AMORETTI i: xl: lxx: lxxv HAPPY ye leaves when as those lilly hands, which hold my life in their dead doing might, shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands, lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. And happy lines, on which with starry light, those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright, written with teares in harts close bleeding book. And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke, of Helicon whence she derived is, when ye behold that Angels blessed looke, my soules long lacked foode, my heavens blis. Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone, whom if ye please, I care for other none. MARK when she smiles with amiable cheare, and tell me whereto can ye lyken it : when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare an hundred Graces as in shade to sit. Lykest it seemeth in my simple wit unto the fayre sunshine in somers day: that when a dreadfull storme away is flit, thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray, and every beast that to his den was fled comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, and to the light lift up theyr drouping hed. So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared, with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared. FRESH spring the herald of loves mighty king in whose cote armour richly are displayd all sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring in goodly colours gloriously arrayd. Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd, yet in her winters bowre not well awake: tell her the joyous time wil not be staid unlesse she doe him by the forelock take. Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, to wayt on love amongst his lovely crew: where every one that misseth then her make, shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make hast therefore sweet love, whilest it is prime, for none can call againe the passed time. ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand, but came the waves and washed it away: agayne I wrote it with a second hand, but came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay, a mortall thing so to immortalize, for I my selve shall lyke to this decay, and eek my name bee wyped out lykewize. Not so, (quod I) let baser things devize to dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: my verse your vertues rare shall eternize, and in the hevens wryte your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdew our love shall live, and later life renew. EPITHALAMION YE learned sisters which have oftentimes Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, Your dolefull dreriment. Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside, And having all your heads with girland crownd, So I unto my selfe alone will sing, The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring. Early before the worlds light giving lampe, My truest turtle dove, Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, And long since ready forth his maske to move, With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake, And many a bachelor to waite on him, In theyr fresh garments trim. ΙΟ 20 Bid her awake therefore and soone her dight, 30 Pay to her usury of long delight : Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, That all the woods may answer and your eccho ring. Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare For my fayre love of lillyes and of roses, And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, And diapred lyke the discolored mead. Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, For she will waken strayt, The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing, The woods shall to you answer and your Eccho ring. Ye Nymphes of Mulla which with carefull heed, Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light, 40 50 60 And eke ye lightfoot mayds which keepe the deere, And the wylde wolves which seeke them to devoure, With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer 70 Be also present heere, To helpe to decke her and to help to sing, That all the woods may answer and your eccho ring. Wake, now my love, awake; for it is time, Hark how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft, The thrush replyes, the Mavis descant playes, Ah my deere love why doe ye sleepe thus long, For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 80 90 That all the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring. My love is now awake out of her dreame, And her fayre eyes like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams But first come ye fayre houres which were begot 100 |