‘Well could he ride, and often men would say
That horse his mettle from his rider takes,
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.
‘But quickly on this side the verdict went,
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish’d in himself, not in his case;
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purpos’d trim
Piec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him.
‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kind of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep,
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep:
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will.
‘That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted,
Consent’s bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted,
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask’d their own wills, and made their wills obey.
‘Many there were that did his picture get
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,
Like fools that in th’ imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d,
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them,
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.
‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand,
Sweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple (not in part)
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower.
‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded,
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded.
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
‘But ah! Who ever shunn’d by precedent
The destin’d ill she must herself assay,
Or force’d examples ’gainst her own content,
To put the by-pass’d perils in her way?
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay:
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wills more keen.
‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others’ proof,
To be forbode the sweets that seems so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though reason weep and cry, “It is thy last.”
‘For further I could say, “This man’s untrue”,
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.