Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete, Poem · Floating text 3
Sonnet. 2.
YOu gentle Nymphs, that on these meadows play
And oft relate the loues of Shepherds young:
Come, sit you downe; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you heare an vncouth Passion sung.
A Lad there is, and I am that poore Groome;
That faln in louelove, & cannot tell with whom.
Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a Iest;
With others cares good Natures mooued be:
And, I should weepe, if you had my vnrest.
Then, at my griefe, how, can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pitie now become?
I am in louelove, and cannot tell with whom.
I, that hauehave oft the rarest features viewd,
And Beautie in her best perfection seene:
I, that hauehave laught at them that LoueLove pursude▪
And euer free, from such affections beene.
Lo now at last, so cruell is my doome;
I am in louelove, and cannot tell with whom.
My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:
My brest doth burne, but she that lights the fire,
I neuer saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a blisse my fortune keepes my from.
That though I dearly louelove; I know not whō.
Ere I had twice foure Springs, renewed seene,
The force of Beautie I began to proue;
And, ere I nine yeares old, had fully beene,
It taught me how to frame a Song of LoueLove.
And, little thought I, this day should hauehave come,
Before that I to louelove, had found out whom.
For, on my Chinn, the mossy downe you see,
And, in my vaines, well-heated blood doth glow:
Of Summers I hauehave seene twice three times three,
And, fast, my youthfull time away doth goe.
That much I feare, I aged shall become:
And still complaine; I louelove I know not whom.
Oh! why had I, a heart bestow'd on me,
To cherish deare affections, so enclind?
Since, I am so vnhappy borne to be
No Obiect, for so true a LoueLove to find.
When I am dead, it will be mist of some:
Yet, now I liue; I louelove, I know not whom.
I, to a thousand beautious Nymphs am knowne;
A hundred Ladies fauours doe I weare:
I, with as many, halfe in louelove am growne;
Yet none of them (I find) can be my Deare.
Me thinks, I hauehave a Mistresse, yet to come;
Which makes me sing; I louelove I know not whom
There liues no Swaine doth stronger passion proue,
For her, whom most he couets to possesse;
Then doth my heart, that being full of LoueLove,
Knowes not to whom, it may the same professe.
For, he that is despisd, hath sorrow, some:
But he hath more; that loues, and knowes not whom▪
Knew I my LoueLove, as many others doe,
To some one obiect might my thoughts be bent:
So, they diuided should not wandring goe,
Vntill the Soules vnited force be spent.
As his, that seekes, and neuer finds a Home:
Such is my rest; that louelove, & know not whom.
Those, whom the frownes of iealous friends diuide,
May liue to meet, and descant on their woe:
And he, hath gaind a Lady for his Bride,
That durst not woe her Mayd, a while agoe.
But oh! what end vntounto my Hopes can come?
That am in louelove, and cannot tel with whom.
Poore Collin, grieues that he was late disdaind:
And Cloris, doth for Willy's absence pine.
Sad Thirsis, weeps, for his sicke Phaebe paind.
But, all their sorrowes cannot equall mine.
A greater care alas, on me is come:
I am in louelove, and cannot tell with whom.
Narcissus-like, did I affect my shade;
Some shaddow yet, I had, to dote vponupon.
Or, did I louelove, some Image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone;
I might dispaire, and so an end would come;
B…t, oh, I louelove! and cannot tell you whom.
Once in a Dreame, me thought, my LoueLove I view'd;
But, neuer waking, could her face behold:
And doubtles, that Resemblance was but shew'd,
That more, my tyred heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more grieu'd I am become;
And more in louelove; I cannot tell with whom.
When on my bed at night, to rest I lye,
My watchfull eyes, with teares bedew my cheeke:
And then, oh would it once were day, I crie;
Yet when it comes, I am as far to seeke.
For, who can tell, though all the earth he rome;
Or when, or where, to find hee knowes not whom?
Oh! if she be among the beautious traines,
Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the siluer …ills;
Or, if you know her, Ladies of the Plaines,
Or you, that hauehave your Bowers, on the Hills.
Tell if you can, who will my louelove become:
Or I shal die, and neuer know for whom.
THe Ladies smiled oft, when this they heard,
Because the Passion strange to them appeard.
And stranger was it; since, by his expression,
(As well as by his owne vnfain'd confession)
It seemed true. But, hauing sung it out:
And seeing, scarcely manners, they it thought
To vrge him farther, Thus to them he spake.
Faire Ladies: for as much as doubt you make
To re-command me: Of mine owne accord,
Another Straine, I freely will afford.
It shall not be of LoueLove; nor any Song,
Which to the praise of Beautie doth belong.
But, that hereafter, when you hence are gone,
Your Shepheard may be sometime thought vponupon.
To shew you also, what content the Field,
And louely Groue, to honest Minds may yeeld.
That you my humble Fate, may not despise;
When you returne vntounto your braueries.
And not suppose, that in these homely Bowers,
I hugg my Fortune, cause I know not yours.
Such Lines Ile sing, as were composd, by me,
When some proud Courtiers, where I hap't to be,
Did (like themselues) of their owne glories prate;
As in contempt, of my more happy state.
And these they be.—