LAURA.

The Toys of a Traveller:

or

The Feast of Fancy.

Divided into Three Parts.

BY

R[obert] T[ofte],

Gentleman.

Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda.

LONDON,
Printed by Valentine Simmes.
1597.

To the no less virtuous than fair, the
Honourable Lady Lucy, sister to
the thrice renowned and noble
Lord, Henry [Percy] Earl
of Northumberland.

GOod Madam, I make bold to present unto you a few Toys of mine own travail: [the] most part conceived in Italy, and some of them brought forth in England. By which my imperfections, you may see, as in a lively mirror, your own perfections; and by the follies of my rechlesse [heedless] youth, behold plainly the virtues of your flowering age: hoping your Ladyship will keep them as privately, as I send them unto you most willingly.

Neither doubt I at all but that your excellent spirit will judge graciously of this my bare, yet bounden, conceit; and to accept the same, as a mean, at idle times, to drive away that self-pleasing, yet ill-easing, humour of never-glad melancholy, which spiteful Fortune, seeking (though in vain) most injuriously to insult over you, laboureth by all means possible to inflict upon you: the virtuous behaviour of yourself being such as, even in the midst of all your crosses, you cross her designs with an invincible heart, and with your honourable carriage carry her, with all her devices, as a slave to follow you, in all your generous and thrice-noble actions; maugre the intricate labyrinth of so many and infinite troubles allotted, most unworthily, unto you, by the irrevocable doom of your too partial and flinty Destiny. All which notwithstanding, you bear and over-bear, with a most resolute staiedness; and a resolved courage of a right PERCY, and of a mind A per se.

But additions breed suspicions; and fair words, for the most part are counted the blazons of flattery: therefore I will leave to the temperate judgment of the wise, and to the uncorrupt censure of the worthier sort, your heroical and undaunted mind; and the integrity and never-stained proceedings of your spotless self.

Only this, with submission, will I say, that if the richness of the ground is known by the corn; the daintiness of the water, by the sweetness of the fish; and the goodness of the tree, by the rareness of the fruit: then may every man give a guess of the internal habit and excellent qualities of your inward mind, by the outward behaviour and apparent semblance of your exceeding chaste, and more than admirable, demeanour in every respect.

And thus, hoping your Honour will as debonairly accept of these Trifles, as I dutifully bequeath them unto you; and with the sun-shining favour of your gracious aspect deign to read these few lines: craving both privilege, and pardon, for all such faults and defects as shall happen to be discovered in the same,

I humbly devote myself unto
Your Ladyship's thrice-virtuous and immaculate
disposition and command whatsoever,
Who am bound, as a vassal,
To do homage unto the same for ever,
R. T.

To the Gentle, and Gentlemen, Readers
whatsoever.

GEntlemen. As the Fencer first maketh a flourish with his weapon before he cometh to strokes, in playing [for] his prize: so I thought good, pro formâ only, to use these few lines unto you, before you come to the pith of the matter.

What the Gentleman was, that wrote these verses, I know not; and what She is, for whom they are devised, I cannot guess: but thus much I can say, That as they came into the hands of a friend of mine [? the R. B. of page [340]] by mere fortune; so happened I upon them by as great a chance.

Only in this I must confess we are both to blame, that whereas he having promised to keep private the original; and I, the copy, secret: we have both consented to send it abroad, as common; presuming chiefly upon your accustomed courtesies. Assuring ourselves, if we may have your protections, we shall think ourselves as safe as Ulysses did, when he was shadowed under the shield of Pallas against furious Ajax; so we, by your countenances, shall be sufficiently furnished to encounter against any foul-mouthed Jacks whatsoever.

To censure of this Work is for better wits than mine own: and it is for Poets, not Printers [This therefore was written by Valentine Simmes, the Printer of this Book. See also page [340]] to give judgement of this matter. Yet, if I may be bold to report what I have heard other Gentlemen affirm, Many have written worse; Some, better; Few, so well. The Work, being so full of Choice and Change as, it is thought, it will rather delight every way than dislike any way.

Thus, courteous Gentlemen, building upon my wonted foundation of your friendly acceptance, I rest your debtors; and will study, in what I can, daily to make you amends.

Yours always

[Valentine Simmes.]

Alla bellissima sua Signora.
E. C.

[The Lady's name was E. Caril: see Book II., Poem XXXIII.,
at page 313.]

THrough thee, not of thee, Lady fair I write; Through power of Beauty, not of Virtues, thine: With zealous will, though slender be my might, I, weakling, seek an eagle's nest to climb. Then guide my feet! and if to slip I chance, Uphold me by the favour of thy glance!
Accept in gree these verses rudely penned; A sign of duty which to thee I owe: And deign with sweet regard them to defend; Which as condemnèd else are like to go. In thee, it rests the stamp on them to set: If current, Pass! Suppressed! if counterfeit.
[R and T stand here, and elsewhere, for the initials of the Author. E.A.] And though the note, thy praises only fit, Of sweetest bird, the dulcet nightingale: Disdain not little Robin RedbreasT yet! [A line wanting.] What he doth want in learning or in skill; He doth supply with zeal of his good will
For only Thee, they were devised alone: And unto Thee, they dedicated are. Who knows? Perhaps this kindness, by thee shown, Shall make this glimpse shine like a glittering star. Such is thy virtue in the World his sight; Thy crow though black, may go for swan most white.
Then doubt me not, though parted we remain: In England thou; and I in Italy. As I did part, I will return again, Loyal to thee; or else with shame I'll die! True Lovers, when they travel countries strange, The air, and not their constant minds, do change.

Coelum, non animum, mutant, qui trans mare currunt.
Affettionatissimo servid, della
divina Bellezza sua.

R.T.

LAURA.

THE FIRST PART.

I.

FOrtune, cross-friend to ever-conquering Love, Our bodies, Lady, hath divided far; But yet our constant minds she cannot move, Which over-strong for her devices are. Woe's me! in England thou dost bide, and I, Scarce shadow of my self, in Italy. But let her do her worst, and what is frail And mortal seek to separate and undo; Yet what immortal is, she never shall! A string too high for her to reach unto. In spite of envious seeds, by malice sown, My heart shall aye be thine; and mine, thine own!

II.

THough I do part, my heart yet doth not part; My poor afflicted body parts in twain, And doth in pieces two divide my heart: One piece my fainting spirit doth sustain, The other part I leave with thee behind, (The better part, and of my heart most dear); Then to that part, so parted, be thou kind! And to the same impart thy loving cheer! That I, returning, may again unite This parted heart; and find for grief, delight.

III.

LIke to the blacksome Night, I may compare My Mistress' gown, when darkness 'plays his prize: But her sweet face, like to the sun most fair; When he in glory 'ginneth to arise. Yet this no whit the other doth disgrace; But rather doubleth Beauty in the place. Contraries like to these set opposite, So dainty and so pleasing in their show To lookers on, do breed no small delight; And pleasure great thereby to them doth grow. O wonder strange! O solace sweet! to see In one self subject, Night and Day to be.

IV.

IN the Egean dangerous Sea of Love, In midst of faithless waves and wicked wind; Where, to my cost, most bitter brunts I prove: A new Arion, there, myself I find. And though, as he, I play on harp and sing; Yet cannot cunning mine so high aspire As for to make the skipping fish me bring Unto that wishèd shore I so desire. Only my Laura, peerless for to see, May, in this troubled flood, my dolphin be!

V.

GReat was the strife between the sun on high And my fair Sun, when first she 'gan to 'pear, Who should exceed in brightest majesty; And show in sight of spacious world most clear. The sun did shine; but she did lighten bright, And so his burning beams extinguished quite. Nay more, my Sun on sudden to the sun Sent light; and yet no light at all did want: Where else the other had been quite undone For lack of brightness; which with him was scant. The beauty then the sun doth use to show, My Sun doth give; and from her, it doth grow.

VI.

TUrned to a stone was he that did bewray, Unwitting, to the crafty thief himself The theft; not thinking he had stolen the prey, In hope to gain a little paltry pelf. So I, who unawares to cruel Thee, The robber of my heart, confessed the theft; A senseless stone like Battus am to see: Only in this unlike that shape bereft, That where to worthless stone he turnèd was; I for a Touchstone true of Love do pass.

VII.

DOwn from the neck unto that dainty Breast, (Which Nature made a Mirror of Delight; And where a World of Beauties sweet do rest) Doth hang a costly Chain of Pearl most bright; And of proportion are so just and round, That such in India rich cannot be found. Besides, their orient brightness is alike; So that mine eyes are dazzled with the same, And, not much used to see so fair a sight (A sight which doth the sun in glory stain), Cannot discern, though them they both do see, If Breast be Pearl, or Pearl in Bosom be.

VIII.

TO give that life, which had not breath before; Prometheus, from above, stole heavenly fire: For which his boldness he was plaguèd sore, A just reward for such a high aspire. So whilst I steal from thee, my heaven above, The heat which doth revive my dying sprite: For rashness, mine eternal grief I prove. Yet, though our fault's all one—the plague's not like: He feels of vulture one, alone, the smart; But I have thousands, which still gnaw my heart.

IX.

LOve, being blind, hath wrought me damage sore; Thou, blind in this my loving, evil wast; Nor would I see the snare, being blind far more, Wherein myself, I did entangle fast. Yet hath this blindness harm done unto none But unto Beauty's buzzard, me alone. When blinded Boy did catch my harmless heart; Thou didst not see the net so intricate Which bound me (being blind, blind as Thou art!) To be a thrall in this most wretched state. So that, alone to work my misery, Love blind is; blind wert Thou; and blinder, I.

X.

IF, Laura, thou dost turn 'gainst me in hate; Then me, such busses sweet why dost thou give? Why check'st thou not the Cheeks which give the mate? The vital cause whereby I breathe and live? Perhaps it is, because through too much joy. As in sweet swound [swoon], I might away depart: If so thou do, and think me so to 'noy; Kiss hardly! and with kissing, breed my smart! Content am I to lose this life of mine; Whilst I do kiss that lovely lip of thine.

XI.

UPon triumphant chariot, 'passing rare, (In which my Sun doth sit like Majesty: And makes the day shew unto us more fair; Whose cheerfulness delights each mortal eye.) I, rash, like to another Phaeton, With hare-brain haste, too hasty lept thereon. But for my boldness dearly did I pay; And had like plague, as he, for being o'er-brave: Yet though in equal fortune both did stay (For life he lost; and death She to me gave); The punisher of both was not the same, For he, by Jove; and I, by Love; was slain.

XII.

THe beauty, that in Paradise doth grow, Lively appears in my sweet goddess's Face; From whence, as from a crystal river, flow Favour divine and comeliness of grace. But in her dainty, yet too cruel, Breast, More cruelty and hardness doth abound; Than doth in painful Purgatory rest. So that, at once, She's fair, and cruel, found: When in her Face and Breast, ah, grief to tell! Bright Heaven she shows; and crafty, hides dark Hell.

XIII.

WHilst angry Juno, from the scowling skies, Thick swinging showers did downward send amain; My Lady, mounting up in stately wise, From heaven more fast did fiery lightning rain. So that the people, passing, had less harm By water wet, than by the fire o'erwarm. The water only wet their outward skin; A matter small, in which was danger none: But this her fire did burn their hearts within; And forced them, as they went, to sigh and groan. So that their grief was greater, sans all doubt, To have within fire, than water, without.

XIV.

THe swift Meander, turning, winds so fast, And with his stream in circle-wise so runs; That, wanton-like, from whence he springs, at last, Back to his fountain-head again he comes. In me, a river huge of tears, from heart To watery eyes ascend; from whence they flow, And running down, do from mine eyes depart, Descending to my heart again below. So that, through virtue of most mighty Love, In heart, a new Meander I do prove.

XV.

THou stranger, who with wand'ring steps dost wend, Thy gazing eyes turn quickly unto me! And to my speech, with list'ning ear attend! In whom four Elements united be. Mark well; and, as a wonder, tell the same Of Cupid's force! poor Lovers' Tamburlaine! First this my body's Earth, and earth most cold. The Fire within my heart, in covert lies. The Air's my sighs. Mine eyes do Waters hold. Thus for my Saint, he doth me martyrize. Earth is my body; (Strange seems not this same?) The Air, my sighs; eyes, Water; heart, the Flame.

XVI.

IF lovely Lass, for Fairing thine, of me Gold, in this Fair, thou meanest for to have; Then give me of thy hairs! which golden be. Give unto me! since thou of me dost crave. Nor by this bargain, shalt thou loss sustain; Or ought hereby shalt hindered be, sweet Wench! Since I, to courteous thee, do give again, As thankful, gold; for gold in recompence. Thy treasure, so shall mine be; mine, as thine: Nor shall th' exchange be worse than gold most fine.

XVII.

ROcked in a cradle, like as infants be, When I was young, a little wanton child, Two dainty dugs did nourish life in me; Whilst oft on them, with teat in mouth, I smiled. Ah, happy I! thrice happy, might I say; Whilst in that harmless state I then did stay. But now that I am come to man's estate; Such dugs as nursed me in delight and joy Do seek my death, by poisonous sugared bait; Whose sight, without possession, breeds me 'noy. So what, in childhood, caused me to live; Now, in my youth, doth death unto me give.

XVIII.

IF Sea, no other thing doth shew to be Than most unstable waters moving oft: With pardon, Lady, you this seem to me; So most unstable is your changing thought. I, likewise, hold a River, that o'erwhelms With wat'ry salt, within these eyes of mine. Then let us make a mixture 'mongst ourselves Of this unsteadfastness and wat'ry brine! Let's fashion, both of us, a novel Sea! So heaven, the Haven; and Love, the Bay shall be.

XIX.

LAdy, the sun was in Aquarius When thou wert born; which is the reason why The water of my plaints delight thee thus; Without once viewing me with piteous eye. But when as I was born, the Sign I guess In Cancer was; a show of my distress. This is the cause, within my boiling breast Doth burn a hot and unextinguished fire: But contrary these Signs in us do rest; Nor do they well accord to my desire. Far better had it been, Aquarius's Sign Had happed to me; and Cancer's had been thine!

XX.

WHat time, with brow, the Loveliest 'gins to scowl; Shewing disdain and fury in her face: Methinks I see the clouds wax dark and foul; And gloomy night begins to run his race. But, then again, when She to show begins Her smiling cheer, adorned with favour rare: Straightways the sun, in chariot bright forth springs; Clear are the skies; the gladsome day, most fair. Thus, in one face, I see, against my will, The rising of the sun; and falling, still.

XXI.

RAnkle the wound did in my head apace; When fairest She, to play the Surgeon came: And whilst her snow-white hand did me the grace To lay the plaster on, which healed the same, A wonder strange! No sooner did she touch The hurt; but it appeared to be none such. Yet, woe is me, no sooner by that hand Was healed in head my outward fest'ring wound; But that instead of that, as countermand, One mortal scar at inward heart I found. Thus, Love! thou seest is changèd my estate She checks with Death, that 'fore gave Life for mate.

XXII.

IF in the midst of kindling burning fire, That worthy Roman burnt his valiant hand; I like another Mutius in desire, Have scorched my fist likewise, through Love's command, In freshest moisture; where my Lady sweet, Her lily hands, for coolness, divèd oft. But though desire between us was alike; Yet was the matter diverse which we sought. He chose to burn his hand, with courage bold, In flaming fire; and I, in water cold.

XXIII.

THe Gentiles used, in sign of sacrifice, The blood of men to offer; to appease The warlike goddess's wrath, in humble wise; And through the same, her angry mind did please: But Thou, more wicked Warrior far than she, In reason may'st more cruel termed be. On Beauty's altar, to thee dedicate; Thousands of Lovers, mustering on a row, Offer their blood and hearts! yet mitigate Thy hardened mind cannot: which flint doth show. Then is she cruel less than Thou art now: Since blood her pleased; and Thee hearts cannot bow.

XXIV.

FOr to behold my Sun, I from the sun Did seek my face to shadow with my hand, To shield me from the heat, that 'gan to come In place, where gazing on her I did stand. But I no sooner from that sun was free, But that, in that self instant and that time, I, of mine own Sun, found myself to be Burnt with the heat; a most unlucky sign. So whilst a shade from sun did me defend, A Sun more hot did hurt me in the end.

XXV.

WHite was the orient pearl which, on a day, That hand me gave: which scorns the proud compare Of purest white; and bears the palm away As of all pearly Fairs, the orient'st fair. And whilst She offered unto me the same, I knew not which the Pearl was, of the twain. So white the hand was of my peerless Pearl As it did dazzle with delight mine eyes, And pearl seemed to me, giving me the pearl; Which made me, sighing, say in whisp'ring wise, "Ah, why once may I not so happy be, This Pearl to have; which th' other gives to me?"

XXVI.

WHen you appear, appears the Break of Day; And shews to be most fair and passing bright: But if you keep yourself unseen away, The Day shows not; but keepeth out of sight. Then if again you 'gin yourself to show; Behold the Day to shew itself afresh With sky most clear. So both of you do grow In beauty like: in heat nor are you less. Thus if your beams you ope, or hidden been: The Break of Day appears; else ne'er is seen.

XXVII.

JUstly of thee, Love partial, I complain That, at one instant and with one self stroke, Thou dartèd hast into my heart, with pain, Cold chilly frost; and fiery flaming smoke. Ay me! within me, both I secret hold: And whilst th' one burns me, th' other makes me cold. Then, Cruel, since thou wilt, two contraries, Against my soul, within my heart shall rest: Ah, yet make peace 'twixt them, in loving wise! Or else, sweet Love, do promise this at least! Flame to my frost, and water to my fire; Life to my heart, to comfort my desire.

XXVIII.

DIana shineth in the heavens clear; Because from purest Sun she takes her light: And Fair, she shews that of Diana here On Earth, doth borrow beauty passing bright. The virtue then that is infused in her, She from Diana hath; or else from none: For other thews do all in her concur; And unto her beholding are alone. O wonder strange of Nature to reveal! She, Dian' gives; yet doth from Dian' steal.
Sienna.

XXIX.

AS burnished gold, such are my Sovereign's Hairs; A brace of stars divine, her blackish Eyes; Like to the fairest black the raven bears; Or fairer, if you fairer can devise. So likewise fair's the beauty of her Breasts; Where Pleasure lurks, where joy still dallying rests. This Venus' Bower, you rightly may compare To whitest snow that e'er from heaven fell; Or to the mines of alabaster fair. Woe's me! 'Tis sweet to sleep in Cupid's cell! Whilst he, the heart makes surfeit with delight; Through golden Hair, black Eyes, and Breast most white.

XXX.

UNto thy favour (which when Nature formed, She went beyond herself with cunning hand), I may compare what is, in world, adorned With beauty most; and with most grace doth stand. But every mortal whiteness, ne'er so white, The ivory white of thy white hand exceeds: So that my soul, which doth fair whiteness like, Rests on fair whiteness, and on whiteness feeds. For this is thought, and hoped of from thee: White as thy hands, so white thy faith shall be.

XXXI.

LAdy, thou seemest like Fortune unto me; When I most wistly mark, how thou dost go With golden tresses loose (a joy to see!); Which gentle wind about thy ears doth blow. And as thou her resemblest in this sort; So dost thou in attire, and all thy port. Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand The rolling Wheel: and shadowing Veil to hide Those eyes; which, like Controllers, do command. But if thou long'st of these to be supplied, Take me, thy prisoner, for to play this part! For my desire's the Wheel, the Veil's my heart.

XXXII.

THou, merry, laugh'st, and pleasantly dost smile: I woeful weep, and mestful sorrow still; Lest this thy mirth increasing, me beguile, And weave a web for me of greater ill. Too well perceive I this thy deep disdain, By this thy feignèd looks and cloakèd glee. Thou of disaster mine art glad and fain; And fain my death, as basilisk, would'st see; Since that of war and 'bate this laughter is, And not of gentle peace and calmy bliss.

XXXIII.

SInce thou hast changed thy gown and thine attire; Ah, change thy thoughts! not always cruel be! And with new clothes, put on a new desire! That new, in every point, I may thee see: And if thou heretofore unkind hast been; Be courteous now, and gentle be thou seen! Thy glory great, thy praise more shalt thou find; If, of unconstant, constant thou become! And of a foe, a faithful friend and kind! Then change henceforth thy thoughts! else I, undone. Give me that colour which so likes mine eyen! If death, then black: if life, then carnatine [rosy red].

XXXIV.

CHanged is my nature in me; where before I like was to a chilly freezing ice; I now a flame am, burning inward sore: And such a flame that burneth in such wise That if Love and my Mistress take no care For this my hurt, my soul must quickly die. Yet one doth see (for both not blinded are!) The fire so hot doth burn, wherein I fry, That fierce Perillus's boiling Bull of brass May unto this for icy substance pass.

XXXV.

FAr better had it been, I had been dead, And laid full low in latest home, my grave; Than with that drink myself for to have fed, Which Laura mine in crystal glass me gave. The liquor pleased me, I must needs confess: Yet to my heart, 'twas poison ne'ertheless. So that I had contrary quite effect To my desire; which I so much did wish. Love was in fault, who Reason doth reject. And see my cruel luck, what happed in this! The wine was sweet; yet did his nature turn: It cooled my mouth, but heart within did burn.

XXXVI.

SWeet sang thy bird, in ebon cage shut fast, And did delight thy dainty ears so much As thou vouchsafedst to give him meat at last; And gently did his feathers stroke and touch. So, Lady, I likewise, in th' ebony Of thy bright eyes am prisoner, and do sing Thy Beauty's praise; and yet not fed am I By thee: yet live through thee; a wondrous thing! Love to my heart thy beauty doth supply For food; which else, through famine starved, would die.

XXXVII.

IF white's the Moon, thou Laura seem'st as white; And white's the gown which you on body wear. And if her whitely horns, in calmy night, She, smoothly gliding, shows to us most clear: You, in the daytime, more and brighter far Your beauty show; like bright Aurora's star. Like brightness both of you abroad do cast; Though not effect alike per accidens: You shine, she shines, your powers eternal last; But yet between you is great difference. Her brightness freezeth, causing deadly cold: Yours doth inflame, and lovely fire doth hold.

XXXVIII.

EVen as the lamp goeth out, that oil doth want, Or as the sun doth fall in th' Occident; So did my heart within me 'gin to pant; My vital spirits away by little went: When, taking on me pity, graciously My Mistress's hem of garment, trailing down, Touched me; and me revivèd suddenly. Then if such virtue be within her gown; Imagine what doth stay her corpse within! Which who seeth, through sweetness needs must sin.

XXXIX.

SEated on marble was my Lady blithe, Holding in hand a crystal looking-glass; Marking of Lovers thousands; who alive, Thanks only to her beauty rare, did pass. To pry in glasses likes her: but afterward She takes the nature of the stone most hard. For whilst she cheerfully doth fix her eyes, Gazing upon the brightness of the one; Her heart, by th' other's made, in strangy wise, Hard as a rock and senseless as a stone: So that if Love this breaketh not in twain; It will a flint become, to others' pain.

XL.

NO more a man, as once I was, am I: Since this new Circe, moved by fierce disdain, Hath changed me to a Fountain never dry; Wherein myself, with bitter tears I bain [? bathe]. Then am I one who always eyes do bear; And breast of water flowing only full. Take heed, you Lovers all, of her! and fear The sugared baits of this deceitful Trull! Lest by this Circe new, you be deceived, As I have been; and be of shape bereaved.

The Conclusion of the First Part.

THe Macedonian Monarch once did deign, In cheerful sort, in kind and loving wise, To feast in village with a homely Swain; Who entertained him, as in country guise, With curds and creams, and such like knacks he had. Whereof the courteous Prince accepted glad.
So, Lady, boldly I presumèd have To invite you to a sorry banquet base; Nor to disdain the same, of you I crave! Though cates too coarse for you; too poor, the place. I cannot, as I would, give curds and cream; But milk and whey: my fortune is so mean.
Yet (if you shall accept it graciously; And with your favour sweet, this board adorn) The virtue which is in you, presently, The whey, to curds; the milk, to cream shall turn. But if your look (you angry) turn away; The milk shall still be milk; the whey, still whey.
Then as the sun in glorious wise doth shine As well on valley low as mountain high; Vouchsafe one cheerful glimpse of favour thine On poor me, from out that heavenly eye! Unworthy I, such grace! I do confess: Yet worthy thou to do so, ne'ertheless.
R. T.