melete

[art]

28

HOw can I then returne in happy plight
That am debard the benifit of rest?
When daies oppression is not eazd by night,
But day by night and night by day oprest.

And each(though enimes to ethers raigne)
Doe in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toyle, the other to complaine
How far I toyle, still farther off fro[M] the[E].

I te[L]l th[E] Day [T]o pl[E]ase him thou art bright,
And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heauen:
So flatter I the swart complexiond night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou guil'st th' eauen.

But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer,
And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme stronger.

102

MY love is strengthned though more weake in seeming
I love not lesse, thogh lesse the show appeare,
That love is marchandiz'd, whose ritch esteeming,
The owners tongue doth publish euery where.

Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my laies,
As Philomell in summers front doth singe,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper daies:

Not that the summer is lesse pleasant now
Then when her mournefull himns did hush the night,
But that wild musick burthens euery bow,
And sweets growne common loose their deare d[E]ligh[T].

Ther[E]fore [L]ike h[E]r, I so[M]e-time hold my tongue:
Because I would not dull you with my songe.

91

SOme glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill:
Some in their Hawkes and Hounds, some in their Horse.

And euery humor hath his adiunct pleasure,
Wherein it findes a ioy aboue the r[E]st,
But [T]hese p[E]rticu[L]ers ar[E] not my [M]easure,
All these I better in one generall best.

Thy love is bitter then high birth to me,
Richer then wealth, prouder then garments cost,
Of more delight then Hawkes or Horses bee:
And hauing thee, of all mens pride I boast.

Wretched in this alone, that thou maist take,
All this away, and me most wretched make.

25

LEt thos[E] who are in fauor with [T]heir stars,
Of publik[E] honour and proud tit[L]es bost,
Whilst I whom[E] fortune of such tryu[M]ph bars
Vnlookt for ioy in that I honour most;

Great Princes fauorites their faire leaues spread,
But as the Marygold at the suns eye,
And in them-selues their pride lies buried,
For at a frowne they in their glory die.

The painefull warrier famosed for worth,
After a thousand victories once foild,
Is from the booke of honour rased quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toild:

Then happy I that love and am beloued
Where I may not remoue, nor be remoued.


10

FOr shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy selfe art so vnprouident
Graunt if thou wilt, thou art belou'd of many,
But that thou none lou'st is most euident:

For thou art so possest with murdrous hate,
That gainst thy selfe thou stickst not to conspire,
Seeking that beautious roofe to ruinate
Which to repaire should be thy chi[E]fe [D]es[I]re :

[O] ch[A]nge thy thought, that I may change my minde,
Shall hate be fairer log'd then gentle love?
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
Or to thy selfe at least kind harted proue,

Make thee an other selfe for love of me,
That beauty still may liue in thine or thee.


134

SO now I haue confest that he is thine,
And I my selfe am morgag'd to thy will,
My selfe Ile forfeit, so that other mine,
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still:

But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art couetous, and he is kinde,
He learnd but suretie-like to write for me,
Vnder that bond that him as fast doth binde.

The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou vsurer that put'st forth all to vse,
And sue a friend, came debter for my sake,
So him I loose through my vnkinde abuse.

Him haue I lost, thou h[A]st b[O]th h[I]m an[D] me,
H[E] paies the whole, and yet am I not free.


51

THus can my love excuse the slow offence,
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,
From where thou art, why shoulld I hast me thence,
Till I returne of posting is noe need.

O what excuse will my poore beast then find,
When swift extremity can seeme but slow,
Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind,
In winged speed no motion shall I know,

Then c[A]n no h[O]rse w[I]th my [D]esir[E] keepe pace,
Therefore desire (of perfects love being made)
Shall naigh, noe dull flesh in his fiery race,
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my iade,

Since from thee going, he went wilfull slow,
Towards thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe.


19

DEuouring time blunt thou the Lyons pawes,
And make the earth deuoure her owne sweet brood,
Plucke the keene teeth from the fierce Tygers yawes,
And burne th[E] long liu'[D] Phaenix [I]n her blo[O]d,

Make gl[A]d and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do what ere thou wilt swift-footed time
To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
But I forbid thee one most hainous crime,

O carue not with thy howers my loves faire brow,
Nor draw noe lines there with thine antique pen,
Him in thy course vntainted doe allow,
For beauties patterne to succeding men.

Yet doe thy worst ould Time dispight thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse euer liue young.


16

BVt wherefore do not you a mightier waie
Make warre vppon this bloudie tirant time?
And fortifie your selfe in your decay
With meanes more blessed then my barren ri[M]e?

Now stand you o[N] the top of happi[E] houres,
And many [M]aiden gardens y[E]t vnset,
With vertuous wish would beare your liuing flowers,
Much liker then your painted counterfeit:

So should the lines of life that life repaire
Which this (Times pensel or my pupill pen)
Neither in inward worth nor outward faire
Can make you liue your selfe in eies of men,

To giue away your selfe, keeps your selfe still,
And you must liue drawne by your owne sweet skill,