WHEREAT erewhile I wept, I laugh;
That which I fear'd, I now despise ;
My victor once, my vassal is;
My foe constrain'd, my weal supplies:
Thus do I triumph on my foe;
I weep at weal, I laugh at woe.
My care is cur'd, yet hath no end;
Not that I want, but that I have;
My charge was change, yet still I stay;
I would have less, and yet I crave:
Ay me, poor wretch, that thus do live,
Constrain'd to take, yet forc'd to give !
She whose delights are signs of death,
Who, when she smiles, begins to lour, Constant in this, that still she change, Her sweetest gifts time proves but sour: I live in care, cross'd with her guile; Through her I weep, at her I smile.
Where chilling frost alate did nip,
There flasheth now a fire;
Where deep disdain bred noisome hate,
There kindleth now desire.
Time causeth hope to have his hap:
What care in time not eas'd?
In time I loath'd that now I love,
In both content and pleas'd.
VERSES WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF VENUS
HOLDING THE BALL THAT BROUGHT TROY TO
RUIN.
WHEN Nature forg'd the fair unhappy mould,
Wherein proud beauty took her matchless shape,
She over-slipp'd her cunning and her skill,
And aim'd too fair, but drew beyond the mark;
For, thinking to have made a heavenly bliss,
For wanton gods to dally with in heaven,
And to have fram'd a precious gem for men,
To solace all their dumpish thoughts with glee,
She wrought a plague, a poison, and a hell:
For gods, for men, thus no way wrought she well.
Venus was fair, fair was the Queen of Love,
Fairer than Pallas, or the wife of Jove;
Yet did the giglot's beauty grieve the smith,
For that she brav'd the creeple + with a horn.
Mars said, her beauty was the star of heaven,
Yet did her beauty stain him with disgrace.
Paris for fair gave her the golden ball,
And bought his and his father's ruin so.
Thus Nature making what should far excell,
Lent gods and men a poison and a hell.
IN time we see the silver drops
The craggy stones make soft;
The slowest snail in time we see
Doth creep and climb aloft.
With feeble puffs the tallest pine
In tract of time doth fall;
The hardest heart in time doth yield
To Venus' luring call.
* vile] The 4to. "vilde": but see note +, p. 167, sec. col. eye] The 4to. "eyes."
These three, forewarned, well mayest thou fly] In this line Walker (Shakespeare's Versification, &c., p. 34) "suspects that something s lost."
WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF A PEACOCK.
THE bird of Juno glories in his plumes;
Pride makes the fowl to prune his feathers so:
His spotted train, fetch'd from old Argus' head,
With golden rays like to the brightest sun,
Inserteth self-love in a silly bird,
Till, midst his hot and glorious § fumes,
He spies his feet, and then lets fall his plumes.
* giglot's] See note †, p. 306, sec. col.
† creeple] A form of cripple, sometimes used by old writers.
$ and glorious] The 4to. "an glorious."—Qy. "and his vain-glorious"?
Beauty breeds pride, pride hatcheth forth disdain,
Disdain gets hate, and hate calls for revenge,
Revenge with bitter prayers urgeth still;
Thus self-love, nursing up the pomp of pride,
Makes beauty wreck against an ebbing tide.
WRITTEN UNDER A CARVING OF MERCURY
THROWING FEATHERS UNTO THE WIND.
THE richest gift the wealthy heaven affords,
The pearl of price sent from immortal Jove,
The shape wherein we most resemble gods,
The fire Prometheus stole from lofty skies;
This gift, this pearl, this shape, this fire is it,
Which makes us men bold by the name of wit.
By wit we search divine aspéct above,
By wit we learn what secrets science yields,
By wit we speak, by wit the mind is rul'd,
By wit we govern all our actions;
Wit is the load-star of each human thought,
Wit is the tool by which all things are wrought.
The brightest jacinth hot becometh dark;
Of little 'steem is crystal being crack'd;
Fine heads that can conceit no good but ill,
Forge oft that breedeth ruin to themselves;
Ripe wits abus'd that build on bad desire,
Do burn themselves, like flies within the fire.
WRITTEN UNDER A CARVING OF CUPID BLOWING
BLADDERS IN THE AIR.
LOVE is a lock that linketh noble minds,
Faith is the key that shuts the spring of love,
Lightness a wrest that wringeth all awry,
Lightness a plague that fancy cannot brook;
Lightness in love so bad and base a thing,
As foul disgrace to greatest states do[th] bring.
VERSES WRITTEN ON TWO TABLES AT A TOMB.
THE Graces in their glory never gave
A rich or greater good to womankind,
That more impales their honours with the palm
Of high renown, than matchless constancy.
Beauty is vain, accounted but a flower,
Whose painted hue fades with the summer sun;
Wit oft hath wreck by self-conceit of pride; Riches are trash that fortune boasteth on. Constant in love who tries a woman's mind, Wealth, beauty, wit, and all in her doth find.
THE fairest gem, oft blemish'd with a crack,
Loseth his beauty and his virtue too;
The fairest flower, nipt with the winter's frost,
In show seems worser than the basest weed;
Virtues are oft far over-stain'd with faults.
Were she as fair as Phoebe in her sphere,
Or brighter than the paramour of Mars,
Wiser than Pallas, daughter unto Jove,
Of greater majesty than Juno was,
More chaste than Vesta, goddess of the maids,
Of greater faith than fair Lucretia ;
Be she a blab, and tattles what she hears,
Want to be secret gives far greater stains
Than virtue's glory which in her remains.
REST thee, desire, gaze not at such a star;
Sweet fancy, sleep; love, take a nap awhile; My busy thoughts that reach and roam so far, With pleasant dreams the length of time be guile;
Fair Venus, cool my over-heated breast,
And let my fancy take her wonted rest.
Cupid abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbour he sought, to me he took his flight,
To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain;
My door I op'd, to grant him his desire,
And rose myself to make the wag a fire.
Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging at his back:
I fear'd the child might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone for fear of further wrack;
And what I drad (poor man) did me betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.
He pierc'd the quick, that I began to start;
The wound was sweet, but that it was too high,
And yet the pleasure had a pleasing smart:
This done, he flies away, his wings were dry;
But left his arrow still within my breast,
That now I grieve I welcom'd such a guest.
The three last stanzas of this madrigal are in the Orpharion with some variations: see p. 317, first col.
DESCRIPTION OF CHAUCER.
HIS stature was not very tall;
Lean he was; his legs were small,
Hos'd within a stock+ of red;
A button'd bonnet on his head,
From under which did hang, I ween,
Silver hairs both bright and sheen;
His beard was white, trimmèd round;
His countenance blithe and merry found;
A sleeveless jacket, large and wide,
With many plaits and skirts side,+
Of water-camlet did he wear;
A whittles by his belt he bear;
His shoes were cornèd, broad before;
His ink-horn at his side he wore,
And in his hand he bore a book:-
Thus did this ancient poet look.
Prick'd before were his shoon,*
He wore such as others doon; +
A bag of red by his side,
And by that his napkin tied :-
Thus John Gower did appear,
Quaint attired, as you hear.
PASSAGES QUOTED FROM GREENE IN ENGLAND'S PARNASSUS.
HE that will stop the brook, must then begin
When summer's heat hath dried up the spring,
And when his pittering streams are low and thin;
For let the winter aid unto them bring,
He grows to be of watery floods the king;
And though you dam him up with lofty ranks,
Yet will he quickly over-flow his banks.
p. 55, sub "Delay."
DESCRIPTION OF GOWER. LARGE he was; his height was long; Broad of breast; his limbs were strong; But colour pale, and wan his look,— Such have they that plyen their book; His head was grey and quaintly shorn; Neatly was his beard worn;
His visage grave, stern, and grim,—
Cato was most like to him;
His bonnet was a hat of blue;
His sleeves strait, of that same hue;
A surcoat of a tawny dye
Hung in plaits over his thigh;
A breech close unto his dock,
Handsom'd with a long stock;
*Sec List of Greene's prose-works, p. 80 of the present vol.
t stock] i. e. stocking.
tside] i. e. long.
§ whittle] i. c. knife.
corned] i. e. pointed.
A breech] i. e. Breeches.
death] Old ed. "dearth."-The later part of this fragment resembles one of Pope's flourishes upon Homer; "Not half so dreadful rises to the sight,
Thro' the thick gloom of some tempestuous night,
Orion's dog (the year when Autumn weighs),
And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays;
Terrific glory! for his burning breath
Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death." Compare the simplicity of the original;
Παμφαίνονθ', ὥστ' ἀστές', ἐπεσσύμενον πεδίοιο,
Ος ρά τ' οπώρης εἶσιν κ. τ. λ. -11. xxii. 20.
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