TO HER THAT IS MOST ASSURED TO HERSELF.
WEAK is the assurance that weak flesh reposeth
In her own powre, and scorneth other's aid;
That soonest falls, when as she most supposeth
Her self-assured, and is of nought afraid.
All flesh is frail, and all her strength unstaid,
Like a vain bubble blowen up with air;
Devouring Time and changeful Chance have preyed,
Her glorious pride, that none may it repair.
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fair,
But faileth, trusting on his own assurance;
And he that standeth on the highest stair
Falls lowest; for on earth nought hath endurance.
Why then do ye, proud Fair! misdeem so farr,
That to yourself ye most assured are ?
THRICE happy she that is so well assured,
Unto herself, and settled so in heart,
That neither will for better be allured
Ne fears to worse with any chance to start,
But like a steddy ship, doth strongly part
The raging waves, and keeps her course aright;
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart,
Ne ought for fairer weather's false delight.
Such self-assurance need not fear the spight
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends;
But in the stay of her own stedfast might,
Neither to one herself nor other bends.
Most happy shee that most assured doth rest,
But he most happy who such one loves hest.
THE glorious image of the Maker's beauty,
My sovereign Saint! the idol of my thought,
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of duty,
T'accuse of pride, or rashly blame for ought;
For being, as she is, divinely wrought,
And of the brood of angels heavenly born,
And with the crew of blessed saints upbrought,
Each of which did her with her gifts adorn,
The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn,
The beam of light, whom mortal eyes admire,
What reason is it then but she should scorn
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire?
Such heav'nly forms ought rather worshipt be,
Than dare be loved by men of low degree.
THE weary Year his race now having run,
The new begins his compast course anew;
With shew of morning mild he hath begun,
Betokening peace and plenty to ensue.
So let us, which this change of weather view,
Change eke our minds, and former lives amend;
The old year's sins forepast, let us eschew,
And fly the faults with which we did offend:
Then shall the new year's joy forth freshly send
Into the glooming world his gladsom ray,
And all these storms which now his beauty blend,
Shall turn to calms, and timely clear away.
So likewise, Love! chear you your heavy spight,
And change old year's annoy to new delight.
AFTER long storms and tempests' sad assay,
Which hardly I endured heretofore,
In dread of death and dangerous dismay,
With which my silly bark was tossèd sore,
I do at length descry the happy shore,
In which I hope ere long for to arrive;
Fair soil it seems from far, and fraught with store
Of all that dear and dainty is alive.
Most happy he that can at last atchieve
The joyous safety of so sweet a rest,
Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive
Remembrance of all pains which him opprest.
All pains are nothing in respect of this,
All sorrows short that gain eternal bliss.
THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love! is vain,
That fondly fear to lose your liberty,
When losing one, two liberties ye gain,
And make him bound that bondage erst did fly. Sweet be the bands the which true Love doth tye, Without constraint or dread of any ill;
The gentle bird feels no captivity
Within her cage, but sings and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath bound,
But simple truth and mutual goodwill
Seeks with sweet peace to salve each other's wound; There Faith doth fearless dwell in brazen towre, And spotless Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.
LIKE as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escape away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguiled of their prey;
So after long pursute and vain assay,
When I all weary had the chace forsook,
The gentle deer returned the self-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook;
There she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own good will her firmly tide :
Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wild
So goodly wone, with her own will beguiled.
FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king,
In whose coat-armour richly are displaid
All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayed,
Go to my love, where she is careless laid,
Yet in her winter's bowre not well awake,
Tell her the joyous Time will not be staid,
Unless she do him by the forelock take:
Bid her, therefore, her self soon ready make
To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew,
Where every one that misseth then her make
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make haste, therefore, sweet Love! whilst it is prime,
For none can call again the passèd time.
I JOY to see how in your drawen work
Yourself unto the bee ye do compare,
And me unto the spider, that doth lurk
In close await to catch her unaware:
Right so yourself were caught in cunning snare
Of a dear foe, and thralled to his love,
In whose straight bands ye now captived are
So firmly, that ye never may remove :
But as your work is woven all about
With woodbind flowres and fragrant eglantine,
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove,
With many dear delights bedecked fine,
And all thenceforth eternal peace shall see
Between the spider and the gentle bee.
OFT when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings, In mind to mount up to the purest sky,
It down is weighed with thought of earthly things,
And clogged with burden of mortality,
Where when that sovereign beauty it doth spy,
Resembling heaven's glory in her light,
Drawn with sweet pleasure's bait it back doth fly,
And unto heaven forgets her former flight.
There my frail fancy, fed with full delight,
Doth bathe in bliss, and mantleth most at ease,
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might
Her heart's desire with most contentment please.
Heart need not wish none other happiness,
But here on earth to have such heaven's bliss.
|