That heavens such happie grace did to him
lend,
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 gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare,
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 felicitic.
Ah, Gods! that ever ye that monster placed
In gentle love, that all his joyes defaced!
By these, O Love! thou doest thy entrance
He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares,
His faith, his fortune, in his breast he beares.
Thou art his god, thou art his mightie 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,
sand swords and speares; [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 he
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
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 display'd.
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! [all,
Then would I thinke these paines no paines at
And all my woes to be but penance small,
He may embosomd bee and loved best;
And yet not best, but to be lov'd alone;
For love can not endure a Paragone.
The feare whereof, O how doth it torment
His troubled mynd with more then 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.
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
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 immortall 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-
MAISTER DID CAST
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 tryall, 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,
And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairely spred
Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away
To that they were, even to corrupted clay :
That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so
bright,
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.
Yet oft it falles that many a gentle mynd
Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd,
Either by chaunce, against the course of kynd,
Or through unaptnesse in the substance
fownd,
Shall turne to dust, and loose their goodly light. Which it assumed of somes tubborne grownd,
But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray But is deform'd with some foule imperfection.
That will not yield unto her formes direction,
That light proceedes, which kindleth lovers
Shall never be extinguisht nor decay;
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,
[fire, And oft it falles, (aye me, the more to rew!)
That goodly beautie, albe heavenly borne,
Is foule abusd, and that celestiall hew,
Which doth the world with her delight adorne,
Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners scorne,
Whilest every one doth sceke and sew to have
But every one doth secke but to deprave it.
it,
Yet nathëmore is that faire beauties blame,
But theirs that do abuse it unto ill:
Nothing so good, but that through guilty
shame
At first, out of that great immortall Spright,
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 firic
Which powre retayning still or more or lesse,
When she in fleshly seede is eft enraced,
Through every part she doth the same
presse,
May be corrupt, and wrested unto will:
Nathelesse the soule is faire and beauteous
still,
im-How ever fleshes fault it filthy make;
For things immortall no corruption take.
According as the heavens have her graced,
And frames her house, in which she will be
placed,
Fit for her selfe, adorning it with spoyle
Of th' heavenly riches which she robd erc-
whyle.
Therof it comes that these faire soules, which
have
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.
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,
way
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
may;
For else what booteth that celestiall ray,
If it in darknesse be enshrined ever,
That it of loving eyes be vewed never?
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-
pathize,
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 do!
jarre.
For Love is a celestiall harmonie
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
descent
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 beames 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,
Armies of Loves still flying too and fro,
Which dart at them their litle fierie launces;
Whom having wounded, backe againe they go,
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe;
Who, seeing her faire eyes so sharpe effect,
Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete
aspect.
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; But when her words embassade forth she sends, [see Lord, how sweete musicke that unto them lends!
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 sec,
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.
Advance the banner of thy conquest hie,
Then Iö, tryumph! O great Beauties Queene,
That all this world, the which thy vassals
May draw to thee, and with dew fealtie
Adore the powre of thy great Majestie,
Singing this Hymne in honour of thy name,
Compyld by me, which thy poore liegeman am!
In lieu whereof graunt, O great Soveraine!
That she, whose conquering beautie doth
captive
My trembling hart in her eternall chaine,
One drop of grace at length will to me give,
That I her bounden thrall by her may live,
And this same life, which first fro me she
reaved,
May owe to her, of whom I it receaved,
And you, faire Venus dearling, my deare dread! Fresh flowre of grace, great Goddesse of my life,
[read, When your faire eyes these fearefull lines shal Deigne to let fall one drop of dew reliefe, That may recure my harts long pyning griefe, And shew what wondrous powre your beauty hath,
That can restore a damned wight from death.
AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE.
LOVE, lift me up upon thy golden wings,
From this base world unto thy heavens hight,
Where I may see those admirable things
Which there thou workest by thy soveraine
might,
Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight,
That I thereof an heavenly Hymne may sing
Unto the God of Love, high heavens king.
Many lewd layes (ah! woe is me the more!)
In praise of that mad fit which fooles call
love,
I have in th' heat of youth made heretofore,
That in light wits did loose affection move;
But all those follies now I do reprove,
And turned have the tenor of my string,
The heavenly prayses of true love to sing.
And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire
With him he raignd, before all time prescribed,
In endlesse glorie and immortall might,
Together with that third from them derived,
Most wise, most holy, most almightie Spright!
Whose kingdomes throne no thought of
earthly wight
[verse
Can comprehend, much lesse my trembling
With equall words can hope it to reherse.
Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lampe of
light,
Eternall spring of grace and wisedome trew,
Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright
Some little drop of thy celestiall dew,
That may my rymes with sweet infuse em-
brew,
And give me words equall unto my thought,
To tell the marveiles by thy mercie wrought.
To reade my fault, and, wondring at my flame, Yet being pregnant still with powrefull grace, To warme your selves at my wide sparckling And full of fruitfull love, that loves to get fire, [blame, Things like himselfe, and to enlarge his race, Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my His second brood, though not in powre so And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame; For who my passed follies now pursewes, Yet full of beautie, next he did beget Beginnes his owne, and my old fault renewes. An infinite increase of Angels bright, BEFORE THIS WORLDS GREAT FRAME, in All glistring glorious in their Makers light. To them the heavens illimitable hight (Not this round heaven, which we from hence behold,
Are now containd, found any being-place,
Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings
About that mightie bound which doth em-
brace
[by space,
The rolling Spheres, and parts their houres
That High Eternall Powre, which now doth
In all these things, moy'd in it selfe by love.
It lov'd it selfe, because it selfe was faire;
(For faire is lov'd ;) and of it selfe begot,
Like to it selfe his eldest sonne and heire,
Eternall, pure, and voide of sinfull blot,
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot
Of loves dislike or pride was to be found,
Whom he therefore with equall honour
Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light,
And with ten thousand gemmes of shyning
gold,)
He gave as their inheritance to hold,
That they might serve him in eternall blis,
And be partakers of those joyes of his.
There they in their trinall triplicities
About him wait, and on his will depend,
Either with nimble wings to cut the skies,
When he them on his messages doth send,
Or on his owne dread presence to attend,
Where they behold the glorie of his light,
And caroll Hymnes of love both day and
night.
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