Now good then, call againe that bitter word, That toucht your frend so nere with pangs of paine; And say, my dere, that it was said in bord: Late or to sone, let it not rule the gaine, Wherwith free will doth true desert retaine.

TO HIS LADIE, CRUEL OUER HER YELDEN LOVER.

SUCH is the course that natures kind hath wrought, That snakes haue time to cast away their stinges: Against chainde prisoners what nede defence be sought,

The fierce lyon will hurt no yelden thinges;

Why should such spight be nursed then by thought?
Sith all these powers are prest under thy winges,
And eke thou seest, and reason thee hath taught,
What mischiefe malice many wayes it bringes:
Consider eke, that spite availeth naught.
Therefore this song thy fault to thee it singes:
Displease thee not, for saying thus my thought
Nor hate thou him from whom no hate forth

springes,

For furies, that in hell be execrable,
For that they hate, are made most miserable.

THE LOUER COMPLAINETH THAT DEADLY SICKNESSE CANNOT HELP HIS AFFECTION.

THE enmy of life, decayer of al kinde,
That with his colde withers away the grene,
This other night me in my bed did finde,

And offerd me to rid my fever clene,

And I did graunt so did dispaire me blinde:
He drew his bow with arrowes sharp and kene,
And strake the place where love had hit before,
And drave the first dart deper more and more.

THE LOUER REIOYCETH THE ENIOYING OF HIS LOUE.

ONCE, as methought, fortune me kist,

And bade me aske, what I thought best,
And I should haue it as me list,

Therwith to set my hart in rest.
I asked but my ladies hart,

To haue foreuermore myne owne;
Then at an end were all my smart;
Then should I nede no more to mone.
Yet for all that a stormy blast,
Had ouerturnde this goodly nay:
And fortune semed at the last,
That to her promise she said nay.
But like as one out of dispaire,
To sodeine hope reuiued I;

Now fortune sheweth her selfe so faire,

That I content me wondersly.

may reach,

My most desire my hand
My wyll is alway at my hande,
Me nede not long for to besech,
Her that hath power me to commande.
What earthly thing more can I crave,
What would I wishe more at my will?
Nothing on earth more would I haue,
Save that I haue, to haue it still.

For fortune now have kept her promesse,
In graunting me my most desire,
Of my soueraigne I haue redresse,
And I content me with my hire.

THE LOUER COMPLAINETH THE VNKINDNES OF HIS

LOVE.

Mr lute awake, perform the last
Labour, that thou and I shall wast:
And end that I haue now begonne,
And when this song is song and past,
My lute be still, for I haue done.

As to be heard where eare is none,
As leade to graue in marble stone;
My song may pearse her hart as sone.
Should we then sigh, or sing, or mone,
No, no, my lute, for I haue done.

The rockes do not so cruelly
Repulse the waues continually,
As she my sute and affection:
So that I am past remedy,
Wherby my lute and I haue done.

Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotte
Of simple harts through loues shot,
By whome vnkind thou hast them wonne :
Think not he hath his bow forgot;
Although my lute and I haue done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdaine
That makest but game on earnest payne,
Think not alone vnder the sunne
Unquit to cause thy lovers plaine;
Although my lute and I haue done.

May chance thee lie withered and olde,
In winter nightes that are so colde,
Playning in vaine unto the mone;
Thy wishes then dare not be tolde:
Care then who list, for I haue done.

And then may chaunce thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent, To cause thy louers sighe and swowne; Then shalt thou know beautie but lent, And wish and want as I haue done.

Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labour, that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begonne :
Now is this song both song and past;
My lute be still, for I haue done.

HOW BY A KISSE HE FOUND BOTH HIS LIFE AND DETH.

NATURE, that gaue the bee so feate a grace,
To finde hony of so wondrous fashion,
Hath taught the spider out of the same place
To fetch poyson by straunge alteracion.
Though this be strange, it is a stranger case,
With one kisse by secret operacion

Both these at once in those your lips to finde,
In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde.

THE LOUER DESCRIBETH HIS BEING TAKEN WITH SIGHT OF HIS LOUE.

UNWARELY SO was neuer no man caught,
With stedfast loke upon a goodly face,
As I of late; for sodeinely me thought,
My hart was torne out of his place.

Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide, And downe directly to my heart it ranne, In help whereof the blood therto did glide, And left my face both pale and wanne.

Then was I like a man for wo amased, Or like the fowle that fleeth into the fire; For whyle that I vpon her beautie gased, The more I burnde in my desire.

Anon the bloud start in my face againe, Inflamde with heat, that it had at my hart, And brought therwith throughout in euery vaine, A quaking heat with pleasant smart.

Then was I like the strawe, when that the flame Is driuen therin, by force and rage of wynde; I can not tell, a lass! what I shall blame, Nor what to seke, nor what to finde.

But well I wot, the griefe doth hold me sore In heate and cold, betwixt both hope and dreade, That, but her help to health do me restore, This restlesse lyfe I may not leade.