The Penguin Book of English Verse

by Paul Keegan

  MARY HERBERT, COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE from Psalm 139

  Each inmost peece in me is thine:

  While yet I in my mother dwelt,

  All that me cladd

  From thee I hadd.

  Thou in my frame hast strangly delt:

  Needes in my praise thy workes must shine

  So inly them my thoughts have felt.

  Thou, how my back was beam-wise laid,

  And raftring of my ribbs, dost know:

  Know’st ev’ry point

  Of bone and joynt,

  How to this whole these partes did grow,

  In brave embrod’ry faire araid,

  Though wrought in shopp both dark and low.

  Nay fashionless, ere forme I tooke,

  Thy all and more beholding ey

  My shapelesse shape

  Could not escape:

  All these tyme fram’d successively

  Ere one had beeing, in the booke

  Of thy foresight, enrol’d did ly.

  My God, how I these studies prize,

  That doe thy hidden workings show!

  Whose summ is such,

  Noe suume soe much:

  Nay summ’d as sand they summlesse grow.

  I lye to sleepe, from sleepe I rise,

  Yet still in thought with thee I goe.

  (1823)

  CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE from Hero and Leander

  His bodie was as straight as Circes wand,

  Jove might have sipt out Nectar from his hand.

  Even as delicious meat is to the tast,

  So was his necke in touching, and surpast

  The white of Pelops shoulder. I could tell ye,

  How smooth his brest was, and how white his bellie,

  And whose immortall fingars did imprint,

  That heavenly path, with many a curious dint,

  That runs along his backe, but my rude pen,

  Can hardly blazon foorth the loves of men,

  Much lesse of powerfull gods. Let it suffise,

  That my slacke muse, sings of Leanders eies,

  Those orient cheekes and lippes, exceeding his

  That leapt into the water for a kis

  Of his owne shadow, and despising many,

  Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.

  Had wilde Hippolitus, Leander seene,

  Enamoured of his beautie had he beene,

  His presence made the rudest paisant melt,

  That in the vast uplandish countrie dwelt,

  The barbarous Thratian soldier moov’d with nought,

  Was moov’d with him, and for his favour sought.

  Some swore he was a maid in mans attire,

  For in his lookes were all that men desire,

  A pleasant smiling cheeke, a speaking eye,

  A brow for Love to banquet roiallye,

  And such as knew he was a man would say,

  Leander, thou art made for amorous play:

  Why art thou not in love, and lov’d of all?

  Though thou be faire, yet be not thine owne thrall.

  (… )

  By this Leander being nere the land,

  Cast downe his wearie feet, and felt the sand.

  Breathlesse albeit he were, he rested not,

  Till to the solitarie tower he got.

  And knockt and cald, at which celestiall noise,

  The longing heart of Hero much more joies

  Then nymphs and sheapheards, when the timbrell rings,

  Or crooked Dolphin when the sailer sings;

  She stayd not for her robes, but straight arose,

  And drunke with gladnesse, to the dore she goes.

  Where seeing a naked man, she scriecht for feare,

  Such sights as this, to tender maids are rare.

  And ran into the darke her selfe to hide,

  Rich jewels in the darke are soonest spide.

  Unto her was he led, or rather drawne,

  By those white limmes, which sparckled through the lawne.

  The neerer that he came, the more she fled,

  And seeking refuge, slipt into her bed.

  Whereon Leander sitting, thus began,

  Through numming cold, all feeble, faint and wan:

  If not for love, yet love for pittie sake,

  Me in thy bed and maiden bosome take,

  At least vouchsafe these armes some little roome,

  Who hoping to imbrace thee, cherely swome.

  This head was beat with manie a churlish billow,

  And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow.

  Herewith afrighted Hero shrunke away,

  And in her luke-warme place Leander lay.

  Whose lively heat like fire from heaven fet,

  Would animate grosse clay, and higher set

  The drooping thoughts of base declining soules,

  Then drerie Mars, carowsing Nectar boules.

  His hands he cast upon her like a snare,

  She overcome with shame and sallow feare,

  Like chast Diana, when Acteon spyde her,

  Being sodainly betraide, dyv’d downe to hide her.

  And as her silver body downeward went,

  With both her hands she made the bed a tent,

  And in her owne mind thought her selfe secure,

  O’recast with dim and darksome coverture.

  And now she lets him whisper in her eare,

  Flatter, intreat, promise, protest and sweare,

  Yet ever as he greedily assayd

  To touch those dainties, she the Harpey playd,

  And every lim did as a soldier stout,

  Defend the fort, and keep the foe-man out.

  For though the rising yv’rie mount he scal’d,

  Which is with azure circling lines empal’d,

  Much like a globe, (a globe may I tearme this,

  By which love sailes to regions full of blis,)

  Yet there with Sysiphus he toyld in vaine,

  Till gentle parlie did the truce obtaine.

  Wherein Leander on her quivering brest,

  Breathlesse spoke some thing, and sigh’d out the rest;

  Which so prevail’d, as he with small ado,

  Inclos’d her in his armes and kist her to.

  And everie kisse to her was as a charme,

  And to Leander as a fresh alarme.

  So that the truce was broke, and she alas,

  (Poore sillie maiden) at his mercie was.

  Love is not ful of pittie (as men say)

  But deaffe and cruell, where he meanes to pray.

  Even as a bird, which in our hands we wring,

  Foorth plungeth, and oft flutters with her wing,

  She trembling strove, this strife of hers (like that

  Which made the world) another world begat,

  Of unknowne joy. Treason was in her thought,

  And cunningly to yeeld her selfe she sought.

  Seeming not woon, yet woon she was at length,

  In such warres women use but halfe their strength.

  Leander now like Theban Hercules,

  Entred the orchard of Th’esperides,

  Whose fruit none rightly can describe, but hee

  That puls or shakes it from the golden tree:

  And now she wisht this night were never done,

  And sigh’d to thinke upon th’approching sunne,

  For much it greev’d her that the bright day-light,

  Should know the pleasure of this blessed night,

  And them like Mars and Ericine displayed,

  Both in each others armes chaind as they layd.

  Or speake to him who in a moment tooke,

  That which so long so charily she kept,

  And faine by stealth away she would have crept,

  And to some corner secretly have gone,

  Leaving Leander in the bed alone.

  But as her naked feet were whipping out,

  He on the suddaine cling’d her so about,

  That M
eremaid-like unto the floore she slid,

  One halfe appear’d, the other halfe was hid.

  Thus neere the bed she blushing stood upright,

  And from her countenance behold ye might,

  A kind of twilight breake, which through the heare,

  As from an orient cloud, glymse here and there.

  And round about the chamber this false morne,

  Brought foorth the day before the day was borne.

  So Heroes ruddie cheeke, Hero betrayd,

  And her all naked to his sight displayd.

  ANONYMOUS

  Hark, all ye lovely saints above,

  Diana hath agreed with Love

  His fiery weapon to remove. Fa la.

  Do you not see

  How they agree?

  Then cease, fair ladies; why weep ye? Fa la.

  See, see, your mistress bids you cease,

  And welcome Love, with love’s increase;

  Diana hath procured your peace. Fa la.

  Cupid hath sworn

  His bow forlorn

  To break and burn, ere ladies mourn. Fa la.

  CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE from All Ovids Elegies

  Book I, Elegia 5

  In summers heate and mid-time of the day

  To rest my limbes upon a bed I lay,

  One window shut, the other open stood,

  Which gave such light, as twincles in a wood,

  Like twilight glimps at setting of the Sunne

  Or night being past, and yet not day begunne.

  Such light to shamefast maidens must be showne,

  Where they may sport, and seeme to be unknowne.

  Then came Corinna in a long loose gowne,

  Her white neck hid with tresses hanging downe:

  Resembling fayre Semiramis going to bed

  Or Layis of a thousand wooers sped,

  I snacht her gowne: being thin, the harme was small,

  Yet striv’d she to be covered there withall.

  And striving thus as one that would be cast,

  Betray’d her selfe, and yeelded at the last.

  Starke naked as she stood before mine eye,

  Not one wen in her body could I spie.

  What armes and shoulders did I touch and see,

  How apt her breasts were to be prest by me.

  How smooth a belly under her wast saw I?

  How large a legge, and what a lustie thigh?

  To leave the rest all lik’d me passing well,

  I cling’d her naked body, downe she fell,

  Judge you the rest, being tirde she bad me kisse;

  Jove send me more such after-noones as this.

  Book III, Elegia 13

  Seeing thou art faire, I barre not thy false playing,

  But let not me poore soule know of thy straying.

  Nor do I give thee counsell to live chaste,

  But that thou wouldst dissemble, when ’tis paste.

  She hath not trod awry, that doth deny it.

  Such as confesse have lost their good names by it.

  What madnesse ist to tell nights pranckes by day?

  And hidden secrets openly to bewray?

  The strumpet with the stranger will not doo,

  Before the roome be cleere, and dore put too.

  Will you make ship-wrack of your honest name?

  And let the world be witnesse of the same.

  Be more advisde, walke as a puritan,

  And I shall think you chaste, do what you can.

  Slip still, onely deny it, when ’tis done,

  And before folke immodest speeches shunne.

  The bed is for lascivious toyings meete,

  There use all tricks, and tread shame under feete.

  When you are up, and drest, be sage and grave,

  And in the bed hide all the faults you have.

  Be not asham’de to strip you being there,

  And mingle thighes yours ever mine to beare.

  There in your Rosie lips my tongue in-tombe,

  Practise a thousand sports when there you come.

  Forbeare no wanton words you there would speake,

  And with your pastime let the bed-stead creake.

  But with your robes put on an honest face,

  And blush, and seeme as you were full of grace.

  Deceive all, let me erre, and think I am right,

  And like a Wittall think thee voide of slight.

  Why see I lines so oft receiv’d, and given?

  This bed and that by tumbling made uneven?

  Like one start up your haire tost and displac’d,

  And with a wantons tooth your neck new rac’d.

  Graunt this, that what you doe I may not see,

  If you weigh not ill speeches, yet weigh mee.

  My soule fleetes, when I thinke what you have done,

  And thorough every veine doth cold bloud runne.

  Then thee whom I must love, I hate in vaine,

  And would be dead, but dead with thee remaine.

  Ile not sift much, but holde thee soone excusde,

  Say but thou wert injuriously accusde.

  Though while the deed be dooing you be tooke,

  And I see when you ope the two leav’d booke,

  Sweare I was blinde, deny, if you be wise,

  And I will trust your words more then mine eyes.

  From him that yeelds the palme is quickly got,

  Teach but your tongue to say, I did it not,

  And being justifide by two words thinke,

  The cause acquits you not, but I that winke.

  JOHN DONNE On His Mistris

  By our first strange and fatall interview,

  By all desires which thereof did ensue,

  By our long sterving hopes, by that remorse

  Which my words masculine perswasive force

  Begot in thee, and by the memory

  Of hurts which spies and rivalls threatned mee,

  I calmely beg; but by thy parents wrath,

  By all paines which want and divorcement hath,

  I conjure thee; and all those oathes which I

  And thou have sworne, to seal joint constancie,

  Here I unsweare, and over-sweare them thus:

  Thou shalt not love by meanes so dangerous.

  Temper, oh faire Love, loves impetuous rage,

  Be my true mistris still, not my feign’d page.

  I’ll goe, and, by thy kind leave, leave behinde

  Thee, onely worthy to nurse in my minde

  Thirst to come back; oh, if thou dye before,

  From other lands my soule towards thee shall soare.

  Thy (else Almighty) Beauty cannot move