What wonder then, if with such rage extreme Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more,
Fraile men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to By so hard handling those which best thee
At sight thereof so much enravisht bee?
Which well perceiving, that imperious boy
Doth therwith tip his sharp empoisned darts,
Which glancing through the eyes with coun-
[harts,
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling
And kindled flame in all their inner parts,
Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the
lyfe,
Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe.
Thenceforth they playne, and make ful piteous
That, ere thou doest them unto grace restore, Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve, And mayest them make it better to deserve, For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme. And, having got it, may it more esteeme; So hard those heavenly beauties he enfyred As things divine, least passions doe impresse, The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred, The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse; But baseborne mynds such lamps regard the Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre ; lesse, Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre. For love is Lord of truth and loialtie, [daine; Lifting himselfe out of the lowly dust Their lives they loath, and heavens light dis- On golden plumes up to the purest skie, No light but that, whose lampe doth yet remaine Fresh burning in the image of their eye, They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye. That whilst thou tyrant Love doest laugh and
Unto the author of their balefull bane:
The daies they waste, the nights they grieve and grone,
Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust,
Whose base affect through cowardly distrust
Of his weake wings dare not to heaven fly,
But like a moldwarpe in the earth doth ly.
[play, His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves
At their complaints, making their paine thy
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals for-
lorne,
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay;
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay,
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her
Whose love before their life they doe prefer.
So hast thou often done (ay me, the more!)
To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart
With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so
That whole remaines scarse any little part;
Yet, to augment the anguish of my smart,
Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest,
That no one drop of pitie there doth rest.
Why then do I this honor unto thee,
Thus to ennoble thy victorious name,
Since thou doest shew no favour unto mee,
Ne once move ruth in that rebellious Dame,
Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame?
Certes small glory doest thou winne hereby,
To let her live thus free, and me to dy.
But if thou be indeede. as men thee call,
The worlds great Parent, the most kind pre
Of living wights, the soveraine Lord of all,
How falles it then that with thy furious fer-
Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver,
As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize,
And on thy subjects most doest tyrannize?
To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre,
Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure
The flaming light of that celestiall fyre
Which kindleth love in generous desyre,
And makes him mount above the native might
Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight,
Such is the powre of that sweet passion,
That it all sordid basenesse doth expell,
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion
Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell
In his high thought, that would it selfe excell,
Which he beholding still with constant sight,
Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.
Whose image printing in his deepest wit,
He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy,
Still full, yet never satisfyde with it;
Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly,
So doth he pine in most satiety;
For nought may quench his infinite desyre,
Once kindled through that first conceived fyre.
Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is,
Ne thinks on ought but how it to attaine;
That ser es in it all blisses to containe,
His care, his joy, his hope, is all on this,
In sight whereof all other blisse seemes vaine :
Thrise happie man! might he the same pos-
He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blesse.
And though he do not win his wish to end,
Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth weene,
That heavens such happie grace did to him The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare,
As thing on earth so heavenly to have seene
His harts enshrined saint, his heavens queene,
Fairer then fairest, in his fayning eye,
Whose sole aspect he counts felicitye.
The vaine surmizes, the distrustfull showes,
The false reports that flying tales doe beare,
The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the
The fayned friends, the unassured foes, [tell,
With thousands more then any tongue can
Doe make a lovers life a wretches hell.
Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought, What he may do, her favour to obtaine; What brave exploit, what perill hardly Yet is there one more cursed then they all, wrought [paine, That cancker-worme, that monster, Gelosie, What puissant conquest, what adventurous Which eates the hart and feedes upon the gall, May please her best, and grace unto him Turning all loves delight to miserie,
Through feare of loosing his felicitié.
Ah, Gods! that ever ye that monster placed
In gentle love, that all his joyes defaced!
By these, O Love! thou doest thy entrance
make
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares,
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he beares.
Thou art his god, thou art his mige guyde,
Thou, being blind, letst him not see his feares,
But cariest him to that which he hath eyde, Unto thy heaven, and doest the more endeere
Through seas, through flames, through thou-Thy pleasures unto those which them partake,
[stand, As after stormes, when clouds begin to cleare,
Ne ought so strong that may his force with- The Sunne more bright and glorious doth ap-
With which thou armest his resistlesse hand.
Witnesse Leander in the Euxine waves,
And stout Eneas in the Trojane fyre,
Achilles preassing through the Phrygian
glaives,
And Orpheus, daring to provoke the yre
Of damned fiends, to get his love retyre; [way
For both through heaven and hell thou makest
To win them worship which to thee obay.
And if, by all these perils and these paynes,
He may but purchase lyking in her eye,
What heavens of joy then to himselfe
faynes!
Eftsoones he wypes quite out of memory
Whatever ill before he did aby:
Had it bene death, yet would he die againe,
To live thus happie as her grace to gaine.
Yet, when he hath found favour to his will,
He nathëmore can so contented rest,
But forceth further on, and striveth still
T'approch more neare, till in her inmost
brest
He may embosomd bee and loved best;
And yet not best, but to be lov'd alone;
For love can not endure a Paragone.
So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie
Dost beare unto thy blisse, and heavens glorie.
There thou them placest in a Paradize
Of all delight and joyous happie rest,
Where they doe feede on Nectar heavenly-wize,
With Hercules and Hebe, and the rest
Of Venus dearlings, through her bountie blest;
And lie like Gods in yvorie beds arayd,
With rose and lillies over them displayd.
There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe
play
[blame,
Their hurtles se sports, without rebuke or
And in her snowy bosome boldly lay
Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame,
After full joyance of their gentle game;
Then her they crowne their Goddesse and their
Queene,
And decke with floures thy altars well beseene.
Ay me! deare Lord! that ever I might hope,
For all the paines and woes that I endure,
To come at length unto the wished scope
Of my desire, or might myselfe assure
That happie port for ever to recure!
Then would I thinke these paines no paines at
And all my woes to be but penance small.
The feare whereof, O how doth it torment
His troubled mynd with more ther hellish Then would I sing of thine immortall praise
paine!
An heavenly Hymne, such as the Angels sing,
And to his fayning fansie represent [vaine, And thy triumphant name then would I raise
Sights never seene, and thousand shadowes Bove all the gods, thee onely honoring
To breake his sleepe, and waste his ydle braine: My guide, my God, my victor, and my king:
Thou that hast never lov'd canst not beleeve Till then, dread Lord! vouchsafe to take of me
Least part of th' evils which po ore lovers This simple song, thus fram'd in praise of
thee.
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.
AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.
AH! whither, Love! wilt thou now carrie mee?
What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?
Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,
Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre,
And up aloft above my strength doest rayse
The wondrous matter of my fyre to prayse.
That as I earst, in praise of thine owne name,
So now in honour of thy Mother deare,
An honourable Hymne I eke should frame,
And, with the brightnesse of her beautie cleare,
The ravisht harts of gazefull men might reare
To admiration of that heavenly light,
From whence proceeds such soule-enchaunting
might.
So it more faire accordingly it makes,
And the grosse matter of this earthly myne
Which clotheth it thereafter doth refyne,
Doing away the drosse which dims the light
Of that faire beame which therein is empight.
For, through infusion of celestiall powre,
The duller earth it quickneth with delight,
And life-full spirits privily doth powre
Through all the parts, that to the lookers sight
They seeme to please; That is thy soveraine
might,
[beame
O Cyprian Queene! which flowing from the
Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest
That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace
Therto do thou, great Goddesse! Queene of To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre,
Mother of love, and of all worlds delight, Without whose soverayne grace and kindly dewty
Nothing on earth seemes fayre to fleshly sight, Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling light
T'illuminate my dim and dulled eyne,
And beautifie this sacred hymne of thyne:
That both to thee, to whom I meane it most,
And eke to her, whose faire inimortall beame
Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost,
That now it wasted is with woes extreame,
It may so please, that she at length will streame
Some deaw of grace into my withered hart,
After long sorrow and consuming smart.
WHAT TIME THIS WORLDS GREAT WORK-
To make al things such as we now behold,
It seemes that he before his eyes had plast
A goodly Paterne, to whose perfect mould
He fashiond them as comely as he could,
That now so faire and seemely they appeare,
As nought may be amended any wheare.
That wondrous Paterne, wheresoere it bee,
Whether in earth layd up in secret store,
Or else in heaven, that no man may it see
With sinfull eyes, for feare it to deflore,
Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore;
Whose face and feature doth so much excell
All mortall sence, that none the same may tell.
Thereof as every earthly thing partakes
Or more or lesse, by influence divine,
Light of thy lampe; which, shyning in the face,
Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre, And robs the harts of those which it admyre; Therewith thou pointest thy Sons poysned [marrow.
That wounds the life, and wastes the inmost
How vainely then doe ydle wits invent,
That beautie is nought else but mixture made
Of colours faire, and goodly temp'rament
Of pure complexions, that shall quickly fade
And
passe away, like to a sommers shade;
Or that it is but comely composition
Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition!
Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre,
That it can pierce through th' eyes unto the
hart,
[stowre,
And therein stirre such rage and restlesse As nought but death can stint his dolours smart?
Or can proportion of the outward part
Move such affection in the inward mynd,
That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd?
Why doe not then the blossomes of the field,
Which are arayd with much more orient hew,
And to the sense most daintie odours yield,
Worke like impression in the lookers vew?
Or why doe not faire pictures like powre shew,
In which oft-times we nature see of art
Exceld, in perfect limming every part?
But ah! beleeve me there is more then so,
That workes such wonders in the minds of
men;
I, that have often prov'd, too well it know,
And who so list the like assayes to ken,
Shall find by try all, and confesse it then,
That Beautie is not, as fond men misdeeme,
An outward shew of things that onely seeme.
For that same goodly hew of white and red,
With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shal
decay,
Therefore where-ever that thou doest behold
A comely corpse, with beautic faire endewed,
Know this for certaine, that the same doth
hold
A beauteous soule, with faire conditions thewed,
Fit to receive the seede of vertue strewed;
For all that faire is, is by nature good;
That is a signe to know the gentle blood.
And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairely spred Yet oft it falles that many a gentle mynd
Up: n the lips, shali fade and fall away
Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd,
To that they were, even to corrupted clay : Either by chaunce, against the course of kynd,
That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so Or through unaptnesse in the substance
Shall turne to dust, and loose their goodly light. Which it assumed of some stubborne grownd, But is deform'd with some foule imperfection. That will not yield unto her formes direction,
But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray
That light proceedes, which kindleth lovers
Shall never be extinguisht nor decay; [fire,
But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre,
Unto her native planet shall retyre;
For it is heavenly borne and can not die,
Being a parcell of the purest skie.
For when the soule, the which derived was,
And oft it falles, (aye me, the more to rew!)
That goodly beautie, albe heavenly borne,
Is foule abusd, and that celestiail hew,
Which doth the world with her delight adorne,
Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners scorne,
Whilest every one doth seeke and sew to have
it,
At first, out of that great immortall Spright, But every one doth seeke but to deprave it.
By whom all live to love, whilome did pas
Downe from the top of purest heavens hight
To be embodied here, it then tooke light
And lively spirits from that fayrest starre
Which lights the world forth from his firie
The most resemblance of that heavenly light,
Frame to themselves most beautifull and
brave
Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their delight,
And the grosse matter by a soveraine might
Tempers so trim, that it may well be seene
A pallace fit for such a virgin Queene.
So every spirit, as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer bodie doth procure
To habit in, and it more fairely dight
With chearefull grace and amiable sight;
For of the soule the bodie forme doth take;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make.
Yet nathëmore is that faire beauties blame,
But theirs that do abuse it unto ill:
Nothing so good, but that through guilty
shame
May be corrupt, and wrested unto will:
Nathelesse the soule is faire and beauteous
still,
How ever fleshes fault it filthy make;
For things immortall no corruption take.
But ye, faire Dames! the worlds deare orna-
Kindled of yours, your likenesse doth display;
Like as two mirrours, by opposd reflexion,
Doe both expresse the faces first impression.
Therefore, to make your beautie more appeare,
It you behoves to love, and forth to lay
That heavenly riches which in you ye beare,
That men the more admyre their fountaine
And adde more brightnesse to your goodly hew, And with his spirits proportion to agree,
From light of his pure fire; which, by like He thereon fixeth all his fantasie,
And fully setteth his felicitie;
Counting it fairer then it is indeede,
And yet indeede her fairenesse doth exceede.
For lovers eyes more sharply sighted bee
Then other mens, and in deare loves delight
See more then any other eyes can see,
Through mutuall receipt of beamës bright,
Which carrie privie message to the spright,
And to their eyes that inmost faire display,
As plaine as light discovers dawning day.
Therein they see, through amorous eye-
glaunces,
For else what booteth that celestiall ray,
If it in darknesse be enshrined ever,
That it of loving eyes be vewed never?
Armies of Loves still flying too and fro,
Which dart at them their litle fierie launces;
But, in your choice of Loves, this well advize,
That likest to your selves ye them select,
The which your forms first sourse may sym-Whom having wounded, backe againe they go,
And with like beauties parts be inly deckt ;
For, if you loosely love without respect,
It is no love, but a discordant warre,
Whose unlike parts amongst themselves
jarre.
For Love is a celestiall harmonie
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe;
Who, seeing her faire eyes so sharpe effect,
Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete
In which how many wonders doe they reede
To their conceipt, that others never see!
Now of her smiles, with which their soules
they feede,
Like Gods with Nectar in their bankets free;
Now of her lookes, which like to Cordials bee;
Of likely harts composd of starres concent,
Which joyne together in sweete sympathie,
To worke ech others joy and true content,
Which they have harbourd since their first But when her words embassade forth she sends,
[see Lord, how sweete musicke that unto them
Out of their heavenly bowres, where they did
And know ech other here belov'd to bee.
Then wrong it were that any other twaine
Should in loves gentle band combyned bee
But those whom heaven did at first ordaine,
And made out of one mould the more t' agree;|
For all, that like the beautie which they see.
Streight do not love; for Love is not so light
As streight to burne at first beholders sight.
But they, which love indeede, looke otherwise,
With pure regard and spotlesse true intent,
Drawing out of the object of their eyes
A more refyned forme, which they present
Unto their mind, voide of all blemishment;
Which it reducing to her first perfection,
Beholdeth free from fleshes frayle infection.
And then conforming it unto the light,
Which in it selfe it hath remaining still,
Of that first Sunne, yet sparckling in his sight,
Thereof he fashions in his higher skill
An heavenly beautie to his fancies will;
And, it embracing in his mind entyre,
The mirrour of his owne thought doth admyre.
Which seeing now so inly faire to be,
As outward it appeareth to the eye,
Sometimes upon her forhead they behold
A thousand Graces masking in delight;
Sometimes within her eye-lids they unfold
Ten thousand sweet belgards, which to their
sight
[night;
Doe, seeme like twinckling starres in frostie
But on her lips, like rosy buds in May,
So many millions of chaste pleasures play.
All those, O Cytherea! and thousands more
Thy handmaides be, which do on thee attend,
To decke thy beautie with their dainties store,
That may it more to mortall eyes commend,
And make it more admyr'd of foe and frend;
That in mens harts thou mayst thy throne
enstall,
And spred thy lovely kingdome over-all.
Then Iö, tryumph! O great Beauties Queene,
Advance the banner of thy conquest hie,
That all this world, the which thy vassals
|