LAURA.
THE SECOND PART.
I.
IF I somewhile look up into the Skies, I see, fair Lady, that same cheerful light; Which, like to you, doth shine in glorious wise: And if on th' Earth, I chance to cast my sight; The moveless centre firm to me doth show The hardness which within your heart doth grow. If Seas I view, the flowing waves most plain Your fickle faith do represent to me. So as I still behold you, to my pain; When as the Skies, or th' Earth, or Seas I see: For in your seemly self doth plain appear Like faith; like hardness; and like brightness clear.
II.
MArvel I do not, though thou dost not see My griefs and martyrs; which I still sustain. For thou, the Mole of Love dost seem to me; But if a Mole, th' art only to my pain. How comes it then that, seeing thou art blind, Thou me consum'st, as if thou had'st thy sight? Why, as thy nature by instinct doth bind, Stayest not below? Pack hence, and leave this light! Either those eyes still shut, not me to grieve; Or under ground, in darkness, always live!
III.
IF whilom, in times past, that Spartan Lass ("The Flower of Greece," Dan Paris's costly joy) Through her fair feature, the only causer was, So many Knights were slain at Siege of Troy: Thou, Laura, art unlike unto her far! In this our Age, a much more blessed star. For she brought Wars, Strife, Death, and Cruelty; Where thou, alone, bring'st Peace and Pleasure still. Ah, happy thrice, that ligs in love with thee! And if, by chance, un'wares, thou sometimes kill: Thou, with thy smile, the wound canst heal again; And give him life, whom thou before hadst slain
IV.
SHoot forth no more those darts from lightning eyes! Unkind! Why seek'st to stop my fainting breath? Go, and invent some new kind exercise; New weapons seek wherewith me to offend! Play the right Tyrant! Choices use in death; Whereby, I dying, content may rest thy will. But tell me? Wouldst so fain my life should end? And know'st not, Sweet extremes do sudden kill? Cruel, kiss me but once! and thou shalt see Ended my life with that same kiss to be.
V.
IF what is heavy craves the Centre base; The earth below, as Nature wills the same: Heavy the woeful griefs are, in this case, Which inward in my heart I do sustain. And if what's light, by kind, aloft doth mount: Then light's my love with thee, of light account. So that in doubtful dangerous extreme, Wretch that I am! myself am sore afraid: And doubt of thee, so far from Golden Mean; Nor know I well out of this depth to wade. Lest that my life be shortened, or I die; Whether it heavy, falls; or light, ascends on high.
VI.
LAdy, what time I seek in mournful note To show mine agonies and bloody moan, My Voice doth fail; and hoarse and harsh my throat: And this doth come through you, through you alone. The whilst I think, by means of you in Song, To mitigate some part of this my smart; Instead thereof, you do me double wrong: And with a glance you take away my Heart. So that I find great hurt by this your theft: Since where, before but Voice, now Heart, 's bereft.
VII.
AS rocks become, exposed 'gainst waves and wind, More hard; such is thy nature, stubborn Dame! Opposed 'gainst waters of my plaints most kind; And winds of mine hot sighs, which inward flame, That hardness such to increase 'bout heart is found, As to it, soft might seem the diamond. Henceforward then, let no man think to move By weeping or lamenting, to his will, This self-willed Saint; which too too well I prove A senseless stone to be unto me still. Since, to my grief, from all good luck debarred; With plaints and sighs, she doth become more hard.
VIII.
HArk, Lovers! Hark, a strange miracle Of one, deprived of heart; yet death doth 'scape! Mine L. a flower gave me, which sweet did smell; And for the same, away my life did take. So that I only breathe through scent of flower; And without heart, not without life, I live. Then is not this, of might Love his power A wonder strange? which he for sport doth give: When that a flower sustaineth me alone With life; who in my body, heart have none.
IX.
WHen I did part from thee the other night; Methought a foul black dog, with ugly shape, Did follow me: and did me sore affright; And all the way did greedy on me gape. Nor I this cur, how he at me did howl, Can well as yet forget, with chaps most foul. Then thinking of his colour, hateful black; Methought some ill, my thought did fear to come, And said within me, "Turn again, turn back! If forward thou dost go, thou art undone!" Then pardon, Lady, if I back again Am come this night, with you for to remain.
X.
MY mourning Mistress's garments, black doth bear; And I in black, like her, attirèd am! Yet diverse is the cause why black we wear; She for another's death doth shew the same. I for another reason bear this suit; Only to show by this, my outward weed, Mine inward grief (although my tongue be mute) Of tender heart; which deadly sighs doth bleed. Thrice happy I, if, as in habit [dress] we Are both in one, our minds both one might be.
XI.
IF April fresh doth kindly give us flowers; September yields with more increase the fruit. Sweetest, you have in bosom, Beauty's Bowers, Both these sweet tides: whence forth they always shoot Both flower and fruit. All only you, alone, Can give me, when you please; or else can none. O dainty bosom, bosom rich in price, Surmounting mountains huge of beaten gold; Whose whiteness braves the whitest snow that lies On highest hills, whose height none can behold. In you, my soul doth hope, without annoy, Both Spring and Harvest, one day to enjoy.
Roma.
XII.
DRawn, cunning Painter, hast thou with great art, The Shadow [Image] of my lovely Laura fair; Which object sweet not smally joys my heart: But little didst thou think, nor wast thou 'ware, That where thou thought'st my fancy for to please, Effect contrary sorts to my desire: So that it breeds, in body mine, unease; And, senseless, burns my heart with feeling fire. O strange success! What made was for content Doth most displease; and, lifeless, doth torment.
XIII.
WHen first the cruel Fair deigned graciously To look on me with kind and courteous view; And cast on me a lovely glancing eye: She knew not that I was her servant true. But She no sooner 'ware was of the same; But that She turned her back with great disdain. So as the wound I then close bare in breast; I now, through grief, show outward in my face: But if that She, by whom I wounded rest, Lives in compassion cold towards me, sans grace: Hard hearted is She, cruel was She to her friend; And wicked shall be, world withouten end.
XIV.
WHen first the sun did shine upon her eyes, Who fairest 'mongst her beauteous sex doth show; The heavens her dainty corpse, in courteous wise, Covered with chilly cold and whitest snow. She, through the nature of that humour cold, Both coldest Ice, at once, and purest White Draws to herself. Then none, for strange should hold; Though, to me, fair and cruel is her sight: Since that the heavens, for favours, did impart A snow-white corpse to her, and frozen heart.
XV.
THe dusky cloud in sky, with shadow dark, Doth cover oft the sun's most clearest light: So as his beams we cannot see, nor mark; And he himself doth play at least in sight. Ah were I such a cloud on earth to cover My sweetest Sun! as doth that cloud, the other. But if that cloud do vanish soon away, And doth as momentary pass and vade; Eternal would I be to hide her aye, And of a harder mixture would be made. O happy I! O fortunate eclipse! With kissing so to darken those fair lips.
XVI.
FRom milk of Juno, as the Poets feign, The Lily had its whiteness, passing white: And from Adonis' blood, that lovely Swain, The Rose his colour red, which doth delight. Thou, pretty Soul, hast both the colours rare Of these sweet flowers; which others all exceed. Thy breast's a bed of beauteous Lilies fair; Thy dainty cheeks, pure damask Rose breed. O fruitful garden flow'ring; where appear The Rose and Lily at all times of year!
XVII.
OF constant love, I am the wasted fire; The furious wind's my Lady's angry eye: Who whilst She kindles both, through wrathful ire, The flame increaseth, mounting to the sky. In midst is Love, half dead of grievous pain; And, doubtful, winds about like sparkling flame. He fears the heat: and trembles, being turned Unto this blast; which still more sharp doth rise. Nor is his fear in vain, when so he is burned: For one of these must hap, in sudden wise, Either the fire must spoil him as his prey; Or whirling wind else blow him quite away.
XVIII.
MY Laura wonders that, in visage pale, I bear of Death itself, the lively show: But if She muse at this, her musing's stale; For this sad colour had I long ago. The fire, close burning in my veins, doth make That outward ashes in my face you view: But if that She would on me pity take, Who is the cause of this my palish hue, This kindled heat shall die, which now doth burn; And my first colour shall again return.
XIX.
WHilst foaming steed I spur unto the quick, To make him gallop to my Love amain: Love doth my thoughts, through Fancy, forward prick; The end of wishèd journey mine to gain. But light's his hurt! 'Tis but a little smart! Where mine is mortal, sounding to the heart. Run then, my gelding swift, like Pegasus! Fly hence with wings! for wings hath my desire: Both of us, forced amain, are forward thus, And kindled in us is a burning fire. Thou, through two spurs in flank, provoked art sore: But thousands inwardly, my heart do gore.
XX.
RIch is the diamond, a gem of price; Yet such the nature strange is of the same, That who the powder thereof drinks, straight dies: And, as if poison 'twere, doth take his bane. So thou another precious jewel art; In name and nature not unmuch alike: Since death thou giv'st unto the loving heart; If but a kiss one sucks from thee most sweet. Whilst he doth swallow down his sugared bait; The joy's so great, it kills him through conceit.
XXI.
THe Grecians used to offer up their hair Unto their rivers: whom they did esteem As mighty gods; and them great honour bare, As if no virtue small in them had been. Do thou the like, sweet Laura, unto me! Who, for my love, deserves a greater fee. Thy golden tresses on me do bestow! Who hold whole rivers flowing in mine eyes: Yet would not I, thou off shouldst cut them though. Dost muse? and ask, How this thou may'st devise? I'll tell thee. Give thyself to me for mine! So shalt thou give, uncut, thy tresses fine.
XXII.
ONe lovely glance, which from the eyes did pass Of Lady mine, hath changed my gentle heart From hardest diamond to brittle glass: And now again (unto my bitter smart), Through dreadful frown, she turns it suddenly As 'twas before, from glass to diamond. So if She will, She may (and presently, As likes her) change me; who to her am bound. If cruel She; my heart is hard to break: If pitiful; 'tis gentle, brittle, weak.
XXIII.
TWo winds, one calm, another fierce, to see; Th' one of the Spring, of Winter th' other right: I plainly, Lady, do discern in thee! The first, which makes me joy, breathes from thy sight Such dainty flowers, in diverse coloured show, As makes to blush Dame iris's rainy bow. The second, which makes me to pine away, Blows from thine inward breast, a deadly blast; Where doth eternal hardness always stay, Which I do see eternal aye to last. So as calm Zephyrus, in face, thou art! But rough as boisterous Boreas, in thine heart.
XXIV.
NO sooner do I earnest fix mine eyes On my fair Sun: but that I her perceive To vanish like a cloud, in darkest wise; As if, eclipsed, her light it did bereave. I know not, If She's troubled thus because She doth disdain I should behold her so: Or if for fear, this shadow to her draws; Lest me her beams should hurt, which glistering show. Say then, sweet Love, for thou know'st best, if still I shall behold her; or no more, thou will.
XXV.
O that I were sly Proteus! for to take On me that form which most I like or wish: Then would I change myself unto the shape Of that thy little whelp, thy joy and bliss. Into that little worm thou so dost like; And dallying, play'st with him both day and night. Those savoury smacks, those busses, sweet which be, Which thou to him dost give, should all be mine: And I would make my heart to leap for glee; Whilst I did lick that bosom fair of thine. But since I to despair of this am brought: My wish shall Proteus be; thy dog, my thought!
XXVI.
"SAy, gentle friend, tell me in courtesy, Before what was I? and what am I now? A senseless Shadow, or a Body, I?" "Neither of both. Mark, and I'll tell thee how. No Body now: for that, by proud disdain Of scornful She, dislived was. Shadow none; For that did underground go with the same, Unwilling it should wander all alone." "What am I then?" "Even one that doth not know What now he is: or what he was, can show."
XXVII.
THe Blazing Star foretells the hapless fall, And sudden death of others, soon to come. To me a Face, brighter than Comets all, Doth, with her looks, my fortune hard forerun; And with her shooting darts, from glancing eye, Presageth that, ere long, I needs must die. The Blazing Star death only prophesies; This doth foreshew to me a harder fate: And dares me to mine end, in warlike wise; Nor how this Challenge know I to escape. Ah, cruel Star! of death not only sign; But murderer th' art of this poor life of mine.
XXVIII.
THe Crow makes war with the Chameleon; And, being hurt, to th' laurel straight doth fly: And, through the fruit he findeth thereupon, Is healed of hurt, finds food, and lives thereby. Love the Chameleon is; the Crow am I: And battle wage with him unto the death. He wounds me deadly; whereupon I his To thee, my Laural! to restore my breath. Thou me reviv'st. Such virtue 's in thee rife As thou, at once, dost give me food and life.
XXIX.
AMongst the Parthians is a kind of ground Of nature such as, though it far doth stand From fire: yet fire to take it straight is found; And flying thither, burns it out of hand. This prey so sure of Love am I, fair Dame! And you to me, which burneth me, the flame. So that if I, to you far off do show; You kindle straight in me a quenchless fire: And yet, although within it burn me so, Sweet is the heat whose fuel is desire. For rather I, in fire near you would be: Than freed from flame, you farther off to see.
XXX.
LOve, ope my heart! Hot fire thou forth shall take Open my Laura's! In it thou shalt find Cold frost. Then of these two contraries make But one; and that same one, frame thou more kind! Of both our hearts, make but one loving heart! And give it unto which thou please, of twain. Give it to her! To her do it impart; Or unto me! It skills not much the same. I'll doubt no more, when but one heart we have Between us both: for this is all I crave.
XXXI.
UNto an Image may I right compare My Mistress, since so cruel She's to me: Which standeth for a sign or shadow fair; To which the simple ignorant bow with knee: And though with eyes, mouth, ears, and feet it show; Yet doth it neither see, talk, hear, or go. So plays my Choice, when I appear in sight: Nor see, nor speak, nor hear, nor stay She will. So as an Idol, She resembleth right; Blind, mute, deaf, moveless, senseless standing still. Then am not I worse than a lifeless block; To worship such a painted coloured stock.
XXXII.
BOth gems, and pearls, their proper value have; But yet unlike: for not alike's their price. Some sought for are, and each one doth them crave; Others, more base, do pass in worthless wise. A jewel rich, and princelike gem, is She Whom I esteem; and such account of make: Yet in herself no price hath for to see. For it is holden at so high a rate As all the gold, nor silver, which doth lie In th' earth, or sea, the same, at worth, can buy.
XXXIII.
IF love, wherein I burn, were but a fire; I quenched it had, with water of my plaints: If water, these my Plaints; I this desire Had dried through inward heat, my heart that taints. But Love, that in my griefs doth take delight, Both fire and water turns, to work me spite. Fly then, this Love! since such is his great power As waves to fire, and fire to waves, he turns: And with an absent Beauty, every hour, My fainting heart with Fancy's fuel burns; And, 'gainst all sense, makes me, of CARe and IL More than of good and comfoRT, to have will.
XXXIV.
RIvers unto the Sea do tribute pay. A most unconstant moving Sea art thou! And I, within mine eyes, bedewèd aye, A River hold of bitter tears as now. Receive then, from these moistened cheeks of mine. Into thy lap, the water forth I pour! Of duty mine, and of thy debt, a sign: And mix together with my sweet, thy sour! So shall the water to the water be More precious; and the Sea, more rich to th' Sea.
XXXV.
SUch is the virtue of the sunny heat, As seizing on the Cockle Shell (which lies On seaish shore), whereon his beams do beat, It makes it brightly shine, in orient wise: So that, through secret power of radiant sun, Of worthless shell, a pearl it doth become. So, Lady, you, through force of Beauty's power, If you shall deign to glance on me your eye, And rain with grace on me a smiling shower, A jewel rich you make me by and bye: And if no pearl; at least a precious stone. This, only, can you do; or else can none.
XXXVI.
THe blood of fair Adonis, Venus changed Into a flower: who, whilst he did pursue In forest thick, where as he hunting ranged, The savage boar to kill; the boar him slew. Do thou the like, sweet Love! Do thou the same, Whilst now my life doth languish, through thy power: And whilst my wound makes me for to remain Withouten blood, transform me to a flower! That where I, living, cannot; dead, I may; A lovèd flower in Laura's bosom stay.
XXXVII.
AN ocean Sea of water calm am I; Wherein kind Love the form of Fish doth take, Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly. Then, Lady, of a Fisher don the shape! Ah, what sweet fishing shall you have to like; If Love you chance to catch, while he doth bite? Come then, and naked into this water hie! He cannot 'scape; but, here, perforce must bide! 'Less to my heart, to save himself, he fly. Then quickly strip thyself! Lay fear aside! For of this dainty prey, which thou shalt take; Both Sea, Fish, and Thyself, thou glad shalt make.
XXXVIII.
RIch Damask Roses in fair cheeks do bide Of my sweet Girl, like April in his prime: But her hard heart, cold chilly snow doth hide; Of bitter Januar, the perfect sign. Her hair of gold shows yellow like the corn In July, when the sun doth scorch the ground; And her fair breast, ripe fruit which doth adorn September rich. So as in her is found Both Harvest, Summer, Winter, Spring to be: Which you in breast, hair, heart, and face may see.
XXXIX.
TH' immortal Parcæ, fatal Sisters three, Of mortal men, do sing the shunless fate: What once Was, what Is now, and what Shall Be; Their life, their death, their fortune, and their state. Our Song let be like theirs! for Three they were; And so our number is. Three are we here. Sing Laura then! Sing Love! and sing will I! Of dreary fortune mine, sing let us all! Let 's sing in doleful tune most mournfully, How 'Tis, how 'Twas, and hapless still Shall fall; The Present, Past, and (which none can mend) What Shall Be, world to come, withouten end.
XL.
THe heavens, their restless sphere do always move. In thee doth move the faith, which thou didst plight. And I, Ixion-like, still in my love Do roll; and yet I roll my wheel aright. So that, 'twixt us, continual motions wend. But which is worse, unconstant Wench, I see! The heavens will have their motions without end; Which, never ceasing, roll continually: And thou, like them, to roll dost mean thy fill; And since 'tis so, I'll roll too, against my will!
The Conclusion of the Second Part.
THUS is the Second Course now servèd in. A Course too coarse for such a dainty Dame: Yet, Lady, though the cheer be bad and thin; Because it comes of zeal, accept the same! And though not worthy of your grace it be; Yet make it gracious through your courtesy!
Great sumptuous feasts the stomach doth dislike; Which oft, in body dangerous surfeits breed: Where dishes few revive our sense and sprite; And Nature's pleased on little for to feed. This, as a sauce, your appetite to move, Accept! where meat's the heaRT, where cook is Love.
Nor think the worse, though I have spun a thread So fine (I mean your praise) I cannot mend: Since 'tis a Work to ground the wisest head; And mar I should this loom, this cloth not mend. So Venus' matchless shape Apelles drew; But how to finish it, he never knew.
Far more's my mind than is my feeble might. My pencil, for thy picture is too weak. The sun is only for the eagle's flight. My strength's too small, this hardened ice to break. Not painted, scarce I thee have shadowed here: This task 's for such as have in skill no peer.
R. T.