OnelyOnly by the helpe of Aire:

There were no such Salue for death,

As the balme of her sweet breath.

Or, if any humane power,

Might detaine the Soule an houre,

From the flesh to dust bequeathing,

It would linger on her breathing:

And be halfe in mind, that there;

More then mortall pleasures were.

And whose fortune were so faire,

As to draw so sweet an ayre,

Would no doubt, let sleighted lie,

The perfumes of Arabie.

For the English Eglantine,

Doth through enuy of her, pine.

Violets, and Roses to;

Feares that she will them vndoe.

And, it seemes that in her brest,

Is compos'd the Ph…nix nest.

But, descend a while mine eye.

See, if polisht Iuory,

Or the finest sleeced flockes,

Or the whitest Albi…n Rocks;

For comparisons may stand,

To expresse that snowy hand.

When she drawes it from her gloue,

It hath virtue to remoue,

Or disperst; if there be ought,

Cloudeth the beholders thought.

If that palme but toucheth your,

You shall feele a secret power

Cheare your heart; and glad it more,

Though it droopt with griefe before.

Through the vaines, disposed true

Crimson, yeelds a Saphir hue:

Which adds grace, and more delight,

By embracing with the white.

Smooth, and moist, and soft, and tender,

Are her palmes; the fingers slender;

Tipt with mollified Pearle.

And if that transformed Girle,

Whose much cunning, made her dare,

With loues daughter to compare,

Had that hand worne; maugre spight,

Shee had sham'd the Goddesse quite.

For, there is in eueryevery part,

Nature perfecter then Art.

These, were ioyned to those Armes,

That were neuer made for harmes:

But, possesse the sweetest graces,

That may apt them for imbraces.

Like the Siluer streames they be,

Which from some high hill we see

Clipping in a goodly Vale,

That growes prowd of such a thrall.

Neither Alabaster Rocks,

Pearl strowd-shores, nor Cotswold flockes,

Nor the Mountaines tipt with Snow,

Nor the Milk-white Swannes of Po,

Can appeare so faire to me,

As her spotlesse shoulders be.

They are like some worke of state,

Couer'd with the richest plate:

And a presence hauehave, that strike

With deuotions, Goddes-like.

Twixt those shoulders (meanly spread)

To support that Globe-like head,

Riseth vp her Necke; wherein,

Beautie seemeth to beginne

To disclose it selfe, in more

Tempting manner then before.

How, therein she doth excell,

(Though I would) I cannot tell:

For, I naught on earth espie,

That I may expresse it by.

There, should Louers as in dutie,

Hange rich Trophes vp to Beauty.

Tis proportion'd to a height,

That is euen with delight.

Yet, it is a great deale higher,

Then to answere base desire.

Where the Necke hath end, begins

That smooth path, where loues close ginns

Are thicke placed to inthrall,

Such, as that way straggle shall.

There, a pleasing passage lies,

Farre beyond the sight of eies:

And much more delight containes,

Then the old Elizian plaines.

Whatsoeuer others say,

There's alone the Milkie-way;

That to beauties walkes doth goe,

Which, if others came to know;

In possessing their delight,

They should neuer reach the height,

Of the pleasures which I share,

Whilst that those debarred are.

Yet (vnspoken of) there rests,

Her two twinlike louely Breasts,

Whose round-rising, pretty panting

I would tell, but art is wanting.

Words can neuer well declare,

Her faire sweete perfections there:

For, would measures giuegive me leaue,

To expresse what I conceiue,

I doe know I should goe neare,

Halfe to rauish all that heare.

And, but that I learne to season,

What I apprehend with Reason,

It had made my Passions weight,

Sincke me through my owne conceit,

There I finde so large a measure,

Of an vnexpressed pleasure;

That my heart, through strong surmize,

In a pleasing fainting lies.

He that there may rest to proue,

Softer finds those beds of louelove,

Then the Cotton ripest growne;

Or fine pillowes of such downe,

As in time of Molting, fanns,

From the breasts of siluer Swannes.

Those two sisters are a paire

Smoth alike, like soft, like faire;

If together they be vewed.

Yet if they a part be shewed,

That you touch, or see, seemes smother;

Softer, fairer, then the other.

That the Colour may delight,

So much red as makes the white,

Purer seeme, is shed among:

And then, here, and there, along,

Runnes a Saphire-Mine, whose blew

Shaddowd, makes so braue a shew

On those lillie mounts, as tho,

Beauties simples there did grow.

In the vale, twixt either hill,

Lies Desire in ambush still;

And surprizeth euerie eie,

Which doth that way dare to pry.

There, is sure the twy-top Hill,

Where the Poets, learne their skill.

Thats Parnassus where the Muses,

Chast, and wise Minerua vses.

Her two Cherrilets are those,

Whence the pleasantst Nectar flowes:

And no fruits ere equall'd these,

Fetcht from the Hesperides.

Once, as Cynthir's games she Chased,

And for Aire, left halfe vn…ased,

Her light summer-robe of greene,

(Beauties safe, but slender skreene)

Vnawares, I partly spide,

That faire Lillie field vnhid,

Which you may her Belly name;

Yet, nor she, nor I, to blame.

For, it was but what mine eie,

Might behold with modestie.

Tis a faire and matchlesse Plaine,

Where vnknowne Delights remaine,

Tis the store-house wherin, Pleasure,

Hides the richest of her treasure.

Which, true Modestie (in ward)

Keepes with a continuall guard,

Of such Virtues; as shee's sure,

No corruption can allure.

There they say (for mind it well)

I doe this by hearesay, tell,

Growes her Nauell which doth seeme,

Like some Iewel of esteeme:

With so wondrous cunning wrought,

That an iniury tis thought:

Such a beauty, with the rest,

(Should vnknowne) be vnexprest.

Some what else there is, thats hidden;

Which to name I am forbidden:

Neither hauehave I euer pried,

After that should be vnspied.

Neuer shall my Maiden-Muse,

So her selfe, and me abuse,

As to sing what I may feare,

Will offend the Choisest eare.

Though I know, if none be by,

But true friends to Modestie;

I might name each part at will,

And yet no mans thought be ill.

Yet, for feare loose hearers may,

Iudge amisse, if more I say:

Ile descend to shunn all blame,

To the Pillers of this Frame.

Where, though I nere aimd so high,

As her daintie youthfull Thigh;

(Whose rare softnes, smothnes, fulnes,

Being knowne, would teach my dulnes

Such a straine, as might be fit,

Some braue Tuscan Poets wit)

Once a sawcie bush I spide,

Plucke her silken skirts aside;

So discouered vntounto me,

All those beauties to the knee.

And, before the thornes entanglings,

Had let goe the Siluer spanglings,

I perceiud the curious knitting,

Of those ioynts were well be fitting;

Such a Noble piece of worke:

Mongst whose turnings, seem'd to lurke,

Much to entertaine the sight,

With new obiects of delight.

Then the Legge for shape as rare,

Will admit of no compare.

Streight it is; the Anckle leane,

Full the Calfe, but in the meane:

And the slender Foote doth fit,

So each way to suit with it,

As she nothing lesse excells

Therein, then in all things els.

Yea from Head to Foote, her feature,

Shewes her an vnblemisht Creature:

In whom louelove with reason, might,

Finds so matchlesse a Delight.

That more cannot be acquired,

Nor, a greater blisse desired.

Yet if you will rest an howre,

VnderUnder yonder shady bowre:

I, anon my Muse will raise

To a higher pitch of praise.

But a while with Raspice-berries,

Strawberries, ripe Peares, and Cherries,

(Such as these our Groues doe beare)

We will coole our palats there.

And those homely Cates among,

Now and then, a Past' rall Song,

Shall my Lad, here, sing, and play:

Such, as you had yesterday.

1

A Lad whose faith will constant proue,

And neuer know an end:

Late by an ouer sight in louelove,

Displeas'd his dearest friend.

For which, incens'd shee did retake,

The fauours which he wore;

And said, he neuer for her sake,

Should weare, or see them more.

The griefe whereof, how neere i… …ent,

And how vnkindly tooke;

Was figur'd by the discontent,

Appearing in his looke.

At first, he could not silence breake,

(So heauy sorrow lay)

But when his sighs gaue way to speake,

Thus, sadly did he say.

My onelyonly Deare; and with that speech,

Not able to sustaine,

The floods of griefe at sorrowes breach;

He paus'd awhile againe.

At length (nigh fainting) did expresse,

These words, with much adoe;

Oh deare! let not my loues excesse.

Me, and my louelove vndoe.

Shee, little mooued with his paine,

His much distraction eyde;

And changing louelove, into disdaine,

Thus (still vnkind) replide:

Forbeare to vrge one kindnesse more,

Vnlesse you long to see,

The good respect you had before,

At once all lost in me.

With that, dismaid, his suit he ceast,

And, downe his head he hung:

And, as his Reasons strength decreast,

His passion grew more strong.

But, seeing shee did flight his mone

(With Willow Garlands wreath'd)

He sate him downe, and all alone,

This sad complaint he breahb'd.

Oh Heauens! Quoth he, Why doe we spend,

Endeauours thus in vaine;

Since what the Fates doe fore-intend,

They neuer change againe?

Nor Faith, nor LoueLove, nor true Desert,

Nor all that man can doe,

Can winne him place within her heart,

That is not borne theret….

Why doe I fondly waste my youth,

In secret sighs, and teares?

Why to preserue a spotlesse truth,

Taste I, so many cares?

For, women that no worth respect,

Doe so vngentle prooue;

That some shall wi…ne by their neglect,

What others lose with louelove.

Those, that hauehave set the best at naught,

And no man could enioy;

At last, by some base Gull are caught,

And gotten with a toy.

Yea, they that spend an ages light,

Their fauours to obtaine;

For one vnwilling ouer sight,

May loose them all againe.

How glad, and faine, alas would I,

For her hauehave vnderwent,

The greatest care, ere she should trie,

The smallest discontent?

Yet she, that may my life commaund,

And doth those passions know,

Denieth me a poore demaund,

In height of all my wo….

Oh, if the Noblest of her time,

And best belou'd of me;

Could for so poore, so slight a crime,

So voyd of pitie be.

Sure, had it beene some common one,

Whose patience I had tride;

No wonder I had been vndone,

Or vnforgiuen di'de.

A thousand liues I would hauehave layd,

So well I once beleeu'd,

She would hauehave dain'd to lend me ayd,

If she had seene me gree…'d.

But now, I liue to see the day,

Where I presumed so;

I neither dare for pitie pray,

Nor tell her of my woe.

Yet, let not poore despised heart,

Her worth ought question'd be;

Hadst thou not fayled in desert,

Shee had not failed thee.

But least perhaps, they flout thy mone,

That should esteeme thee deare;

Goe, make it by thy selfe alone,

Where none may come to heare.

Still keepe thy forhead crown'd with smiles,

What passion ere thou trie;

That none may laugh at thee the whiles,

Thou discontented lye.

And let no wrong, by change distaine

A LoueLove so truely faire:

But rather, neuer hope againe,

And thou shalt ne're despaire.

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ORetyr'd by cruell passions that oppresse me,

With heart nigh broken, Time no hope would giuegive me

Upon my bed I laid mee downe to rest me;

And gentle sleepe, I wo…ed to releeue me.

But oh alas! I found that on the morrow

My sleeping Ioyes, brought forth my waking Sorrow.

For loe, a dreame I had so full of pleasure,

That to possesse, what to imbrace I seemed,

Could not effect my Ioy in higher measure,

Then now it grieues mee, that I hauehave but dreamed.

Oh let my dreames be sighs and teares hereafter:

So, I that sleeping weepe, may wake in laughter.

Faine would I tell, how much that shaddow pleasd me;

But tongue and pen, want words, and art in telling.

Yet, this lle say, to shew what horrour seazd me;

(When I was rob'd of blisse, so much excelling)

Might all my dreames be suchj; oh let me neuer

Awake againe: but sleepe, and dreame for euer.

For, when I waking saw my selfe deceiued,

And what an inward Hell it had procured,

To finde my selfe of all my hopes bereaued,

It brought on passions not to be endured:

And, knew I; next night had such dreames in keeping,

I'de make my eyes, forsweare, for euer sleeping.

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YOu wooddy Hils, you Dales, you Groues,

You Floods, and eueryevery Spring,

You Creatures come, whom nothing moues,

And heare a Shepheard sing.

For, to Heroës, Nymphes, and Swaines,

I long hauehave made …y mone:

Yet, what my mournfull Verse containes,

Is vnderstood of none.

In Song, APOLLO gaue me skill;

Their louelove, his Sisters daine.

With those, that haunt Pernassus hill,

I friendship entertaine.

Yet, this is all in vaine to me,

So haplessely I fare,

As those things which my glory be,

My cause of ruine, are.

For, LoueLove hath kindled in my brest,

His neuer quenched fire:

And I, who often hauehave exprest,

What other men desire,

(Because I could so diue into,

The depth of others mone)

Now, I my owne affliction show,

I heeded am, of none.

Oft hauehave the Nymphs of greatest worth,

Made sute my Songs to heare.

As oft (when I hauehave sighed forth,

Such notes as saddest were)

Alas! said they, poore gentle heart,

Who ere that Shepheard be:

But, none of them suspects my smart,

nor thinkes, it meaneth me.

When I hauehave reacht so high a straine,

Of passion in my Song;

That they, hauehave seene the teares toraine

And trill my cheeke along:

Insteed of sigh, or weeping eye,

To sympathize with me;

Oh, were he once in louelove, they crie,

How mouing would he be?

Oh pitie me, you Powers aboue,

And take my skill away:

Or, let my hearers thinke I louelove,

And faine not what I say.

For, if I could disclose the smart,

Which I vnknowne doe beare;

Each line would make them sighs impart,

And eueryevery word, a teare.

Had I a Mistresse, some doe thinke,

Shee should reuealed be;

And I would fauors weare, or drinke

Her Health vponupon my Knee.

Alas poore fooles! they ayme awry,

Their fancy flags too low:

Could they my loues rare course espie,

They would amazed grow.

But, let nor Nymph nor Swaine conceiue,

My tongue shall euer tell,

Who of this rest, doth mee bereaue;

Or where I am not well.

But, if you sighing me espie,

Where rarest features be;

Marke, where I fixe a weeping eye,

And sweare you, There is shee.

Yet, ere my eyes betray me shall,

Ile swell, and burst with paine:

And, for each drop they would let fall,

My heart shall bleed me twaine.

For, since my soule more sorrow beares,

Then common Louers know;

I scorne, my passions should like theirs,

A common humour show.

Eare, neuer heard of, heretofore,

Of any LoueLove like mine.

Nor shall there be for euermore,

Affection so diuine.

And, that to faine it, none may try,

When I dissolu'd must be;

The first I am, it liued by,

And die it shall, with me.

BOY, h'a done; for now my braine

Is inspir'd afresh againe,

And new Raptures pressing are,

To be sung in praise of her:

Whose faire Picture lieth nigh,

Quite vnuail'd to eu'ry eye.

No small fauour hath it beene,

That such Beautie might be seene:

Therefore, euer may they rue it,

Who with euill eyes shall view it.

Yea, what ancient stories tell,

Once to rude Acteon fell,

(When with euill thoughts, he stood

Eyeing Cynthia in the Flood)

May that fatall horned curse,

Light vponupon them; or a worse.

But (what euer others be)

Lest some fault be found in me,

If vnperfect this remaine;

I will ouer-trym't againe.

Therefore, turne where we begun:

And now all is ouerrunne.

Marke, if eueryevery thing exprest,

Sute not so vntounto the rest,

As if Nature would prefer,

All perfections, vntounto her.

Wherefore seemes it strange to any,

That they daily see so many,

Who were else most perfect Creatures,

In some one part, want true features?

Since, from all the fair'st that liue,

Nature tooke the best, to giuegive

Her pefection in each part.

I, alone, except her heart;

For, among all woman-kind.

Such as hers, is hard to find.

If you truely note her Face,

You shall find it hath a grace,

Neither wanton, nor ore serious;

Nor too yeelding, nor imperious:

But, with such a feature blest,

It is that, which pleaseth best:

And delight's each seu'rall eye,

That affects with modesty.

Lowlinesse, hath in her looke,

Equall place with Greatnes tooke.

And, if Beautie (any where)

Claimes Prerogatiues, tis there.

For, at once, thus much twill doe;

Threat, command, perswade, and wooe.

In her Speech there is not found,

Any harsh, vnpleasing sound.

But a well beseeming power;

Neither higher, neither lower,

Then will sute with her perfection,

Tis the Loadstone of Affection.

And, that man, whose iudging eyes,

Could well sound such mysteries,

Would in louelove, make her, his choice;

Though he did but heare her voice.

For, such accents, breath not, whence

Beautie keeps Non-residence.

Neuer word of hers, I heare,

But tis Musicke to mine eare:

And, much mor… contentment brings,

Then the sweetly-touched strings,

Of the pleasing Lute, whose straines,

Rauish hearers when it plaines.

Rais'd by her Discourse, I flie,

In contented thoughts so high,

That I passe the common measures,

Of the dulled Senses pleasures:

And, leaue farre below my flight,

Vulger pitches of delight.

If Shee smile, and merry be;

All about her, are as she.

For, each looker on, takes part

Of the ioy that's in her heart.

If Shee grieue, or you but spie,

Sadnesse peeping through her eye;

Such a grace it seemes to borrow,

That you'l fall in louelove with sorrow:

And abhorre the name of Mirth,

As the hatefulst thing on earth.

Should I see her shed a teare,

My poore eyes would melt, I feare.

For, much more in Hers appeares,

Then in other womens teares:

And her looke, did neuer faine

Sorrow, where there was no paine.

Seldome hath she beene espide

So impatient as to chi…e:

For, if any see her so,

They'l in louelove with anger grow.

Sigh, or speake, o… smile, or talke,

Sing, or weepe, or sit, or walke,

EueryEvery thing that shee doth doe,

Decent is, and louely too.

Each part that you shall behold,

Hath within it selfe inrold,

What you could desire to see,

(Or your heart conceiue to be)

Yet if from that part your eye,

Mouing shall another spye:

There you see as much or more,

Then you thought to praise before.

While the eye surueyes it, you

Will imagine that her Brow

Hath all beautie; when her Cheeke,

You behold, it is as like

To be deemed fairest too.

(So much there can Beautie doe)

Looke but thence vponupon her eye,

And you wonder by and by,

How there may be any where,

So much worthy praise as there.

Yet, if you suruey her Brest,

Then as freely you'l protest,

That in them perfection is;

Though (I know) that one poore kisse,

From her tempting Lips, would then,

Make all that forsworne agen.

For, the selfe same moouing grace,

Is at once in eueryevery place.

She, her Beautie neuer foyles,

With your oyntments, waters, oyles,

Nor no loathsome Fucus settles,

Mixt with Iewish fasting spetles.

Faire by Nature, being borne,

She doth borrowed beautie seorne.

Who so kisses her, needs feare

No vnwholesome varnish there.

For, from thence he onelyonly sips,

The pure Nectar, of her lips.

And at once with these he closes,

Melting Rubies, Cherries, Roses.

Then, in her behauiour, she

Striueth but her selfe to be.

Keeping such a decent state,

As (indeed) she seemes to hate

Precious leasure should be spent,

In abused Complement.

Though she knowes what other doe,

(And can all their Courtship toe)

She, is not in so ill case,

As to need their borrowed grace.

Her Discourses sweetned are,

With a kind of artlesse care,

That expresseth greater Art,

Then affected words imp…rt.

So, her gestures (being none,

But that freenesse which alone,

Suits the brauenesse of her mind)

Make, her, of her selfe, to find,

Postures more becomming far,

Then the meere acquired, are.

If you marke, when for her pleasure,

Shee vouchsafes to foot a Measure,

Though, with others skill, she pace,

Ther's a sweet delightfull grace,

In her selfe; which doth prefer,

Art, beyond that Art, in her.

Neither needs she beat her wit,

To deuise what dressings fit.

Her complexion, and her feature,

So beholding are to Nature;

If she in the Fashions goe,

All the reason she doth so,

Is; because she would not erre,

In appearing singuler.

Doubtlesse, not for any thought,

That 'twill perfect her, in ought.

Many a dainty-seeming Dame,

Is in natiue Beauties lame.

Some, are graced by their Tyres,

As their Quoifs, their Hats, their Wyres.

One, a Ruffe doth best become;

Falling-Bands much altreth some.

And their fauours, oft, we see,

Changed as their dressings be.

Which, her Beautie neuer feares:

For, it graceth all she weares.

If ye note her Tyre to day,

That, doth sute her best, you'l say.

Marke, what she next morne doth weare;

That, becomes her best, you'l sweare.

Yea, as oft as her you see;

Such new graces, still there be:

As, she euer seemeth grac't,

Most by that, she weareth last.

Though, it be the same wore,

But the very day before.

When she takes her Tyers about her,

(Neuer halfe so rich without her)

At the putting on of them,

Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete, Poem

FAIRE-VIRTVE: OR, THE MISTRESSE OF PHIL'ARETE.

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