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; 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, And I did graunt so did dispaire me blinde: And strake the place where love had hit before, THE LOUER REIOYCETH THE ENIOYING OF HIS LQUE. ONCE, as methought, fortune me kist, Yet for all that a stormy blast, My most desire my hand may reach, For fortune now have kept her promesse, In graunting me my most desire, THE LOUER COMPLAINETH THE VNKINDNES OF HIS LOVE, Mr lute awake, perform the last As to be heard where eare is none, The rockes do not so cruelly Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotte Vengeance shall fall on thy disdaine Unquit to cause thy lovers plaine; May chance thee lie withered and olde, 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 HOW BY A KISSE HE FOUND BOTH HIS LIFE AND DETH. NATURE, that gaue the bee so feate a grace, Both these at once in those your lips to finde, THE LOUER DESCRIBETH HIS BEING TAKEN WITH SIGHT OF HIS LOUE. UNWARELY SO was neuer no man caught, Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide, And downę 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. |