My cruell deere hauing captiu'de my heart,
And bound it fast in chaines of restlesse loue:
Requires it out of bondage to depart,
Yet is she sure from her it cannot moue.
Draw backe (said she) your helpeless loue from me,
Your worth requires a farre more worthy place:
Vnto your suite though I cannot agree,
Full many will it louingly embrace.
It may be so (my deere) but as the Sunne,
When it appeares doth make the starres to vanish!
So when your selfe into my thoughts do runne,
All others quite out of my heart you banish.
The beames of your perfections shine so bright,
That straight-way they dispell all other light.
I. D.
VI. TO GEORGE CHAPMAN ON HIS OVID.[176]
I. D. of the Middle Temple.
Onely that eye which for true loue doth weepe,
Onely that hart which tender loue doth pierse,
May read and vnderstand this sacred vierse—
For other wits too misticall and deepe:
Betweene these hallowed leaues Cupid dooth keepe
The golden lesson of his second Artist;
For loue, till now, hath still a Maister mist,
Since Ouids eyes were closed with iron sleepe;
But now his waking soule in Chapman liues,
Which showes so well the passions of his soule;
And yet this Muse more cause of wonder giues,
And doth more Prophet-like loues art enroule:
For Ouids soule, now growne more old and wise,
Poures foorth it selfe in deeper misteries.
VII. REASON'S MOANE.[177]