LAURA.
THE THIRD PART.
I.
WHo joys in love? The Heart alone, to see. Who languisheth in love? The Heart alone. Then is 't a thing impossible for me To joy or languish: since I Heart have none. Withouten Heart! Then tell me, What am I? Even bones and flesh united cunningly. The Soul, where is 't? Love that hath ta'en away: My Body only resteth in his place. Deprived of Soul and Heart, how live? I say, I live, maintained by love, in this strange case. O wonder strange, the Body live to see; The Heart and Soul in other place to be.
Napoli.
II.
THat crimson gown, with drops of blood ywrought, Which Laura wears, a token is most true, How that of blood desirous is her thought: And that 'tis so, I best can tell to you. My wrongèd heart too well doth find the same; Who, thousand times, not once, hath wrongèd been By her: and, now, to aggravate my pain, (More cruel in desire for to be seen), By outward habit [dress] covets She to show What, inward, in her mind She hides below.
III.
THe flaming torch, a shadow of the light, Put out by hasty hand, doth colour change; And black becomes, which seemed before most bright: Nor so to show is any marvel strange. So was I long a lively fire of Love; The heat whereof my body oft did prove: But I, at last, by one who moaned my woe, Extinguished was, by pitiful Disdain. Then if my colour black in face do show, You need not much to wonder at the same; Since 'tis a sign, by part to know the whole, That Love made me a fire, Disdain a coal.
IV.
PArdoned of every wicked fact was he, To Hebe's Temple that, with prayers, came: And, of such grace in sign, his bonds, as free, He left hung up on high within the same. I, Lady, errèd have; and humbly come To thee, who art the Temple fair of Love: Off'ring to thee my prayers, all and some, To free me from my faults, thy heart let move! In token of which gift, with thee I'll leave My jealous thoughts; wherewith I did thee grieve.
V.
IF thou art cold, as is the Winter's snow; I, as the Summer, hot am most extreme: Then let's unite thy heart, which cold is so, To mine so warm; and make of both a mean! So th' one a help to th' other still shall be; And linked in concord, as two doves shall 'gree. To form this frame, Love shall the workman play. Then let's with July, January mix! Let's make, between us, an eternal May! An everlasting truce, twain betwix! Thy Winter, with my Summer let us join! My fire so warm, with frost so cold of thine!
VI.
THe cruel Nero used on golden hook, The harmless fish to catch with sugared bait: So courteous Love, fishing, me quickly took; Whilst he with dainty prey for me did wait. Yet far more fortunate am I in this: For whereas Nero's hooks most sharp did kill; The other hooks revive the taken fish, Whilst they do hold him gently by the gill. But hooks they are none! For hooks they are too fair! Two golden tresses be they of fine hair!
VII.
WHen She was born; She came, with smiling eye, Laughing into the world, a sign of glee. When I was born; to her quite contrary, Wailing I came into the world to see. Then mark this wonder strange! What nature gave; From first to th' last, this fashion kept we have. She in my sad laments doth take great joy: I, through her laughing, die; and languish must, Unless that Love, to save me from this 'noy, Do unto me, unworthy, shew so just As for to change her laughter into pain; And my complaints, into her joy again.
VIII.
IN Love his kingdom great, two Fools there be: My Lady's one; myself the other am. The fond behaviour of both, which to see; Whoso but nicely marks, will say the same. Foolish our thoughts are. Foolish, our desire. Foolish our hearts in Fancy's flame to fry. Foolish to burn in Love's hot scorching fire. But what? Fools are we none. My tongue doth lie. For who most foolish is, and fond, in love; More wiser far than others, oft doth prove.
IX.
NO sooner Laura mine appears to me; But that a dainty dye, or blushing red, In both our faces showeth for to be. But who, alas, doth mine so overspread? O'er-fervent Love doth draw this shadow pure; Like cunning'st Painter, long for to endure. Who painteth hers? Disdain, with pencil hard; Which turneth all my sweetness into sour. So that all my designs are quickly marred; Except Love bind Love, by his awful power, In Faith's firm bands. Too high th' exchange will grow. When love, for hate; and not for like, shall go.
X.
PHɶbus had once a bird, his chief delight, Which, only 'cause he had an evil tongue, He made him black; who was before most white. So if all those who, Lovers true have stung With spiteful speech, and have their loves betrayed; Or to their Ladies false be and untrue, Setting at nought the promise they have made; Love would but change into this coal-black hue: Thousands abroad, like sea-coal crows should show; Who, now unknown, for snowy swans do go.
XI.
IN silver stream, on shallow fountain's shelf, The lively image saw he in the same; Who was in love with shadow of himself: Through pride forgetful how his likeness came. Such one myself, by chance, I see to be; When as in river I myself did see: Yet I myself, instead of loving, hate. And such strange hatred is this, and so strong; That while he, loving, died by justest Fate, Himself by seeing, whilst he himself did wrong: I die will unto him contrary clean; 'Cause I, hating myself, myself too much have seen.
XII.
JOy of my soul! My blindfold eyes' clear light! Cordial of heart! Right methridate of love! Fair orient pearl! Bright shining margarite! Pure quintessence of heaven's delight above! When shall I taste, what favour grants me touch; And ease the rage of mine so sharp desire? When shall I free enjoy, what I so much Do covet; but I doubt in vain, to aspire? Ah, do not still my soul thus tantalise; But once, through grace, the same imparadise!
XIII.
PAinter, in lively colours draw Disdain! Dost ask, How that may rightly shadowed be? I'll tell thee. If thou, fine, wilt do the same; My Lady paint! and thou Disdain shalt see. Fond man! dost not believe? or think'st I jest? If doubtful thou remain, then hear the rest! Mark her but well; and thou shalt, in her face, See right Disdain: which, coming from her eyes, Makes her to look with most disdainful grace; Then if thou seest it, in so plain a guise, Straight shadow [paint] her! For this one counterfeit [picture] Of her, and of Disdain, shall show the shape.
XIV.
WIth gold and rubies glistereth her small hand; But if you match them with her lips or hair, They seem withouten brightness for to stand: The others have such lively colours fair. O worthy Beauty! peerless A PER SE! To whom all other Beauties are most vile. O fairness such as fairer none can be! Thou grace itself, of graciousness dost spoil! With rubies, thou right rubies dost disgrace! With gold, bright gold thou stainest in his place!
XV.
A gentle tame deer am I, called a Hart: The cruel huntress fierce my Mistress is. With crossbow bent, she comes to me in Park; Paled in with pleasant thoughts of wanton wish. She shoots, and hits me; takes me for her prey: And (having shot, hit, taken) flies her way. Back she retires from me, with pleasant smile; Unloosing me, and heals my wound and pain: When, as afresh incensed (alack the while!) 'Gainst me, desirous me to plague again, She turns towards me, o'ertakes me, strikes me sore: And, binding up my wounds, makes deadly more.
XVI.
THe golden tresses of a Lady fair; At first beginning were of this my love: But now, at last, unto my double care, To be the end of my sad life I prove. Then did my doubtful spirit live in hope: But now he fears, despairing as it were, Because he doth perceive in sudden broke His hope, which dying heart did help and bear; Since that the hair, that Alpha me did bind In love, of life the Omega I do find.
XVII.
"SWeet Laura, in the water look no more, To see if feature thine be fair or no! Look in mine eyes! which tears rain streaming sore Of bitter plaints; whose water clear doth show, As in a looking-glass, most bright to thee, Those favours which in that sweet visage be." So said I to her: when She answered blive, "And thou, my Love! say, Dost thou likewise wish To see thyself in one that is alive? Then in this breast, look where thine image is! Love shall alike in both our bodies rest: Bear thou me in thine eyes; I'll thee in breast!"
XVIII.
IF, cruel, thou desirous art of blood; Behold how I do bleed in streaming wise! Glut then thyself therewith, if thou think good; And do content, with blood, thy bloody eyes! From breast it comes, where fainting heart doth lie; And for a gift, I it present to thee! Although I know, through this, I soon shall die; And yet to die it little grieveth me: Since 'tis my wish, my blood with soul as one May rest; and that's with thee, or else with none.
XIX.
THat ivory hand, a fan most white doth hold; And to the milky breast blows wind apace; And yet is full of chilly ice most cold; Disgrace to others, to herself a grace. But I, who wistly mark these whiteness' three, Vouchsafe, sweet Love, this boon to grant to me! Distil within the rolling of mine eyes, By virtue of thy power, such hidden flame; And let it tempered be, in such strange wise, That, as I cast my look upon the same, It quite may take away her cruelty! Melt straight the ice! and fan burn suddenly!
XX.
THe snakes, amongst themselves, so carefully Love one another, wonder for to see! As if th' one want, the other straight doth die. Lady, unto these snakes unlike we be! For if I die, thou diest not for my death; But, through my pain revivest! Such is thy spite! And pleasure tak'st to see me void of breath. Ah, yet in love let 's unto them be like! Thou Cupid, work! that I, poor snake in love, This 'sdainful snake for to be kind may move.
XXI.
LAura is fair and cruel both in one; And born was of a dainty diamond. Then is it marvel, neither wonder, none; Although her heart as hard as stone be found. Nature that hardness, as a Keeper, gave To her, her beauty thereby so to save. But fond is he, and simple in conceit, That thinks Love will not, one day, burst the same. Then quickly, mighty Lord, quickly this break! Break thou this stony heart, so hard, in twain! Unto thy power, let Nature's force still yield! And be thou Conqueror 'gainst her in Field!
XXII.
THe snow-white Swan betokens brightsome Day: The coal-black Crow, of darky Night is sign. Thou Day, or Night, bring unto me still may, With those bright lamps, those glistering stars, of thine. But, cruel thou, thy heart is bent so hard, As I that sun can never see with eyes (That wished-for sun, from these my lights debarred): Nor aught discern but mists, in foggy wise. Then since I live in woe; and, blind, nought see: A Crow, not Swan, thou still shalt be to me!
XXIII.
SAy, Cupid, since thou wings so swift dost bear; Within my heart, alone, why dost thou lie? Why dost not seek to lodge some other where; And to some other place, why dost not hie? Go unto her, who hath the lily breast! Who though she hates me; yet I love her best. If her, to entertain thee thou shalt find; It is a sign she hateth me no more. Straight then, return again; and show her mind To my desire! who for this news longs sore. Then, prithee, go! No longer ling'ring stay! Lest, when thou wouldst, thou canst not go thy way.
XXIV.
ON quicksedge wrought with lovely eglantine, My Laura laid her handkercher to dry; Which had before snow-white ywashed been. But after, when she called to memory, That long 'twould be before, and very late, Ere sun could do, as would her glistering eyes: She cast from them such sparkling glances straight, And with such force, in such a strangy guise, As suddenly, and in one selfsame time, She dried her cloth; but burnt this heart of mine.
XXV.
GOld upon gold, mine only Joy did plate, Whilst She did dress her head by crystal glass: But whilst She looked on it, it sudden brake; So as, amazed thereat, much grieved She was; To whom I said, "To grieve thus, 'tis in vain: Since what is broke, whole cannot be again. Look steadfastly, with both thine eyes on me! Who have my heart, through love, a glass new made." She on my face looked; and herself did see: Wherewith contented th'roughly, thus She said, "Most happy I! Since for to dress my head, For broken glass, of whole one I am sped."
XXVI.
THe heavens begin, with thunder, for to break The troubled air; and to the coloured fields, The lightning for to spoil their pride doth threat. Each thing unto the furious tempest yields. And yet, methinks, within me I do hear A gentle voice, hard at my heart, to say: "Fear nothing, thou; but be of merry cheer! Thou only safe, 'fore others all shalt stay. To save thee from all hurt, thy shield shalt be The shadow of the conquering Laural Tree."
Fano.
XXVII.
"LOve this fair Lass!" said Love once unto me. I loved her. "Love her now," saith he, "no more!" When thousand darts within my breast there be; And if I love her, he me threateneth sore. He saith, "Himself is fallen in love with her; And that himself, 'fore others, he'll prefer!" His sense is this. He, in her beauteous eyes, Hath found such Amours as ne'er like were seen: But thinks he, this shall serve, in cunning wise, To make me leave? he cozening me so clean? In spite of him, I'll love! sith heart doth 'gree, With Love in love as rival for to be.
XXVIII.
MY Mistress writing, as her hand did shake, The pen did dash, which on her gown did spurt: One drop, more higher than the rest did take; And to presume to touch her breast it durst. Upon her dainty bosom it did light: Wherewith she blushed, in show like damask rose. Presumptuous black! how dar'dst thou touch that white, Wherein a World of gladsome pleasure grows? Yet, spite of envy, happed it for the best: To the white, more grace; more beauty, 'twas to th' breast.
XXIX.
NOne dares now look more on my Laura's face, So dangerous is her beauty to behold: For he no sooner gives to her the gaze; But straight his heart, She takes from him so bold. Such virtue 's locked within those ebon eyes; Where, dallying with Delight, Dan Cupid lies. So sweetly rolleth She that radiant sphere, As She, from whom She lists, robs suddenly: So as to look on her, each one doth fear; And yet to look on her, spare will not I! For though I lose my Heart, and him disease. I like shall my Desire; and her I'll please.
XXX.
UNbare that ivory Hand! Hide it no more! For though it death brings to my tender heart To see it naked, where is Beauty's store; And where moist pearl with azure doth impart: Yet fear I not to die, in this sweet wise! My fancy, so to see 't, is set on fire. Then leave that glove! (most hateful to mine eyes!) And let me surfeit with this kind desire! So that my looks may have of them their fill; Though heart decay, I'll take it for none ill.
Mantoa.
XXXI.
"MY Mistress seems but brown," say you to me. 'Tis very true, and I confess the same: Yet love I her although that brown She be; Because to please me, She is glad and fain. I lovèd one most beautiful before; Whom now, as death, I deadly do abhor. Because to scorn my service her I found; I gave her o'er, and chose to me this same. Nor to be faithful, think I, I am bound To one, in whom no kindness doth remain. This is the cause, for brown and pitiful; I left a fair, but yet a faithless, Trull.
XXXII.
WHite art thou, like the mountain-snow to see; I Black, like to the burnèd coal do show: Then give some of thy purest white to me! And I'll some of my black on thee bestow: So will we these two contraries unite Together; which so joined, will show more fair. Let 's both then make this change, for our delight; Unless to kill me, thou do little care! But why of White or Black, talk I to thee? My blood not black 'tis; which thou fain wouldst see.
XXXIII.
AS sacrifice unto a goddess bright, My heart I offered with devotion great: Thinking that She, Love's Temple had been right. But what, un'wares, I spied not then, in heat, I, wary, now discern her for to be: Of hell below, the rightest cruelty. I was deceived, I do confess. That smile, That wanton smile, that bred in me delight, Hid in those lips so fair, did me beguile. O beauty false! O cruelty most right! Flee, flee my heart! flee then, if thou be wise, Thy hurt! my burning heat, her treacheries!
XXXIV.
STrange is this thing! My horse I cannot make With spur, with speech, nor yet with rod in hand, Force him to go; although great pains I take. Do what I can; he still, as tired, doth stand. No doubt he feels a heavy weight of me; Which is the cause he standeth still as stone: Nor is he 'ware that now he carrieth three; He thinks, poor jade, I am on 's back alone. But three we are, with mine own self I prove: Laura is in my heart; in soul is Love.
XXXV.
WHen I, of my sweet Laura leave did take; Fair Fano's city, for a while to leave: She gave to me, to wear it for her sake, Of gold and pearl a dainty woven wreath. Dear was the gift; because for love it came: But dearer more; 'cause She gave me the same. I look on 't still, and kiss it as my joy; Kissing and bussing it, with it I play: Which, at one instant, brings me mirth and 'noy; And sighing oft thus to myself I say: "White pearls are these; yet hath her mouth more fair! Fine gold is this; yet finer is her hair!"
XXXVI.
WIth thousand bands of furious inward heat, Love binds my soul; and burns my gentle heart: And, two ways, Laura, death to me doth threat: With Colour fresh; and wanton Eye, like dart. This for reward for all my love I gain. For my goodwill, two enemies I have: Laura and Love. Four plagues conspire my pain, Because I like; and what 's but just, do crave: Fire, roseal Colour, Eyes, and cruel Band. These, at the gaze of Beauty, make me stand.
XXXVII.
IF scalding sighs, my faith may testify; And brinish tears, of love may warrant be: Both th' one and th' other thou hast seen with eye! Then what wouldst have, hard hearted! more of me? But thou, perhaps, though much I have endured, Wouldst yet be better of my faith assured. Then with thine eyes, into my breast do peer! Which, for the nonce, I leave to open sight; And that which now thou doubt'st, see shalt thou clear. Ah, mark it then; and view what shows so bright! But too too cruel art thou, and precise; That will not credit give to thine own eyes!
XXXVIII.
THe hapless Argus, happy in this same, The glory of the sun's surpassing light; The brightness of the stars, the fire which stain: With hundred eyes, behold them always might. But I, alas, who have but only twain, Cannot behold the beauty of my Sun! For which I live as blind, in endless pain; And count myself, for want thereof, undone. I can but wish that I an Argus were! With hundred eyes to view her everywhere.
XXXIX.
IN vasty sea, fain would my slender Muse Wade in thy praise! to praise thy beauty right: But, Lady, I for pardon crave excuse. To break such waves, too brittle is her might! Meantime, with lowly verse, in humble show, Along the shallow shore I'll wading go. The time may come, perhaps ere it be long, That this my Quill, more bold, may write thy praise: And venture for to sail in th' ocean strong; Though now, on gravelled shore it fearful stays. And whereas now, to dip his foot he fears: He then shall dive himself o'er head and ears.
XL.
WHen I did part, my soul did part from me; And took his Farewell of thy beauteous ey'n: But now that I, returned, do thee see; He is returned, and lives through kindness thine: And of thee looketh for a Welcome Home. I then, not any more, to sorrow need; Now I am come: and if before, alone, On Shadow then; on Substance now I feed. So if my parting bitter was and sad: Sweet 's my return to thee, and passing glad.
The conclusion of the last Part.
TImantes, when he saw he could not paint With lively colours, to his lasting fame, Such works he took in hand; and found too faint His cunning: seeking for to hide the same, He over them a subtil Shadow drew; So that his faults, or none, or few, could view.
So, Lady, I finding my wit too weak, With current terms, your beauty forth to blaze; And that to arrive, too blunt is my conceit, Unto the height of your surmounting praise: With silence forcèd am, against my will, To shadow my defect, the want of skill.
Yet do I hope, the Shadow you'll not scorn: Since Princes, in their stately arbours green, Account of shade, as trees which fruit adorn; Because from heat they welcome shelters been. The Shadow shields, 'gainst sun, your beauty fair; Which else his scorching heat would much impair.
Then though a Shadow without fruit I be; And scarce yield leaves to cover this my bark: Accept these leaves, thy Beauty's Shade, of me! Where wealth doth ebb, goodwill doth flow from heart. Deign me, for all my love, but Shadow thine! Thy Substance 's too too high for fortune mine.
R. T.
A Friend's just Excuse about the Book
and [the] Author; in his absence.
WIthout the Author's knowledge, as is before said by the Printer [at pp. [271], [272]]; this Poem is made thus publicly known; which, with my best endeavour, the Gentleman himself, suspecting what is now proved too true, at my coming up, earnestly intreated me to prevent. But I came at the last sheet's printing; and find more than thirty Sonnets not his, intermixt with his. Helped it cannot be, but by the well judging Reader: who will, with less pain distinguish between them, than I, on this sudden, possibly can. To him then, I refer that labour.
And for the Printer's faults passed in some of the Books; I have gathered them in the next page.[9]
With the Author, bear, I pray ye! whom I must intreat to bear with me.
R. B.
Footnotes
[9] These four Corrections have been embodied in the text. E. A.
