Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  The ayre, vnto my sighes, as Eagle to the fire,

  The passions of dispaire, but ioyes to my desire.

  Onely my loue is in the fire ingraued,

  Onely my teares by Oceans may be gessed,

  Onely my sighes are by the ayre expressed,

  Yet fire, water, ayre, of nature not depriued.

  Whilst fire, water, ayre, twixt heauen & earth shal be,

  My loue, my teares, my sighes, extinguisht cannot be.

  Amour 28.

  Some wits there be, which lyke my method well,

  And say my verse runnes in a lofty vayne,

  Some say I haue a passing pleasing straine,

  Some say that in my humor I excell.

  Some, who reach not the height of my conceite,

  They say, (as Poets doe) I vse to fayne,

  And in bare words paynt out my passions payne.

  Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeate.

  I passe not I how men affected be,

  Nor who commend or discommend my verse,

  It pleaseth me if I my plaints rehearse,

  And in my lynes if shee my loue may see.

  I proue my verse autentique still in thys,

  Who writes my Mistres praise, can neuer write amisse.

  Amour 29.

  O eyes, behold your happy Hesperus,

  That luckie Load-starre of eternall light,

  Left as that sunne alone to comfort vs,

  When our worlds sunne is vanisht out of sight.

  O starre of starres, fayre Planet mildly moouing,

  O Lampe of vertue, sun-bright, euer shyning,

  O mine eyes Comet, so admyr’d by louing,

  O cleerest day-starre, neuer more declyning.

  O our worlds wonder, crowne of heauen aboue,

  Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee,

  Lou’d more then life, yet onely art his loue,

  Whose glorious hand immortall hath enrold thee.

  O blessed fayre, now vaile those heauenly eyes,

  That I may blesse mee at thy sweet arise.

  Amour 30.

  Three sorts of Serpents doe resemble thee,

  That daungerous eye-killing Cockatrice,

  Th’inchaunting Syren, which doth so entice,

  The weeping Crocodile: these vile pernicious three.

  The Basiliske his nature takes from thee,

  Who for my life in secrete waite do’st lye,

  And to my hart send’st poyson from thine eye,

  Thus do I feele the paine, the cause, yet cannot see.

  Faire-mayd no more, but Mayr-maid be thy name,

  Who with thy sweet aluring harmony

  Hast playd the thiefe, and stolne my hart from me.

  And like a Tyrant mak’st my griefe thy game.

  Thou Crocodile, who when thou hast me slaine,

  Lament’st my death, with teares of thy disdaine.

  Amour 31.

  Sitting alone, loue bids me goe and write,

  Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay,

  Boasting that shee doth still direct the way,

  Els senceles loue could neuer once endite.

  Loue growing angry, vexed at the spleene,

  And scorning Reasons maymed Argument,

  Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to inuent,

  Where shee with Loue conuersing hath not beene.

  Reason reproched with this coy disdaine,

  Dispighteth Loue, and laugheth at her folly,

  And Loue contemning Reasons reason wholy,

  Thought her in weight too light by many a graine

  Reason put back, doth out of sight remoue,

  And Loue alone finds reason in my loue.

  Amour 32.

  Those teares which quench my hope, still kindle my desire,

  Those sighes which coole my hart, are coles vnto my loue.

  Disdayne Ice to my life, is to my soule a fire,

  With teares, sighes, & disdaine, thys contrary I proue.

  Quenchles desire, makes hope burne, dryes my teares,

  Loue heats my hart, my hart-heat my sighes warmeth,

  With my soules fire, my life disdaine out-weares,

  Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, hart, & life charmeth.

  My hope becomes a friend to my desire,

  My hart imbraceth Loue, Loue doth imbrace my hart,

  My life a Phoenix is in my soules fire,

  From thence (they vow) they neuer will depart.

  Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, my hart, my life,

  With teares, sighes, and disdaine, shall haue immortal strife.

  Amour 33.

  Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,

  My wofull hart imprisond in my breast,

  Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight,

  To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest.

  But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,

  Behold, their obiects ouer-soone depart,

  And treading in thys neuer-ending maze,

  Wish now to be trans-formd into my hart.

  My hart surcharg’d with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise,

  My eyes made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears,

  And whilst my hart and eye, enuy each others praise,

  My dying lookes and thoughts are peiz’d in equall feares.

  And thus whilst sighes and teares together doe contende,

  Each one of these, doth ayde vnto the other lende.

  Amour 34.

  My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes,

  Into the Ocean of a troubled minde,

  Where my poore soule, the Barke of sorrow lyes,

  Left to the mercy of the waues and winde.

  See where shee flotes, laden with purest loue,

  Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord,

  Desiring yet a thousand deaths to proue,

  Then so to cast her Ballase ouer boord.

  See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne,

  Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost,

  Her Marryners doe leaue her all forforne,

  Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast.

  Loe where she drownes, in stormes of thy displeasure,

  Whose worthy prize should haue enritcht thy treasure.

  Amour 35.

  See chaste Diana, where my harmles hart,

  Rouz’d from my breast, his sure and safest layre,

  Nor chaste by hound, nor forc’d by Hunters arte,

  Yet see how right he comes vnto my fayre.

  See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand,

  And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,

  Whilst from theyr rayes by Cupids skilfull hand,

  Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes.

  See how hee lookes vpon his bleeding wound,

  Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,

  And looking on thee, falls vpon the ground,

  Smyling, as though he gloried in his death.

  And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft,

  His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.

  Amour 36.

  Sweete sleepe so arm’d wth Beauties arrowes darting,

  Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth,

  Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes darknes cleereth,

  Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.

  Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding,

  Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,

  Sleepes aged coldnes, with Beauties fire warmed,

  Sleepe with delight, Beauty with loue rewarding.

  Seepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryuing,

  Beauty her strength vnto sleepes weaknes lending,

  Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty with sleepe contending,

  Yet others force, the others force reuiuing:

  And others foe, the others foe imbrace,


  Myne eyes beheld thys conflict in thy face.

  Amour 37.

  I euer loue, where neuer hope appeares,

  Yet hope drawes on my neuer-hoping care,

  And my liues hope would die but for dyspaire,

  My neuer certaine ioy, breeds euer-certaine feares.

  Vncertaine-dread, gyues wings vnto my hope,

  Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,

  As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,

  Yet feare gyues them more then a heauenly scope:

  Yet thys large roome is bounded with dyspaire,

  So my loue is styll fettered with vaine hope,

  And lyberty depriues hym of hys scope,

  And thus am I imprisond in the ayre;

  Then sweet Dispaire, awhile hold vp thy head,

  Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.

  Amour 38.

  If chaste and pure deuotion of my youth,

  Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,

  Vnfained loue, in naked simple truth,

  A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares:

  Or if a world of faithfull seruice done,

  Words, thoughts and deeds deuoted to her honor,

  Or eyes that haue beheld her as theyr sunne,

  With admiration, euer looking on her.

  A lyfe, that neuer ioyd but in her loue,

  A soule, that euer hath ador’d her name,

  A fayth, that time nor fortune could not moue,

  A Muse, that vnto heauen hath raisd her fame.

  Though these, nor these deserue to be imbraced,

  Yet faire vnkinde, too good to be disgraced.

  Amour 39.

  Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,

  If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue,

  If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,

  And kindnes, be vnkindnes in my loue.

  Then with vnkindnes, Loue reuenge thy wrong,

  O sweet’st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue,

  And with the Swan record thy dying song,

  And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.

  So in loues death shall loues perfection proue,

  That loue diuine which I haue borne to you,

  By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,

  That yet the world vnworthy neuer knewe,

  Whose pure Idea neuer tongue exprest,

  I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.

  Amour 40.

  O thou vnkindest fayre, most fayrest shee,

  In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,

  Now doe I sweare by heauens, before we part,

  My halfe-slaine hart shall take reuenge on thee.

  Thy Mother dyd her lyfe to Death resigne,

  And thou an Angell art, and from aboue,

  Thy father was a man, that will I proue,

  Yet thou a Goddesse art, and so diuine.

  And thus if thou be not of humaine kinde,

  A Bastard on both sides needes must thou be,

  Our Lawes alow no Land to basterdy:

  By natures Lawes we thee a Bastard finde.

  Then hence to heauen vnkind, for thy childs part,

  Goe Bastard, for sure of thence thou art.

  Amour 41.

  Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my deerest Loue,

  Begot by fancy, on sweet hope exhortiue,

  In whom all purenes with perfection stroue,

  Hurt in the Embryon, makes my ioyes abhortiue.

  And you my sighes, Symtomas of my woe,

  The dolefull Anthems of my endlesse care,

  Lyke idle Ecchoes euer aunswering: so,

  The mournfull accents of my loues dispayre.

  And thou Conceite, the shadow of my blisse,

  Declyning with the setting of my sunne,

  Springing with that, and fading straight with this,

  Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun.

  Now was thy pryme, and loe, now is thy waine,

  Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slayne.

  Amour 42

  Plac’d in the forlorne hope of all dispayre,

  Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies,

  Assayld with death, yet arm’d with gastly feare,

  Loe thus my loue, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.

  Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes,

  My tongue in payne, my harts counsels bewraying,

  My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes,

  To my loues foe her Chieftaine still betraying.

  Record my loue in Ocean waues (vnkind,)

  Cast my desarts into the open ayre,

  Commit my words vnto the fleeting wind,

  Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre,

  So shall I be, as I had neuer beene,

  Nor my disgraces to the world be seene.

  Amour 43.

  Why doe I speake of ioy, or write of loue,

  When my hart is the very Den of horror,

  And in my soule the paynes of hell I proue,

  With all his torments and infernall terror.

  Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe,

  My brayne is dry with weeping all too long,

  My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so,

  And I want words for to expresse my wrong

  But still distracted in loues Lunacy,

  And Bedlam like thus rauing in my griefe,

  Now rayle vpon her hayre, now on her eye,

  Now call her Goddesse, then I call her thiefe,

  Now I deny her, then I doe confesse her,

  Now doe I curse her, then againe I blesse her.

  Amour 44.

  My hart the Anuile where my thoughts doe beate,

  My words the hammers, fashioning my desires,

  My breast the forge, including all the heate,

  Loue is the fuell which maintaines the fire.

  My sighes, the bellowes which the flame increaseth,

  Filling myne eares with noyse and nightly groning,

  Toyling with paine, my labour neuer ceaseth,

  In greevous passions my woes styll bemoning.

  Myne eyes with teares against the fire stryuing,

  With scorching gleed my hart to cynders turneth:

  But with those drops the coles againe reuyuing,

  Still more and more vnto my torment burneth.

  With Sisiphus thus doe I role the stone,

  And turne the wheele with damned Ixion.

  Amour 45

  Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe,

  The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow,

  Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so,

  Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?

  Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre

  Portraite of hell, the ayres black mourning weed,

  Recorder of reuenge, remembrancer of care,

  The shadow and the vaile of euery sinfull deed.

  Death like to thee, so lyue thou still in death,

  The graue of ioy, pryson of dayes delight,

  Let heauens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,

  Nor Moone nor stars lend thee their shining light.

  For thou alone renew’st that olde desire,

  Which still torments me in dayes burning fire.

  Amour 46.

  Sweet secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?

  What mortall pen suffyciently can prayse thee?

  What curious Pensill serues to lim thee forth?

  What Muse hath power, aboue thy height to raise thee?

  Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loues store,

  Harts Methridate, the soules preseruatiue,

  O vertue, which all vertues doe adore,

  Cheefe good, from whom all good things we deriue.

  O rare effect, true bond of friendships measure,

  Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest,

  O rich
est Casket of all heauenly treasure,

  In secret silence, which such wonders preachest,

  O purest merror, wherein men may see

  The liuely Image of Diuinitie.

  Amour 47.

  The golden Sunne vpon his fiery wheeles,

  The horned Ram doth in his course awake:

  And of iust length our night and day doth make,

  Flinging the Fishes backward with his heeles.

  Then to the Tropicke takes his full Careere,

  Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat,

  Bayting the Lyon in his furious heat,

  Till Virgins smyles doe sound his sweet reteere.

  But my faire Planet, who directs me still,

  Vnkindly, such distemprature doth bring,

  Makes Summer Winter, Autumne in the Spring,

  Crossing sweet nature by vnruly will.

  Such is the sunne, who guides my youthfull season,

  Whose thwarting course, depriues the world of reason.

  Amour 48.

  Who list to praise the dayes delicious lyght,

  Let him compare it to her heauenly eye:

  The sun-beames to that lustre of her sight,

  So may the learned like the similie.

  The mornings Crimson, to her lyps alike,

  The sweet of Eden, to her breathes perfume,

  The fayre Elizia, to her fayrer cheeke,

  Vnto her veynes, the onely Phoenix plume.

  The Angels tresses, to her tressed hayre,

  The Galixia, to her more then white:

  Praysing the fayrest, compare it to my faire,

  Still naming her, in naming all delight.

  So may he grace all these in her alone,

  Superlatiue in all comparison.

  Amour 49.

  Define my loue, and tell the ioyes of heauen,

  Expresse my woes, and shew the paynes of hell,

  Declare what fate vnlucky starres haue giuen,

  And aske a world vpon my life to dwell.

  Make knowne that fayth, vnkindnes could not moue,

  Compare my worth with others base desert,

  Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my loue,