And when salt tears do bain my breast, Where Love his pleasant trains hath sown; Her beauty hath the fruits opprest,

Ere that the buds were sprong and blown.

And when mine eyen did still pursue
The flying chase of their request;
Their greedy looks did oft renew
The hidden wound within my breast.

When every look these cheeks might stain,
From deadly pale to glowing red;
By outward signs appeared plain,

The woe wherein my heart was fed.1

But all too late Love learneth me
To paint all kind of colours new ;
To blind their eyes that else should sce
My speckled cheeks with Cupid's hue.

And now the covert breast I claim,
That worshipp'd Cupid secretly;
And nourished his sacred flame,
From whence no blazing sparks do fiy.

Some editions read:

"To her for help my heart was fled."

DESCRIPTION OF THE FICKLE AFFEC

TIONS, PANGS, AND SLIGHTS
OF LOVE.

UCH wayward ways hath Love, that most part in discord

Our wills do stand, whereby our hearts

but seldom do accord.

Deceit is his delight, and to beguile and mock The simple hearts, whom he doth strike with froward, diverse stroke.

He causeth the one to rage with golden burning

dart;

And doth allay with leaden cold again the other's

heart.

Hot gleams of burning fire, and casy sparks of

flame,

In balance of unequal weight he pondereth by aim. From easy ford, where I might wade and pass full well,

He me withdraws, and doth me drive into a deep dark hell;

And me withholds where I am call'd and offer'd

place,

And wills me that my mortal foe I do beseech of

grace;

He lets me to pursue a conquest well near won, To follow where my pains were lost, ere that my suit begun.

So by this means I know how soon a heart may

turn

From war to peace, from truce to strife, and so again return.

I know how to content myself in others lust;
Of little stuff unto myself to weave a web of trust;
And how to hide my harms with soft dissembling
chere,

When in my face the painted thoughts would outwardly appear.

I know how that the blood forsakes the face for

dread;

And how by shame it stains again the cheeks with flaming red.

I know under the green, the serpent how he lurks The hammer of the restless forge I wot eke how it works.

I know, and can by rote the tale that I would tell ; But oft the words come forth awry of him that loveth well.

I know in heat and cold the lover how he shakes; In singing how he doth complain; in sleeping how he wakes.

To languish without ache, sickless for to consume, A thousand things for to devise, resolving all in

fume.

And though he list to see his lady's grace full sore; Such pleasures as delight his eye, do not his health

restore.

I know to seek the track of my desired foe,
And fear to find that I do seek. But chiefly this
I know,

That lovers must transform into the thing beloved,

And live, (alas! who could believe ?) with sprite from life removed.

I know in hearty sighs, and laughters of the spleen, At once to change my state, my will, and eke my colour clean.

I know how to deceive myself with others help; And how the lion chastised is, by beating of the whelp.

In standing near my fire, I know how that I freeze; Far off I burn; in both I waste, and so my life I

lese.

I know how love doth rage upon a yielding mind; How small a net may take, and meash a heart of gentle kind :

Or else with seldom sweet to season heaps of gall; Revived with a glimpse of grace, old sorrows to let fall.

The hidden trains I know, and secret snares of love; How soon a look will print a thought, that never may remove.

The slipper state I know, the sudden turns from wealth,

The doubtful hope, the certain woe, and sure despair of health.

COMPLAINT OF A LOVER THAT DEFIED

LOVE,

AND WAS BY LOVE AFTER THE MORE TORMENTED.

HEN summer took in hand the winter

to assail,

With force of might, and virtue great,

his stormy blasts to quail:

And when he clothed fair the earth about with

green,

And every tree new garmented, that pleasure was to seen:

Mine heart gan new revive, and changed blood

did stir,

Me to withdraw my winter woes, that kept within the dore.1

'Abroad,' quoth my desire, assay to set thy foot; Where thou shalt find the savour sweet; for sprong is every root.

And to thy health, if thou were sick in any case, Nothing more good than in the spring the air to feel a space.

There shalt thou hear and see all kinds of birds

y-wrought,

Well tune their voice with warble small, as nature hath them taught.'

Thus pricked me my lust the sluggish house to

leave,

1 Door.