A COMPLAINT BY NIGHT OF THE LOVER
LAS! so all things now do hold their
peace!
Heaven and earth disturbed in nothing;
The beasts, the air, the birds their song
The nightès car1 the stars about doth bring.
Calm is the sea; the waves work less and less :
So am not I, whom love, alas! doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing,
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful case.
For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring;
But by and by, the cause of my disease
Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting,
When that I think what grief it is again,
To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.
HOW EACH THING, SAVE THE LOVER IN
SPRING, REVIVETH TO PLEASURE.
ZHEN Windsor walls sustain'd my
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head;
The pleasant plot revested green with warm;
The blossom'd boughs, with lusty Ver1 y-spread;
The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late
Mine eyes discover; and to my mind resort
The jolly woes, the hateless, short debate,
The rakehell2 life, that 'longs to love's disport.
Wherewith, alas! the heavy charge of care
Heap'd in my breast breaks forth, against my will,
In smoky sighs, that overcast the air.
My vapour'd eyes such dreary tears distil,
The tender spring which quicken where they fall; And I half bent to throw me down withal.
A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSO
ET me whereas the sun doth parch the
Or where his beams do not dissolve the
In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen;
In presence prest of people, mad, or wise;
Set me in high, or yet in low degree;
In longest night, or in the shortest day;
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be;
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray:
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,
3 Cf. Petrarch, Parte Prima, Son. 113; and Horace, Lib. i. Ode 22.
i. e. in the presence of a crowd of people.
In hill, or dale, or in the foaming flood;
Thrall,1 or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good,
Her's will I be; and only with this thought Content myself, although my chance be nought.
AFTER SHE KNEW HIS LOVE, KEPT HER FACE
NEVER saw my Lady lay apart
Her cornet black, in cold nor yet in
heat,
Sith first she knew my grief was grown
so great;
Which other fancies driveth from my heart,
That to myself I do the thought reserve,
The which unwares did wound my woful breast;
But on her face mine eyes might never rest;
Yet, since she knew I did her love and serve,
Her golden tresses clad alway with black,
Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore,
And that restrains which I desire so sore.
So doth this cornet govern me, alack!
In summer, sun, in winter's breath, a frost;
Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost.
2 A head dress, with a hood or veil attached to it.
REQUEST TO HIS LOVE TO JOIN BOUNTY
HE golden gift that Nature did thee give,
To fasten friends, and feed them at thy
With form and favour, taught me to believe,
How thou art made to shew her greatest skill.
Whose hidden virtues are not so unknown,
But lively domes 1 might gather at the first
Where beauty so her perfect seed hath sown,
Of other graces follow needs there must.
Now certes, Garret, since all this is true,
That from above thy gifts are thus elect,
Do not deface them then with fancies new;
Nor change of minds, let not thy mind infect:
But mercy him thy friend that doth thee serve,
Who seeks alway thine honour to preserve.
1 Judgments, or opinions.
2 Dr. Nott observes, "The first quarto and all the other editions, except the second and third quartos, read Now certes, Lady.' Why the genuine reading given in the text should have ever been suppressed it is difficult to say. The Fitz-Gerald family almost always wrote their name Garret. The Fair Geraldine, when attending on the Princess Mary, was always called Garret: and she herself in her Will designates her sister, the Lady Margaret Fitz-Gerald, The Lady Margaret Garret.""
PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH
HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.
O cruel prison how could betide, alas, As proud Windsor? where I, in lust and joy,
With a King's son, my childish years
In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy.
Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour.
The large green courts, where we were wont to
With cast
eyes
into the Maiden's tower,
up
And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love.
The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue.
The dances short, long tales of great delight;
With words and looks that tigers could but rue;
Where each of us did plead the other's right.
The palme-play, where, despoiled for the game,
With dazzled eyes oft we by gleams of love
Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame,
To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above.
The gravel'd ground, with sleeves tied on the helm,
On foaming horse, with swords and friendly hearts;
With chere, as though one should another whelm,
Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts.
With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth,
In active games of nimbleness and strength,
Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth,
Our tender limbs, that yet shot up in length.
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