Then are ye gone, when I should make my mone,
And ye fo ready fighes, to make me fhright,
Then are ye flacke, when that ye shoulde outstart,
And only doth my loke declare my hart.

XILL (CIV)

Description of the contrarious paffions in a lover.

I FINDE no peace, and all my warre is done,
I feare and hope, I burne, and frese lyke yfe,
I flye aloft, yet can I not aryse,

And nought I have, and all the world I season,
That lockes nor lofeth, holdeth me in prison,
And holdes me not, yet can I fcape no wyfe,
Nor lettes me live, nor dye, at my devyse,
And yet of death it geveth me occafion,
Without eye I fee, without tongue I playne,
I wish to perish, yet I ask for health,
I love another, and I hate my felfe,

I fede me in forow, and laugh in all my payne.
Lo, thus displeaseth me, both death and life,
And my delight is caufer of this ftrife.

XIV (CLVI)

The lover fbeweth how he is forfaken of fuch as be fometime enjoyed.

THEY flee from me, that fometime did me feke, With naked fote ftalking within my chamber, Once have I fene them gentle, tame, and meke, That now are wyld, and do not once remember. That sometime they have put themselves in danger,

To take bread at my hand, and now they range, Bufely feking in continual change.

Thanked be fortunc, it hath been otherwyfe, Twenty tymes better, but once especiall,

In thine aray, after a pleafaunt gyfe,

When her loose gowne did from her shoulders fall,

And the me caught in her armes long and small;
And therwithall, fo fwetely did me kyffe,
And foftly fayd, dear hearte, how like you this?

It was no dreame, for I lay brode awaking.
But all is turned now through my gentleneffe,
Into a bitter fashion of forfaking,
And I have leave to goe of her goodneffe;
And she also to ufe new fangleneffe,
But, fyns that I unkendly fo am served,

My gally charged with forgetfulnesse,

Through fharpe feas, in winter nightes doth paffe,

Twene rocke, and rocke, and eke my foe (alas)
That is my lord, ftereth with cruelneffe.
And every houre, a thought in readineffe,
As though that death wer light in such a case,
And endleffe wynde doth teare the fayle apace
Of forced fighes and trusty fea fulnesse :
A rayne of teares, a cloude of dark disdayne,
Have done the weried coardes great hinderance;
Wretched with errour, and with ignorance,
The starres be hidde, that lead me to this payne.
Drounde is reason that shoulde be my comforte,
And I remayne, difparing of the porte.

The Lady to aunfere direly with yea or nay.

MADAME, withouten many woordes,
Once I am fure, you will, or no :
And if you will, then leave your boordes,
And use your wit, and fhew it fo.
For with a beck you shall me call,
And if of one, that burnes alwaye,
Ye have pitie, or ruth at all,
Aunfwere him faire with ye or nay,
If it be nay, frendes as before,
You shall an other man obtayne,
And I myne own, and yours no more.

To bis love whom be bad kiffed against her will.

ALAS, madame, for stealing of a kisse,
Have I fo much your mind therin offended?
Or have I done fo grievously amiffe,
That by no meenes it may not be amended?

parteth,

To reft within his worldly paradyfe;

And bitter findes the fwete, under his gyfe,

What webbes there he hath wrought, well he

perceiveth,

Wherby then with hymfelfe on love he playneth,

Another kiffe my life it fhall have ended,
For, to my mouth the firft my hart did fucke,
The next shall cleane out of my breft it plucke.
XIX

efpied this other fitting with her.

Of fuch a roote loe commeth frute fruteleffe.

THE wandering gadling in the fommer tyde,
That findes the adder with his rechles foote,
Startes not difmayde fo fodenly afyde,

As jealous defpite did, though ther wer no boote

The lover taught, miflrufleth allurements.

Ir may be good, lyke it who lift,
But I do doubt who can me blame?

For oft affured, yer have I mift,
And now again I fear the fame :

The woordes, that from your mouth laft came,
Of fodeyn change make me agaft,
For dread to fall, I ftand not faft.

Alas! I tread an endless mafe,
That feke t' accord two contraries,
And hope thus ftill, and nothing hafe,
Imprifoned in liberties,

As one unheard, and ftill that cries,
Always thirsty, and nought doth tafte,
For dread to fall I ftand not faft.

Affured I doubt I be not fure,
Should I then truft unto fuch furety,
That oft hath put the profe in ure
And never yet have found it truftie.
Nay, for in Fayth, it were great folly,
And yet my life thus do I waft,
For dread to fall I ftand not faft.

The lover complaineth that his love doth not pitie him.

RESOUND my voyce ye woods, me heare me plain,
Both hils and vales caufing reflection,
And rivers eke, record ye of my payne,
Which have oft forced ye by compaffion,

As judges lo to hear my exclamacion, Among whom ruth (1 finde) ye doth remayne, Where I it feke, alas! there is difdayne,

Oft ye rivers, to heare my wofull found, Have ftopt your cours, and playnly to expreffe, Many a teare by moyiture of the ground, The earth hath wept to hear my heavineffe, Which caufeleffe I endure without redreffes, The hugy okes have roared in the wynde, Eche thing me thought, complayning in their kind.

Why then alas! doth not the on me rue, Or is her heart fo hard, that no pittie May in it finke, my joy for to renew; O ftony hart, who hath thus framed thee So cruel, that art cloked with beauty, That from thee may no grace to me proceede, But as reward, death for to be my mede.

XXIK

The lover rejogfeth againf fortune, that by bindering bis fuite bad bappely made bim forfake bis folly.

In faith I wote not what te fay,
Thou fortune with thy divers play,
Thy chaunces been fo wonderous,
That makeft the joyfull dolorous.
Yet though thy chaine hath me enwrapt,
Spyte of thy hap, hap hath well hapt,

Though thou haft fet me for a wonder,
And fekeft by change to do me payne,
Mens myndes yet mayft thou not fo order,
For honeftie if it remayne,

Shall fhine for al thy cloudy rayne;
In vayne thou fekeft to have me trapt,
Spyte of thy hap, h. hath well hapt.

In hindering me, me didft thou furthur,
And made a gap, where was a flyle,
Cruel wiles been oft put under,
Wening to lower, then didft thou fmyle.
Lord, how thy felf thou didft begyle,
That in thy cares would have me wrapt,
But spyte of hap, hap hath well hapt.
XXV

A renouncing of bardelie efcaped love.
FAREWELL the hard of cruelty,
Though that with pain my liberty,
Dear have I bought, and wofully,
Finisht my fearefull tragedy.

Of force I muft forfake fuch pleasure,
A good caufe juft, fins I endure,
Therby my wo, which be ye fure,
Shall therwith go me to recure.

I fare as one efcapt that fleeth,
Glad he is gone, and yet ftyll feareth,
Spied to be caught and fo dredeth
That he for nought his pain lefeth
In joyfull payn, rejoyce my hart,
Thus to fuftayn of eche a part.
Let not this fong from thee aftart,
Welcome among my pleasant smart.

And toward honour quickned I his wit,
Whereas a daftard els he mought have fit.
He knowed how great Atride that made Troy
freat,

And Hannibal to Rome fo troubelous,
Whom Homer honoured Achilles that great,
And th' Affricane Scipion the famous,
And many other, by much honour glorious,
Whole fame and actes did lift them up above,
I did let fall in bafe difhoneft love.

And unto him, though he unworthy were,
I chofe the bet of many a million,
That under funne yet never was her pere,
Of wisdom womanhod, and of difcrecion,
And of my grace I gave her fuch a facion,
And eke futh way I taught her for to teache
That never bafe thought his hart fo hie might

reache.

Ever more thus to content his maistresse
That was his only frame of honeftie,
I ftirred him ftill toward gentleneffe,
And caufed him to regard fidelitie;
Pacience I taught him in adverfitie,
Such vertues learned he in my great schoole,
Whereof repenteth now the ignorant foole.

Thefe were the fame deceites, and bitter gall, That I have used, the torment and the anger, Sweter than ever did to other fall,

Of right good feed, ill fruite lo thus I gather,
And fo fhall he that the unkinde doth further;
A ferpent nourish I under my wing,
And now of nature ginneth he to fting.

And for to tell at laft, my great fervice,
From thoufandes difhonefties have I him drawen,
That, by my meanes, him in no manner wyfe,
Never vyle pleasure once hath overthrowen,
Wherin his dede, fhame hath him alwayes gnawen,
Doubting report that should come to her eare,
Whom now he blames, her wonted he to feare;
What ever he hath of any honeft cuftome,
Of her, and me, that holds he every whit,
But lo, yet never was there neightly fantome,
So farre in errour, as he is from his wit,
To plain on us, he ftriveth with the bit;
Which may rule him, and do him eafe, and paine,
And in one hower, make all his griefe his gaine.
But one thing yet there is above all other,
I gave him winges, wherewith he might up flye,
To honour and fame, and if he woulde to hygher,
Then mortal things, above the ftarry skye;
Confidering the pleasure, that an eye
Might geue in earth, by reafon of the love,
What should that be, that afteth ftill above?

And he the fame himself hath faid ere this, But now, forgotten is both that and I, That gave him her, his only wealth and bliffe, And at this woord, with deadly fhrcke and crye: Thou gave her once (quod I) but by and by Thou took her ayen from me, that woworth the Not I, but price, more worth than thou (quod he.) At laft, eche other for himfelf, concluded, I trembling ftill, but he, with fmall reverence, Lo, thus, as we eche other have accufed, Dre lady now we wayte thene only fentence; She fmiling, at the whited audience,

The lovers forrow full ftate maketb bim write forrowfull fonges, but fouche, bis love may change the fame.

MARILL no more altho,
The fongs, I fing do mone
For other life then woe,
I never proved none.

And in my heart also,
Is graven with letters deepe,
A thousand fighes and mo
A flod of teares to weepe.

How many a man in fmart,
Find a matter to rejoyce!

How many a morning hart,
Set forth a pleasant voyce :
Play who fo can that part,
Nedes must in me appere,
How fortune overthwart
Doth cause my morning chere.
Perdy there is no man
If he faw never fight,
That perfitly tell can,
The nature of the light.
Alas, how should I than,
That never taft but fowre,
But do as I began,
Continually to lowre.

But yet perchance fome chance,
May chance to change my tune,
And when (fouch) chance doth chance,
Then fhall I thanke fortune.

And if I have (fouch) chance,
Purchance or it be long,
For (fouch) a pleasant chance,
To fing fome pleasant fong.

The lover complaineth himself forfaken.

WHERE fhall I have at mine own wil,
Feares to complaine, where fhall I fet
Such fighes, that I may figh my fill,
And then again my plaintes repete?
For though my plaint fhall have none,
My tares cannot fuffife my woe lend,
To mone harm, have I no friend,
For fortunes frend is mifhappes foe.
Comfort (God wot) els have I none,
But in the wind to waft my woordes,
Nought moneth you my dedly mone,
But ftill you turn it into boordes:
I fpeak not now, to move your heart,
That you should rue upon my pain,
The fentence geven may not revert,
I know fuch labour were but vain.
But fens that I for you (my dere)
Have loft that thing, that was my best,
A right finall lofs it muft appere,
To lefe thefe woordes, and all the reft.

But though they sparkle in the wind,
Yet fhall they fhew your faifhed fayth,
Which is returned to his kind,
For lyke to lyke the proverbe faith.
Fortune and you did me avance,

Me thought I fwam, and could not drowne,
Happiest of al, but my mifchaunce
Did lift me up to throw me downe.
And you with her, of cruelness,
Did fet your foole upon my necke,
Me, and my welfare to opprefs,
Without offence your heart to wreke.
Where are your pleasant woordes alas)
Where is your faith, your ftedfastness?
There is no more but all doth pafs,
And I am left all comfortless.
But fins fo much it doth you greve,
And alfo me my wretched lyfe,

Have here my trouth nought fhall relieve,
But death alone, my wretched ftrife.
Therefore farewell, my lyfe, my death,
My gayne, my loffe, my falve, my fore,
Farewell alfo, with you my breath,
For I am gone for evermore.

Requeft to Cupide for revenge of his unkind love.

BEHOLD love, thy power how fhe defpyfeth
My grievous payn, how little the regardeth
The folemne othe whereof fhe takes no cure,
Broken fhe hath, and yet the bydeth fure.
Right at her cafe, and little thee the dredeth,
Weaponed thou art, and fhe unarmed fitteth;
To the difdainefule, all her lyfe fhe leadeth
To me fpitefule, without juft caufe or measure:
Behold Love, how proudly the triumpeth,
I am in hold, but if the pittie meveth,

Complaint for true love unrequited.

WHAT vaileth trouth, or by it to take pain,
To ftrive by ftedfaftness, for to attain ;
How to be just, and flee from doublenesse,
Since all alike, where ruleth craftineffe.
Rewarded is both crafty, falfe, and plain?
Soonest he fpt des, that most can lye and faine.
True meaning hart is had in hyghe dildaine;
Against deceit and cloked doubleneffe,
What vaileth trouth, or perfect stedfaltneffe.
Deceived is he, by false and craftie train,
That meanes no gile and faithfull doth remaine,
Within the trap, without help or redreffe,
But for to love, lo, fuch a ftern maistresse,
Where crueltie dwelles, alas it were in vain.

The lover compareth bis bart to the overcharged gonne.

THE furious gonne, in his most ragyng yre,
When that the boule is rammed into fore,
And that the flame cannot part from the fier,
Crackes in funder, and in the ayer do rore
The fhevered peces: fo doth my desire,
Whofe flame encreafeth aye from more to more,
Which to let out, I dare not loke, nor fpeke,
So inwarde force my heart doth alto breake.