For lo! his passion, but an art of craft, Even there resolved my reason into tears; There my white stole of chastity I daffed, Shook off my sober guards and civil fears; Appear to him as he to me appears,

All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poisoned me and mine did him restore.

"In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows;

"That not a heart which in his level came,
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Shewing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And veiled in them did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim:
When he most burned in heart-wished luxury,
He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity.

"Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he covered;
That the unexperienced gave the tempter place,
Which, like a cherubin, above them hovered.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered?
Ah me! I fell; and yet do question make,
What I should do again for such a sake.

1.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook,

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She shewed him favours to allure his eye;

To win his heart she touched him here and there;
Touches so soft still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refused to take her figured proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer:

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;
He rose and ran away; ah, fool too froward!

II.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made,
Under an osier growing by a brook,

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen :
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim;
The sun looked on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him:
He spying her, bounced in whereas he stood;
"O Jove," quoth she, "why was I not a flood?"

Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh," quoth she, "here was the sore!"
She shewed hers; he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

IV.

Venus with young Adonis sitting by her,
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:

She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.

"Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god embraced

me;"

And then she clipped Adonis in her arms:

"Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god unlaced

me;"

As if the boy should use like loving charms :
"Even thus," quoth she, "he seized on my lips,"
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetchéd breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!

V.

Crabbed age and youth

Cannot live together; Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather: Youth like summer brave,

Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short;

Youth is nimble, age is lame.
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:

Age, I do defy thee;

O, sweet shepherd, hic thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

VI.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon faded,
Plucked in the bud, and faded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded!
Fair creature, killed too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;

For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why? I cravéd nothing of thee still :
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee:
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle,
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle,
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:
A lily pale with damask die to grace her,
None fairer nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
She burned with love as straw with fire flameth;
She burned out love as soon as straw out-burneth;
She framed the love and yet she foiled the framing;
She bade love last and yet she fell a turning,
Was this a lover, or a lecher, whether?
Bad in the best though excellent in neither.

VIII.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ;
Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine,
Exhal'st this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath to win a paradise ?

IX.

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O, never faith could hold if not to beauty vowed:
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;
Those thoughts to me like oaks to thee like osiers bowed.,
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,
To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly
tongue.

X.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,

A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as good lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemished once for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

XI.

Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daffed me to a cabin hanged with care
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
"Farewell," quoth she, "aud come again to-morrow;"
Fare well I could not for I supped with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship nill I construe whether:
'T may be she joyed to jest at my exile.
'T may be again to make me wander thither;
Wander, a word for shadows like thyself,
As take the pain but cannot pluck the pelf.

XII.

Lord how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tunéd like the lark;

For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so packed, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mixed with sorrow:
For why? she sighed, and bade me come to-morrow

Were I with her the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!
Pack night, peep day, good day of night now borrow:
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.

XIII.

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be, Till looking on an Englishman the fairest eye could see, Her fancy fell a turning

Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love

did fight,

To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: To put in practice either, alas it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel.

But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain, For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain ;

Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; For now my song is ended.

XIV.

On a day (alack the day!)

Love, whose month was ever May,

Spied a blossom passing fair,

Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wished himself the heaven's breath.
"Air," quoth he, "thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But alas! my hand hath sworn

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;

Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love."

Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,

And stalled the deer that thou would'st strik, Let reason rule things worthy blame,

As well as fancy, partial tike:

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice swell
(A cripple soon can find a halt);

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend,—and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing always in her ear;

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assuréd trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Seek never thou to choose ancw:

When time shall serve be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will clear ere night;
And then too late she will repent
That she dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,
That with such scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,-
"Had women been so strong as men,
In faith you had not had it then."

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft

A woman's nay doth stand for nought?
Think, women love to match with men,
And not to live so like a saint:
Ilere is no heaven; they holy then
Begin when age doth them attaint.

Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But soft; enough-too much I fear;
For if my lady hear my song,
She will not stick to ring mine ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewrayed.
XVII.

Take, ch, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vain.

Ilide, oh, hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears: But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

XVIII.

Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,

To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,

To this troop come thou not near!

From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feathered king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.

Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-devining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender makest

With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou gɔ.
Here the anthem doth commence :-
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
"Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder

So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.
Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded;
That it cried, how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love;
As chorus to their tragic scene.

THRENOS.

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here inclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:-
'T was not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.

Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but 't is not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.

To this urn let those repair

That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.