[ ]2
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon4’s sake, a youngster proud and wild,
Her stand5 she takes upon a steep-up hill.
Anon6 Adonis comes with horn and hounds:
She, silly7 queen, with more than love’s good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds.
‘Once’, quoth she, ‘did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes10 deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth11!
See, in my thigh,’ quoth she, ‘here was the sore.’
She showed hers — he saw more wounds than one13,
And blushing fled and left her all alone.
[10]
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon faded,
Plucked in the bud and faded in the spring.
Bright orient pearl3, alack, too timely shaded.
Fair creature, killed too soon by death’s sharp sting,
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls through wind before the fall should be.
I weep for thee and yet no cause I have,
For why8 thou left’st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left’st me more than I did crave,
For why I cravèd nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
[11]
Venus1 with Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle2 shade began to woo him.
She told the youngling3 how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to4 her, she fell to him.
‘Even thus’, quoth she, ‘the warlike god embraced me’,
And then she clipped6 Adonis in her arms:
‘Even thus’, quoth she, ‘the warlike god unlaced7 me’,
As if the boy should use like8 loving charms:
‘Even thus’, quoth she, ‘he seizèd on9 my lips’,
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetchèd11 breath, away he skips
And would not take12 her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay13,
To kiss and clip14 me till I run away!
[12]
Crabbèd1 age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance2, age is full of care,
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave4, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport5, age’s breath is short,
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold,
Youth is wild and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee: youth, I do adore thee.
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee. O, sweet shepherd, hie thee11,
For methinks thou stays12 too long.
[13]
Beauty is but a vain1 and doubtful good,
A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly,
A flower that dies when first it ’gins3 to bud,
A brittle glass that’s broken presently4,
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld7 or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress:
So beauty blemished once, forever lost,
In spite of physic12, painting, pain and cost.
[14]
Goodnight, good rest: ah, neither be my share.
She bade goodnight that kept my rest away,
And daffed me3 to a cabin hanged with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay4.
‘Farewell,’ quoth she, ‘and come again tomorrow’:
Fare6 well I could not, for I supped with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship nill I conster whether8:
’T may be she joyed to jest at my exile,
’T may be again to make me wander thither:
‘Wander’, a word for shadows like myself,
As12 take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east13!
My heart doth charge the watch14, the morning rise
Doth cite15 each moving sense from idle rest,
Not daring trust the office16 of mine eyes.
While Philomela17 sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays18 were tunèd like the lark.
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dreaming night:
The night so packed21, I post unto my pretty.
Heart hath his hope and eyes their wishèd sight;
Sorrow changed to solace and solace mixed with sorrow,
For why24 she sighed and bade me come tomorrow.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon,
But now are minutes added to the hours.
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon27,
Yet28 not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.
Pack night, peep day. Good day, of night now borrow:
Short30 night tonight and length thyself tomorrow.
Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music
[15]
It was a lording1’s daughter, the fairest one of three,
That likèd of her master2 as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the combat doubtful5 that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless or kill the gallant knight,
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite7
Unto the silly8 damsel!
But one must be refusèd: more mickle9 was the pain
That nothing could be usèd to turn them both to gain10,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain11,
Alas, she could not help it!
Thus art13 with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:
Then, lullaby15, the learnèd man hath got the lady gay,
For now my song is ended.
[16]
On a day, alack the day,
Love whose month was ever May
Spied a blossom passing3 fair,
Playing in the wanton4 air.
Through the velvet leaves5 the wind
All unseen ’gan passage find,
That7 the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heavens’ breath.
‘Air9,’ quoth he, ‘thy cheeks may blow:
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas, my hand hath sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn12:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet13,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet14.
Thou for whom Jove15 would swear
Juno16 but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove17,
Turning mortal for thy love.’
[17]
My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
My rams speed2 not, all is amiss:
Love is dying, faith’s defying3,
Heart’s denying4, causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady’s love is lost, God wot6.
Where her faith was firmly fixed in love,
There a ‘nay’ is placed without remove8.
One silly9 cross wrought all my loss,
O frowning Fortune, cursèd fickle dame,
For now I see inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall14:
Heart is bleeding, all help needing,
O cruel speeding16, fraughted with gall.
My shepherd’s pipe can sound no deal17,
My wether18’s bell rings doleful knell,
My curtal19 dog that wont to have played,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid —
With sighs so deep procures21 to weep,
In howling wise22, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound through heartless ground23,
Like a thousand vanquished men in bloody fight.
Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye26,
Herds stand weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains29,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet love, thy like ne’er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my woe.
Poor Corydon35 must live alone:
Other help for him I see that there is none.
[18]
When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stalled2 the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame3,
As well as fancy4, partial might.
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed6.
And when thou com’st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filèd8 talk,
Lest she some subtle practice9 smell —
A cripple soon can find a halt10 —
But plainly say thou lov’st her well,
And set her person forth to sale12.
And to her will frame all thy ways:
Spare not to spend14, and chiefly there
Where thy desert15 may merit praise
By ringing16 in thy lady’s ear.
The strongest castle, tower and town,
The golden bullet18 beats it down.
Serve always with assurèd trust
And in thy suit be humble true,
Unless thy lady prove unjust21
Press22 never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack23
To proffer, though she put thee back24.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere26 night,
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled28 her delight,
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away30.
What though she strive to try her strength
And ban32 and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
‘Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.’
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys39 that in them lurk,
The cock40 that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
‘A woman’s “nay” doth stand for naught42’?
Think women still to strive with men,
To sin and never for to saint43:
There45 is no heaven, be holy then,
When time with age shall them attaint46.
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But, soft49, enough, too much, I fear,
Lest that my mistress hear my song:
She will not stick51 to round me on the ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long,
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewrayed54.
[19]
Live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove2
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals8.
There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle11
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle12.
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.
LOVE’S ANSWER17
If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
[20]
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles4 made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring,
Every thing did banish moan7,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Leaned her breast up till a thorn10,
And there sung the dolefull’st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
‘Fie, fie, fie,’ now would she cry,
‘Tereu, Tereu14!’ by and by:
That to hear her so complain15,
Scarce I could from tears refrain,
For her griefs so lively17 shown
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn’st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee,
King Pandion23 he is dead,
All thy friends are lapped in lead24,
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled28.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find:
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend,
But if store of crowns35 be scant,
No man will supply thy want36.
If that one be prodigal37,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering,
‘Pity but he were a king.’40
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice.
If to women he be bent43,
They have at commandement44.
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawned on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow he will weep,
If thou wake52 he cannot sleep,
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flatt’ring foe.
“TO THE QUEEN”
As the dial1 hand tells o’er
The same hours it had before,
Still beginning in the ending,
Circular account still lending,
So, most mighty Queen we pray,
Like the dial day by day
You may lead the seasons on,
Making new when old are gone,
That the babe which now is young
And hath yet no use of ton
gue
Many a Shrovetide11 here may bow
To that empress I do now,
That the children of these lords,
Sitting at your council boards14,
May be grave and agèd seen
Of her that was their fathers’ queen.
Once I wish this wish again,
Heaven subscribe it with ‘Amen’.
“LET THE BIRD OF
LOUDEST LAY”
LET the bird of loudest1 lay
On the sole Arabian tree
Herald sad and trumpet3 be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger5,
Foul precurrer6 of the fiend,
Augur7 of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session9 interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing10,
Save11 the eagle, feathered king:
Keep the obsequy12 so strict.
Let the priest in surplice13 white,
That defunctive14 music can,
Be the death-divining15 swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right16.
And thou treble-dated17 crow,
That thy sable gender18 mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
’Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem21 doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix23 and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame24 from hence.
So they loved, as25 love in twain
Had the essence but in one26,
Two distincts27, division none:
Number28 there in love was slain.
Hearts remote29, yet not asunder;
Distance30 and no space was seen
’Twixt this turtle and his queen:
The Sonnets and Other Poems Page 14