Ere I in this finde peace or quietnefs,
Or that love, or my lady right wisly,
Leave to confpire against me wrongfully,
And if I have after fuch bitterness,

One drop of fwete, my mouth is out of tafte,
That all my truft and travell is but waste.

Of love, fortune, and the lovers minds.

Love, fortune, and my minde which doe remember
Eke that is now, and that once hath bene,
Torment my hart so fore that very often
I hate and envy them beyond all measure.
Love fleeth my hart, while fortune is depriver,
Of all my comfort, the foolish minde than,
Burneth and plaineth, as one that very seldome,
Liveth in reft fo ftill in difpleasure ;
My pleasant dayes they flete and paffe,
And dayly doth myne yll change to the worse,
When more than halfe is runne now of my courfe.
Alas! not of ftele, but of brittle glass,
I fee that from my hand falleth my truft.
And all my thoughts are dashed into duft.

The lover praifeth bis offred hart to be received.

How oft have I, my dere and cruel foe,
With my great paine to get fome peace or truce,
Given you my hart but you do not use,
In foe high things, to caft your mind so low.
If any other looke for it as you trow,

Their vaine, weake hope doth greatly them abuse,
And that thus I difdaine, that you refuse,
It was once mine, it can no more be fo.
If you it chase that it in you can find
In this exile no manner of confort,

Nor live alone nor where he is cald refort,
He may wander from his natural kinde.
So fhall it be great hurt unto us twaine,
And yours the lofs, and mine the deadly paine.

The lovers life compared to the Alpes.

LIKE unto these unmeasurable mountaines,
So in my painfull life the burden of yre,
For hie be they, and hie is my desire,
And I of teares, and they be full of fountaines.
Under craggy rocks they have barren plaines,
Hard thoughts in me my wofull minde doth tire,
Small fruite and many leaves theire tops do attire,
With small effect great truft in me remaines.
The boiflerous winds oft theire high bowes do

blaf,

Hott fighes in me continually be shed,
Wilde beafts in them, firce love in me is fed,
Unmoveable am I, and they stedfast.

Of finging-birds, they have the tune and note,
And I alwayes plaintes paffing through my throte.

Charging of bis love as unpiteous and loveing ether,

Ir amorous faith, or if an hart unfeined,
I fwete langeur, a great lovely defire,
If honeft will kindled in gentle fire,
If long errour in a blind mafe chained.
If in my vilage eche thought diftained,
Or my fparkling voice, lower or hier,
Which feare and fhame fo wofully doth tire,
If pale colour which love alas hath stained.
If to have another, then my felf more dere,
If waleing or fighing continually,
With forrowful anger feding bufily
If burned farr of and if frifing nere.
Are caufe that I by love my felf destroye,
Yours is the fault, and mine the great annoy.

A renouncing of love.

FAREWELL love, and all thy lawes for ever,
Thy bated hookes fhall tangle me no more,
Seneca, and Plato call me from thy lore,
To parfit welth my witt for to endever.
In blind error when I did perfever.
Thy fharp repulse, that pricketh aye fo fore
Taught me in trifles that I fet noe ftore,
But fcape forth thence fince libertie is lieffer.
Therefore farewell go trouble younger harts,
And in time claime noe more auctoritie,
With idle youth goe ufe thy propertie,
And thereon fpend thy many brittle dartes.
For hitherto though I have loft my time,
Me lift no longer rotten bowes to clime.

The lover for faketh bis unkind love.

My hart I gave thee not to doe it paine,
But to preferve lo it to thee was taken,

I ferved thee, thee not that I should be forfaken,
But that I fhould receive reward againc.
I was content, thy fervant to remaine,
And not to be repayed on this fashion,
Now fince in thee there is no other reason,
Displease thee not if that I de refraine.
Unfatiat of my wo and thy defire,
Affured by craft for to excufe thy fault,
But fince it pleafeth thee to fain default,
Farewell I fay, departing from the fire.
For he that doth believe bearing in hand,
Ploweth in the water and foweth in the fand.

The lover defcribeth bis refilesse filate.

Tue flameing fighes that boyle within my bread. Sometime break forth and they can well declare, The hartes unreft, and how that he doth fear, The paine thereof, the griefe, and all the rest.

The fhattered eyen from whence the teares do fall,
Do feel fome force or elce they would be dry,
The wafted flesh of colour ded can try,
And fometime tell what fweetness in the gall.
And he that luft to fee, and to difcearne,
How care can force within a weried mind,
Come he to me I am that place alinde,

But for all this noe force, it doth noe harme,
The wounde alas hap in fome other place,
From whence noe toole away the scar can race.

But you which of fuch like have had your part,
Can best be judge wherefore my friend fo dere,
I thought it good my state should now appere,
To you, and that there is no great defart.
And whereas you in weighty matters great,
Of fortune faw the fhaddow that you know
For trifling things I now am ftricken foe.
That though I feel my hart doth wound and beat,
1 fit alone fave on the fecond day,

My fever comes with whome I spend my time,
In burning heat while that she lift affigne,
And who hath helth and liberty alway,
Let him thank God, and let him not provoke,
To have the like of this my painfull ftroke.

The lover laments the death of his love.

THE piller perifht is whereto I lent,
The firongest stay of mine unquiet minde;
The like of it no man agayn can fynde,
From east to weft ftill fecking though he went,
To myne unhappe forhappe away hath rent,
Of all my joy the very bark and rinde,
And I (alas!) by chaunce am thus affinde,
Dayly to mourn, till death do it relent.
But fince that thus it is by destiny,
What can I more but have a wofull hart,
My penne in plaint my voice in carefull crye,
My mynde in woe my body full of smart,
And I my self, my felf alwayes to hate,
Tyll dreadfull death doe cafe my dolefull state.

The lover fendeth fighes to move bis fuite

Goe burning fighes unto the frozen hart,
Goe break the yce which pities painfull dart,
Might never pierce, and if that mortall prayer,
In heaven be heard at least yet I defyre,
That death, or mercy, end my wofull smart.
Take with thee paine whereof I have my part,
And eke the flame from which I cannot ftart.
And leave me then in reft 1 you require,
Goe burning fighs fulfill that I defire.
I must goe worke, and see my craft and arte,
For truth and faith in her is laid apart,
Alas I cannot therefore now affayle her,
With pitifull complaint and scalding fire,
That from my breft deceivebly doth start.

I know not how t' attaine the winges that I reTo lyft me up that I might fly to follow my defyre. [fuftyne, Thus of that hope that doth my lyfe fomethyng Alas I fear, and partly feel full little doth remainc. Eche place doth bring me griefe where I doc net behold,

Thofe lively eyes which of my thoughts, were wont the keys to hold.

Thofe thoughts were pleasant sweet whilst I enjoy'd that grace,

My pleasure paft, my prefent pain, when I might

Twene me and those fhene lights that wonted for to clere,

My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus fphere;

It teacheth me alfo, what was my pleasant state, The more to feele by fuch record how that my welth doth bate.

If fuch record (alas) provoke the inflamed mynde, Which sprung that day that I dyd leave the best of me behynde.

If love forgeat himselfe by length of abfence let, Who doth me guid (O wofull wretch) unto this baited net : [for me, Where doth encrease my care, much better were As dumm as ftone all things forgott, still ablent for to be.

Alas the clear chriftall, the bright tranfplendant glaffe, [it hafe. Doth not bewray the colours hid which underneath As doth the accumbred fprite the thoughtfull throwes difcover, [we cover. Of teares delyte of fervent love that in our hartes Out by these eyes, it fheweth that evermore delight; In plaint and teares to feek redrefs, and eke both day and night.

Thofe kindes of pleasures most wherein men foe rejoice, [voice. To me they do redouble still of ftormy fighes the For, I am one of them, whom plaint doth well [lament.

content,

It fits me well my abfent wealth me femes for to And with my teares t' affy to charge myne eyes

twayne,

Like as my hart above the brink is fraughted full of payne.

And for because thereto, that thefe fair eyes do treate, [repeate. Do me provoke, I will returne, my plaint thus to For there is nothing els, fo toucheth me within, Where they rule all, and I alone, nought but the

cafe or skin.

Wherefore I fhall returne to them as well or fpring, From whom defcends my mortall wo, above all other thing.

So fhall myne eyes in paine accompany my hart, That were the guides, that did it lead of love to feel the smart. [pride, The crifped gold that doth furmount Appolloes The lively treames of pleafant ftarrs that under it doth glyde.

Wherein the beames of love doe ftill increase theire heate, [me fweat, Which yet fo far touch me to near in cold to make The wife and pleasant take, fce rare or elfe alone, That gave to me the curties gyft, that carft had

never none.

Be far from me alas, and every other thing, I might forbear with better will, then this that did me bring.

With pleasand woord and cheer, redrefs of lingred [trayne.

payne, Ard wonted oft in kindled will, to vertue me to Thus am I fort'd to hear and hearken after news, My comfort fcant, my large defire in doubtful trust renews.

| And yet with more delight to move my wofull cafe a I must complaine these hands, thofe armes, that firmly do embrace.

Me from my self, and rule the fterne of my poor lyfe,

The fweet difdaynes, the pleasant wrathes, and eke the holy ftrife.

That wonted well to tune in ten per juft and mete, The rage, that oft did make me err by furour undifcrete. [hills, All this is hid from me with fharp and ragged At others will my long abode, my depe dyfpayr fulfills.

And of my hope fometime ryfe up by some redreffe, It stumbleth ftraite for feable faint my fear hath fuch exceffe.

Such is the fort of hoape, the less for more defyre, And yet I trust e're that I dye, to fee that I require. The refting place of love, where virtue dwells and and growes, [repole, There I defire my weary life fometime may take My fong thou shalt attaine, to find the pleasant place,

Where the doth live by whom I live, may chance to have this grace.

When the hath read and feen, the griefe wherein, I ferve,

Between her brests she shall the put, there sball fhe thee referve.

Then tell her, that I come, she shall me shortly fee, And if for waight the body fayl, the foul fhall to her flee.

The lover blameth bis love for renting of the letter be fent her.

SUFFISED not (madame) that you did teare,
My wofull hart, but this also to rent,
The weeping paper that to you I fent,
Whereof ech letter was written with a tear.
Could not my prefent paynes (alas) suffise,
Your greedy heart, and that my heart doth feel,
Torments that prick more fharper than the steel,
But new and new muft to my lott aryse,
Ufe then my death, foe fhall your crueltye,
Spite of your fpyte, rid me from all my fmart,
And I no more fuch torments of the hart,
Feel as I doe this fhall you gayne thereby.

The lover curfeth the tyme when fyrft he fell in love,

WHEN fyrst myne eyes did view and mark,
Thy fayr beauty to behold,

And when my ears lyfned to hark,
The pleafant woords that thou me tolde.
I would as then I had been free,
From ears to hear, and eyes to fee.
And when my lipps gan fyrft to mone,
Whereby my hart to thee was knowne,
And when my tongue dyd talke of love,
To thee that haft true love downe throwne.

I would my lipps and tongue alsoe,
Had then been damme, no deal to goe.
And when my hands have handled ought,
That thee hath kept in memory,

And when my feet have gone and fought,
To find and get the company.

I would each hand a foot had beene,
And I each foot a hand had seen.
And when in mind I dyd confent,
To follow this my fancies will,
And when my hart did first relent,
To taft fuch bait my life to fpill.
I would my hart had been as thine,
Or els thy hart had been as myne.

The lover determineth to ferve faithfully.
SINCE love will needs, that I shall love,
Of very force I must agree,

And fince no chaunce may it remove,
In wealth and in adversitie.

I fhall alway my felfe apply,

To ferve and fuffer patiently.

Though for good will I finde but hate,

And cruelly my life to waft,

And though that still a wretched state,
Should pyne my days unto the last :
Yet I profefs it willingly,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.

For fince my hart is bound to serve,
And I not ruler of myne owne,
What foe befall, tyll that I fterve,
By proofe full well it fhall be knowne.
That I fhall ftill my felf apply,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.

Yet though my griefe finde noe redress
But ftill encrease before myne eyes,
Though my reward be cruelneffe,
With all the harme, happs can devyse,
Yet I profefs it willingly,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.

Yea though fortune her pleasant face,
Should fhew, to fet me up aloft,
And straight my wealth for to deface,
Should wrythe away, as she doth oft.
Yet would I still my felf applye,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.

There is no griefe, no fmert, no wo,
That yet I feel, or after fhall,

That from this minde may make me goe
And whatsoever me befall,

I do profefs it willingly,

To ferve and fuffer patiently.

peare.

[out.

Lo. First may my heart his blood, and life blede
La. Then for my fake, alas! thy will forbeare.
Lo. From day to day, thus waftes my lyfe away.
La. Yet for the beft, fuffre fome fmale delay.
Lo. Now good, fay yea, do once fo good a dede,
La. If I fayd yea, what should thereof enfue?
Lo. An heart in payne of fuccour fo fhould fpede,

Twixt yea, and nay, my dout fhall ftill renew,
My fwete, fay yea, and do away this drede.
La. Thou wilt nedes fo, be it fo, but then be trew.
Lo. Nought would I elfe, nor other treasure none,
Thus hearts be wonne by love, requeft, and

mone.

The lover fufpected, blameth ill tongues.

MISTRUSTFULL minds be moved,
To have me in fufpe,
The truth it fhall be proved,
Which time shall once detect.
Though falfhed goe about,,
Of crime to me accufe,

Why love is blinde.

Or purpose, love chose first for to be blinde,
For he with fight of that, that I beholde,
Vanquish't had been, against all godly kynde,
His bow your hand, and truffe fhould have un-
fold.

And he with me to ferve had been affinde,
But, for he blind, and reckless would him hold
And still, by chance, his diedly strokes bestow
With fuch, as fee, I ferve, and fuffer wo.
Rr iiij

To his unkinde love

WHAT rage is this, what furor of what kynde, What power, what plage, doth wery thus mye minde?

Within my bones to rankle is affynde,
What poifon pleasant swete.

Lo fee myne eyes flow with continual teares,
The body ftill away fleepleffe it weares,
My foode nothing my fainting firength repayres
Nor doth my lini mee fuftayne.

[turne,

In depe wyde wound, the deadly stroke doth To cureleffe fkarre that never shall returne, Go to, triumph, rejoyce thy goodly turne, Thy frend thou doeft oppreffe.

Oppreffe thou doeft, and haft of him no cure, Nor yet my plaint no pitie can procure, Fierce tygre, fell, hard rocke without recure Cruell rebell to love.

Once may thou love, never be loved again, So love thou ftill, and not thy love obtayne, So wrathfull love with fpites of just disdaine, May thret thy cruell hart.

The lever blameth bis infant defyre.

DESTRE, (alas!) my maifter, and my foe,
So fore altered thy felfe, how maist thou see,
Some time thou feekeft, and dryves me to and fro,
Some time thou leadeft, that leadeth thee and me,
What reafon is to rule thy fubjects fo,

By forced law and mutabilitie?

For where by thee I doubted to have blame,
Even now by hate agayne I doubt the fame.

The lover complaineth bis eftate.

I SEE that chance hath chosen me,
Thus fecretly to live in payne,
And to another geven the free,
Of all my loffe to have the gayne,
By chance aflinde thus do I ferve,
And other have that I deserve.

Unto my felf fome time alone,
I do lament my wofull cafe,
But what availeth me to mone,
Since truth and pitie hath no place,
In them, to whom I fue and ferve,
And other have that I deserve.

To leke by meane to change this mind,
Alas, I prove it will not be,
For in my heart I cannot finde,
Once to refrayne, but ftill agree
As bound by force alway to ferve,
And other have that I deserve.

Such is the fortune that I have,

To love them most, that love me left,
And to my payne to feek and crave
The thing, that other have poffeft,
So thus in vaine alway I serve,
And other have that I deserve,