L E I C E S T E R he liu’d, of all the world admir’d,
Not as a man, though he in shape exceld:
But as a God, whose heauenlie wit inspir’d,
Wrought hie effects, yet vertues courses held,
His wisdome honored his Countries name,
His valure was the vangard of the same.

Written vpon the death of the right Honorable sir Philip
Sidney knight, Lord gouernor of
Flushing.
 

There might you see the burly Beare,
The Lion king, the Elephant,
The maiden Vnicorne was there,
So was Acteons horned plant,
     And what of wilde or tame are found,
     Were coucht in order on the ground.

Alcides speckled poplar tree,
The palme that Monarchs doe obtaine,
With Loue iuice staind the mulberie,
The fruit that dewes the Poets braine,
     And Phillis philbert there away,
     Comparde with mirtle and the bay.

The tree that coffins doth adorne,
With stately height threatning the skie,
And for the bed of Loue forlorne,
The blacke and dolefull Ebonie,
     All in a circle compast were,
     Like to an Amphitheater.

Vpon the branches of those trees,
The airie winged people sat,
Distinguished in od degrees,
One sort in this, another that,
     Here Philomell, that knowes full well,
     What force and wit in loue doth dwell.

The skie bred Egle roiall bird,
Percht there vpon an oke aboue,
The Turtle by him neuer stird,
Example of immortall loue.
     The swan that sings about to dy,
     Leauing Meander stood thereby.

And that which was of woonder most,
The Phœnix left sweete Arabie:
And on a Cædar in this coast,
Built vp hir tombe of spicerie,
     As I coniecture by the same,
     Preparde to take hir dying flame.

In midst and center of this plot,
I saw one groueling on the grasse:
A man or stone, I knew not that,
No stone, of man the figure was,
     And yet I could not count him one,
     More than the image made of stone.

At length I might perceiue him reare
His bodie on his elbow end:
Earthly and pale with gastly cheare,
Vpon his knees he vpward tend,
     Seeming like one in vncouth stound,
     To be ascending out the ground.

A greeuous sigh foorthwith he throwes,
As might haue torne the vitall strings,
Then downe his cheekes the teares so flowes,
As doth the streame of many springs.
     So thunder rends the cloud in twaine,
     And makes a passage for the raine.

Incontinent with trembling sound,
He wofully gan to complaine,
Such were the accents as might wound,
And teare a diamond rocke in twaine,
     After his throbs did somwhat stay,
     Thus heauily he gan to say.

O sunne (said he) seeing the sunne,
On wretched me why dost thou shine,
My star is falne, my comfort done,
Out is the apple of my eine,
     Shine vpon those possesse delight,
     And let me liue in endlesse night.

O griefe that liest vpon my soule,
As heauie as a mount of lead,
The remnant of my life controll,
Consort me quickly with the dead,
     Halfe of this hart, this sprite and will,
     Di’de in the brest of Astrophill.

And you compassionate of my wo,
Gentle birds, beasts and shadie trees,
I am assurde ye long to kno,
What be the sorrowes me agreeu’s,
     Listen ye then to that insu’th,
     And heare a tale of teares and ruthe.

You knew, who knew not Astrophill,
(That I should liue to say I knew,
And haue not in possession still)
Things knowne permit me to renew,
     Of him you know his merit such,
     I cannot say, you heare too much.

Within these woods of Arcadie,
He cheefe delight and pleasure tooke,
And on the mountaine Parthenie,
Vpon the chrystall liquid brooke,
     The Muses met him eu’ry day,
     That taught him sing, to write, and say.

When he descended downe the mount,
His personage seemed most diuine,
A thousand graces one might count,
Vpon his louely cheerefull eine,
     To heare him speake and sweetely smile,
     You were in Paradise the while.

A sweete attractiue kinde of grace,
A full assurance giuen by lookes,
Continuall comfort in a face,
The lineaments of Gospell books,
     I trowe that countenance cannot lie,
     Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.

Was neuer eie, did see that face,
Was neuer eare, did heare that tong,
Was neuer minde, did minde his grace,
That euer thought the trauell long,
     But eies, and eares, and eu’ry thought,
     Were with his sweete perfections caught.

O God, that such a woorthy man,
In whom so rare desarts did raigne,
Desired thus, must leaue vs than,
And we to wish for him in vaine,
     O could the stars that bred that wit,
     In force no longer fixed sit.

Then being fild with learned dew,
The Muses willed him to loue,
That instrument can aptly shew,
How finely our conceits will moue,
     As Bacchus opes dissembled harts,
     So loue sets out our better parts.

Stella, a Nymph within this wood,
Most rare and rich of heauenly blis,
The highest in his fancie stood,
And she could well demerite this,
     Tis likely they acquainted soone,
     He was a Sun, and she a Moone.

Our Astrophill did Stella loue,
O Stella vaunt of Astrophill,
Albeit thy graces gods may moue,
Where wilt thou finde an Astrophill,
     The rose and lillie haue their prime,
     And so hath beautie but a time.

Although thy beautie doe exceede,
In common sight of eu’ry eie,
Yet in his Poesies when we reede,
It is apparant more thereby,
     He that hath loue and iudgement too,
     Sees more than any other doe.

Then Astrophill hath honord thee,
For when thy bodie is extinct,
Thy graces shall eternall be,
And liue by vertue of his inke,
     For by his verses he doth giue,
     To short liude beautie aye to liue.

Aboue all others this is hee,
Which erst approoued in his song,
That loue and honor might agree,
And that pure loue will doe no wrong,
     Sweete saints it is no sinne nor blame,
     To loue a man of vertuous name.

Did neuer loue so sweetly breath
In any mortall brest before,
Did neuer muse inspire beneath,
A Poets braine with finer store:
     He wrote of loue with high conceit,
     And beautie reard aboue hir height.

Then Pallas afterward attyrde,
Our Astrophill with hir deuice,
Whom in his armor heauen admyrde,
As of the nation of the skies,
     He sparkled in his armes afarrs,
     As he were dight with fierie starrs.

The blaze whereof when Mars beheld,
(An enuious eie doth see afar)
Such maiestie (quoth he) is seeld,
Such maiestie my mart may mar,
     Perhaps this may a suter be,
     To set Mars by his deitie.

In this surmize he made with speede,
An iron cane wherein he put,
The thunder that in cloudes do breede,
The flame and bolt togither shut.
     With priuie force burst out againe,
     And so our Astrophill was slaine.

This word (was slaine) straightway did moue,
And natures inward life strings twitch,
The skie immediately aboue,
Was dimd with hideous clouds of pitch,
     The wrastling winds from out the ground,
     Fild all the aire with ratling sound.

The bending trees exprest a grone,
And sigh’d the sorow of his fall,
The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone,
The birds did tune their mourning call,
     And Philomell for Astrophill,
     Vnto hir notes annext a phill.

The turtle doue with tunes of ruthe,
Shewd feeling passion of his death,
Me thought she said I tell thee truthe,
Was neuer he that drew in breath,
     Vnto his loue more trustie found,
     Than he for whom our griefs abound.

The swan that was in presence heere,
Began his funerall dirge to sing,
Good things (quoth he) may scarce appeere,
But passe away with speedie wing.
     This mortall life as death is tride,
     And death giues life, and so he di’de.

The generall sorrow that was made,
Among the creatures of kinde,
Fired the Phœnix where she laide,
Hir ashes flying with the winde,
     So as I might with reason see,
     That such a Phœnix nere should bee.

Haply the cinders driuen about,
May breede an ofspring neere that kinde,
But hardly a peere to that I doubt,
It cannot sinke into my minde,
     That vnder branches ere can bee,
     Of worth and value as the tree.

The Egle markt with pearcing sight,
The mournfull habite of the place,
And parted thence with mounting flight,
To signifie to Ioue the case,
     What sorow nature doth sustaine,
     For Astrophill by enuie slaine.

And while I followed with mine eie,
The flight the Egle vpward tooke,
All things did vanish by and by,
And disappeered from my looke,
     The trees, beasts, birds, and groue was gone,
     So was the friend that made this mone.

This spectacle had firmely wrought,
A deepe compassion in my spright,
My molting hart issude me thought,
In streames foorth at mine eies aright,
     And heere my pen is forst to shrinke,
     My teares discollors so mine inke.
 

Yet rich in zeale, though poore in learnings lore,
And friendly care obscurde in secret brest,
And loue that enuie in thy life supprest,
Thy deere life done, and death hath doubled more.

And I, that in thy time and liuing state,
Did onely praise thy vertues in my thought,
As one that seeld the rising sunne hath sought,
With words and teares now waile thy timelesse fate.

Drawne was thy race, aright from princely line,
Nor lesse than such, (by gifts that nature gaue,
The common mother that all creatures haue,)
Doth vertue shew, and princely linage shine.

A king gaue thee thy name, a kingly minde,
That God thee gaue, who found it now too deere
For this base world, and hath resumde it neere,
To sit in skies, and sort with powres diuine.

Kent thy birth daies, and Oxford held thy youth,
The heauens made haste, & staide nor yeeres, nor time,
The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first prime,
Thy will, thy words; thy words, the seales of truth.

Great gifts and wisedome rare imploide thee thence,
To treat from kings, with those more great than kings,
Such hope men had to lay the highest things,
On thy wise youth, to be transported hence.

Whence to sharpe wars sweete honor did thee call,
Thy countries loue, religion, and thy friends:
Of woorthy men, the marks, the liues and ends,
And her defence, for whom we labor all.

There didst thou vanquish shame and tedious age,
Griefe, sorow, sicknes, and base fortunes might:
Thy rising day, saw neuer wofull night,
But past with praise, from of this worldly stage.

Backe to the campe, by thee that day was brought,
First thine owne death, and after thy long fame;
Teares to the soldiers, the proud Castilians shame;
Vertue exprest, and honor truly taught.

What hath he lost, that such great grace hath woon,
Yoong yeeres, for endles yeeres, and hope vnsure,
Of fortunes gifts, for wealth that still shall dure,
Oh happie race with so great praises run.

England doth hold thy lims that bred the same,
Flaunders thy valure where it last was tried,
The Campe thy sorow where thy bodie died,
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy vertues fame.

Nations thy wit, our mindes lay vp thy loue,
Letters thy learning, thy losse, yeeres long to come,
In worthy harts sorow hath made thy tombe,
Thy soule and spright enrich the heauens aboue.

Thy liberall hart imbalmd in gratefull teares.
Yoong sighes, sweete sighes, sage sighes, bewaile thy fall,
Enuie hir sting, and spite hath left hir gall,
Malice hir selfe, a mourning garment weares.

That day their Haniball died, our Scipio fell,
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time,
Whose vertues wounded by my woorthles rime,
Let Angels speake, and heauens thy praises tell.
 

Hard harted mindes relent, and rigors teares abound,
And enuie strangely rues his end, in whom no fault she found,
Knowledge hir light hath lost, valor hath slaine hir knight,
Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the worlds delight.

Place pensiue wailes his fall, whose presence was hir pride,
Time crieth out, my ebbe is come: his life was my spring tide,
Fame mournes in that she lost, the ground of hir reports,
Ech liuing wight laments his lacke, and all in in sundry sorts.

He was (wo worth that word) to ech well thinking minde,
A spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose vertue euer shinde,
Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that he writ,
Highest conceits, longest foresights, and deepest works of wit.

He onely like himselfe, was second vnto none,
Whose deth (though life) we rue, & wrong, & al in vain do mone,
Their losse, not him waile they, that fill the world with cries,
Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to the skies.

Now sinke of sorow I, who liue, the more the wrong,
Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose thred is al to long,
Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no reliefe,
Must spend my euer dying daies, in neuer ending griefe.

Harts ease and onely I, like [parallels] run on,
Whose equall length, keepe equall bredth, & neuer meet in one,
Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my sorowes cell,
Shall not run out, though leake they will, for liking him so well.

Farewell to you my hopes, my wonted waking dreames,
Farewell somtimes enioied ioy, eclipsed are thy beames,
Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts, which quietnes brings foorth,
And farewel friendships sacred league, vniting minds of woorth.

And farewel mery hart, the gift of guiltles mindes,
And all sports, which for liues restore, varietie assignes,
Let all that sweete is, voide? in me no mirth may dwell,
Philip, the cause of all this woe, my liues content farewell.

Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin to skill,
And endles griefe, which deads my life, yet knowes not how to kill,
Go seeke that haples tombe, which if ye hap to finde,
Salute the stones, that keepe the lims, that held so good a minde.
 

Wherein is set foorth by way of comparison, how great
is the conquest ouer our affections,
by G. P. Master of
Arts.
 

And so in robes of gold, and purple dight,
     Like bodies shrinde, in seates of Iuorie,
Their names renowmde for happines in fight,
     They beare the guerdon of their chiualrie.

The valiant Greekes, for sacke of Priams towne,
     A worke of manhood, matcht with policie,
Haue fild the world with bookes of their renowne,
     As much as erst the Romane emperie.

The Phrygian knights, that in the house of fame,
     Haue shining armes of endles memorie,
By hot and fierce repulse did win the same,
     Though Helens rape, hurt Paris progenie.

Thus strength hath guerdon, by the worlds award,
     So praise we birth, and high nobilitie,
If then the minde, and bodie reape reward,
     For natures dowre, conferred liberally.

Presse then for praise, vnto the highest roome,
     That art the highest of the gifts of heauen,
More beautifull by wisdomes sacred doome,
     Than Sol himselfe, amid the Planets seauen.

Queene of content, and temperate desires,
     Choice nurse of health, thy name hight Chastitie,
A soueraigne powre to quench such climing fires,
     As choake the minde, with smoke of infamie.

Champion at armes, re’ncounter with thy foe,
     An enimie foule, and fearfull to behold,
If then stout captaines haue bene honor’d so,
     Their names in bookes of memorie enrold,

For puissant strength: ye Romane peeres retire,
     And Greeks giue ground, more honor there is woon,
With chaste rebukes to temper thy desire,
     Than glory gaind the world to ouer run.

Than fierce Achilles got, by Hectors spoyle,
     Than erst the mightie prince of Macedon,
King Philips impe, that put his foes to foyle,
     And wisht more worlds to hold him plaie than one.

Beleeue me to contend ’gainst armies royall,
     To tame wilde Panthers but by strength of hand,
To praise the triumph, not so speciall,
     As ticing pleasures charmes for to withstand.

And for me list compare with men of war,
     For honor of the field, I dare maintaine,
This victory exceedeth that as far,
     As Phœbus chariot Vulcans forge doth staine.

Both noble, and triumphant in their kindes,
     And matter woorthie queene Remembrance pen,
But that that tangles both our thoughts and mindes,
     To master that, is more than ouer men,

To make thy triumph. Sith to strength alone,
     Of body it belongs, to bruze or wound,
But raging thoughts, to quell, or few, or none,
     Saue vertues imps, are able champions found.

Or those whom Ioue hath lou’d? or noble of birth,
     So strong Alcydes, Ioues vnconquered son,
Did lift Achelous bodie from the earth,
     To shew what deeds by vertues strength are don.

So him he foild, and put to sudden flight,
     By aime of wit, the foule Stimphalides?
And while we say he mastered men by might,
     Behold in person of this Hercules.

It liketh me to figure Chastitie,
     His labor like that foule vncleane desire,
That vnder guide of tickling fantasie,
     Would mar the minde, through pleasures scorching fire.

And who hath seene a faire alluring face,
     A lustie girle, yclad in queint aray,
Whose daintie hand, makes musicke with hir lace,
     And tempts thy thoughts, and steales thy sense away.

Whose ticing haire, like nets of golden wyre,
     Enchaine thy hart, whose gate and voice diuine,
Enflame thy blood, and kindle thy desire,
     Whose features wrap and dazle humaine eine.

Who hath beheld faire Venus in hir pride,
     Of nakednes all Alablaster white,
In Iuorie bed, strait laid by Mars his side,
     And hath not bin enchanted with the sight,

To wish, to dallie, and to offer game,
     To coy, to court, & cætera to doe:
(Forgiue me Chastnes if in termes of shame,
     To thy renowne, I paint what longs thereto)

Who hath not liu’d, and yet hath seene I say,
     That might offend chaste hearers to endure,
Who hath bene haled on, to touch, and play,
     And yet not stowpt to pleasures wanton lure.

Crowne him with laurell, for his victorie,
     Clad him in purple, and in scarlet die?
Enroll his name in bookes of memorie,
     Ne let the honor of his conquest die.

More roiall in his triumph, than the man,
     Whom tygres drew in coach of burnisht golde,
In whom the Roman Monarchie began,
     Whose works of worth, no wit hath erst controlde.

Elysium be his walke, high heauen his shrine,
     His drinke, sweete Nectar, and Ambrosia,
The foode that makes immortall and diuine,
     Be his to taste, to make him liue for ay:

And that I may in briefe describe his due,
     What lasting honor vertues guerdon is,
So much and more his iust desart pursue,
     Sith his desart awards it to be his.
 

On loathed bed I lay, my lustlesse lims to rest,
Where still I tumble to and fro, to seeke which side were best:
At last I catch a place, where long I cannot lie,
But strange conceits from quiet sleepes, do keep awake mine eie.

The time of yeere me seemes, doth bid me slouen rise,
And not from shew of sweete delight, to shut my sleepie eies:
But sorrow by and by, doth bid me slaue lie still,
And slug amon[g]st the wretched souls, whom care doth seek to kil.

     For sorow is my spring, which brings forth bitter teares,
     The fruits of friendship all forlorne, as feeble fancie feares.
 

Foure quarters squared out, I finde in sundrie sort;
Whereof according to their kindes, I meane to make report:
The first, the knot of loue, drawne euen by true desier,
Like as it were two harts in one, and yet both would be nier.

The herbe is calde Isop, the iuice of such a taste,
As with the sowre, makes sweete conceits to flie away too fast:
The borders round about, are set with priuie sweete,
Where neuer bird but nightingale, presumde to set hir feete.

From this I stept aside, vnto the knot of care,
Which so was crost with strange co[n]ceits, as tong cannot declare:
The herbe was called Time, which set out all that knot:
And like a Maze me thought it was, when in the crookes I got.

The borders round about, are Sauerie vnsweete:
An herbe not much in my conceit, for such a knot vnmeete:
From this to friendships knot, I stept and tooke the view,
How it was drawne, and then againe, in order how it grew.

The course was not vnlike, a kinde of hand in hand:
But many fingers were away, that there should seeme to stand:
The herbe that set the knot, was Pennie Riall round:
And as me seem’d, it grew full close, and nere vnto the ground.

And parched heere and there, so that it seemed not
Full as it should haue been in deed, a perfect friendship knot:
Heerat I pawsd awhile, and tooke a little view
Of an od quarter drawne in beds, where herbs and flowers grew.

The flowres were buttons fine, for batchelers to beare,
And by those flowres ther grew an herb, was called maiden hear.

Amid this garden ground, a Condit strange I found,
Which water fetcht from sorows spring, to water al the ground:
To this my heauie house, the dungeon of distresse,
Where fainting hart lies panting still, despairing of redresse.

Whence from my window loe, this sad prospect I haue,
A piece of ground wheron to gaze, would bring one to his graue:
Lo thus the welcome spring, that others lends delight,
Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drowned in despight,

That vp I cannot rise, and come abrode to thee,
My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee:
And thus in haste adieu, my hart is growne so sore,
And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
 

Such fruit (quoth I) shall fancie chiefly feede:
Indeede tis faire, God grant it prooue as good,
But take good heede, least all to late it breede
Ill humors such as may infect your blood:
     Yet take and taste, but looke you know the tree:
     Peace foole quoth she, and so awaked mee.

What was this ground, wherein this dame did walke?
And what was she, that romed to and fro?
And what ment I, to vse such kinde of talke?
And what ment she, to checke and snib me so?
     But what meane I? alas, I was asleepe:
     Awake I sweare, I will more silence keepe.

Well thus I wakte and fell asleepe againe:
And then I fell into another vaine.

Great wars me thought grew late by strange mishap,
Desire had stolne out of Dianaes traine,
Hir darling deere, and laid on Venus lap,
Who, Cupid sware should neuer backe againe.
     Ere he would so loose all his harts delight,
     He vow’d to die, wherewith began a fight.

Diana shot, and Cupid shot againe:
Fame sounded out hir trumpe with heauenly cheare:
Hope was ill hurt, despite was onely slaine:
Diana forst in fine for to retire.
     Cupid caught fame, and brought hir to his frend:
     The trumpet ceast, and so my dreame did end.

Thus scarce awake, I fell asleepe againe,
And then I was within a garden ground,
Beset with flowres, the allies euen and plaine:
And all the banks beset with roses round.
     And sundrie flowres so super sweete of smell,
     As there me thought it was a heauen to dwell.

Where walking long, anon I gan espie
Sweete pretie soules, that pluckt ech one a flowre:
When from their sight I hid me by and by,
Behinde a banke within a brier bowre:
     Where after walke, I saw them where they sat:
     Beheld their hues, and heard their pretie chat:

Sister quoth one, how shall we spend this day?
Deuise (quoth she) some pretie merie iest:
Content quoth one, beshrew them that say nay:
Some purposes or riddles I thinke best:
     Riddles cried all, and so the sport begun:
     Forfet a fillop, she that first hath done.

Loe thus a while was curtsey to propound,
Yet in the end this order did they take,
By two and two, they should sit close and round;
And one begin, another answere make:
     Whose ridling sports in order as I can,
     I will recite, and thus the first began.

Gramercie wench (quoth she) that first begoon,
Each one me seemes hath quit hir selfe right well,
And now since that our riddles all are doon,
Let vs go sing the flowre of sweetest smell:
     Well may it fare, wherewith each tooke a part,
     And thus they soong, all with a merie hart.

Blest be the ground that first brought forth the flowre,
Whose name vntolde, but vertues not vnknowne:
Happie the hand, whom God shall giue the powre,
To plucke this flowre, and take it for his owne:
     Oh heauenly stalke, that staines all where it growes:
     From whom more sweet, than sweetest hony flowes.

Oh sweete of sweetes, the sweetest sweete that is:
Oh flowre of flowres, that yeelds so sweete a sent:
Oh sent so sweete, as when the head shall misse:
Oh heauens what hart but that will sore lament:
     God let thee spring, and flourish so each howre,
     As that our sweetes may neuer turne to sowre.

For we with sweetes doe seede our fancies so,
With sweetes of sight, and sweetnes of conceit,
That we may wish that it may euer groe,
Amid delights where we desire to wait,
     Vpon the flowre that pleaseth euerie eie,
     And glads each hart; God let it neuer die.

Wherewith me thought alowd I cride, Amen:
And therewithall I started out of sleepe:
Now what became of these faire Ladies then,
I cannot tell, in minde I onely keepe
     These ridling toies which heere I doe recite:
     Ile tell ye more perhaps another night.
 

Before the knight, is perill plast,
Which he, by skipping ouergoes,
And yet that Pawne can worke a cast,
To ouerthrow his greatest foes;
     The Bishops, prudence, prieng still,
     Which way to worke his masters will.

The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,
Which seeldome serue, except by hap,
And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines,
To catch a great man, in a trap:
     So that I see, sometime a groome
     May not be spared from his roome.
 

And when you plaie beware of Checke,
Know how to saue and giue a necke:
And with a Checke, beware of Mate;
But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:
     Loose not the Queene, for ten to one,
     If she be lost, the game is gone.
 

Some strange effects if not impossible,
As to be caried in the emptie aire,
Of transformations some incredible,
From forme to forme, and of their backe repaire,
Some pleasant shewes presents, and some dispaire:
     Some grauer things a sleeping can discusse:
     And other, matters meere ridiculous.

Men diuersly do argue of the cause
Of dreames: Some their occasion thus recites,
The while the bodie takes his needfull pause,
In sleepe to fresh and to restore the sprites,
Decaid by labor, or the daies delites,
     The minde, the cogitations of the day do keepe,
     And run them ouer when we are asleepe.

Others our meates do charge with those effects
That indigested in the stomacke lies:
Other celestiall influence respects,
And fetch from them our sleeping fantasies;
The which they recommend as Prophesies:
     For when our sprites are stirred with those charms,
     We are foretold of good or future harms.

But this coniecture cheefly I embrace,
Euen as the sea enraged with the winde,
After the storme alaid will mooue a space,
The selfe same reason may be well assignde,
Vnto the nightly labors of the minde:
     Who works in sleepe, our actions at a stay,
     Vpon th’occasions of the passed day.

Vpon a dreame I had, I this prefer,
The which the sequell shall deliuer straite:
That Loue that first did make my reason erre,
Straitly one day commanded me to waite,
On paine to pine, and perish in conceite;
     Vpon my soueraigne, vnto whom I went,
     As dutie wild, and Loues commandement.

Mine eies, the first intreating messengers,
By signes of sorrow openly did speake,
After my toong the humble suite prefers
Of my poore hart, with torments like to breake:
But little of my suffrings doth she reake:
     Sooner the rocks their hardnes will forgo,
     Than she acknowledge that which she doth know.

In fine, vnto my chamber I retire,
A thousand fancies hamring on my wits,
Despaire, griefe, anguish, furie, and desire,
Doe exercise in turne their Bedlem fits,
Whereof to speake, or heare, best them befits,
     That now enioyeng, heretofore haue tride,
     The hell, and bitternes of Loue denide.

By this the night doth through the skie display
Hir sable robe, spangled with golden stars,
And voicelesse silence gan to chace away
Noyses and sounds, with their molesting iars:
And so the place to needfull sleepe prepars;
     Who Motherlike, most tenderly asswages,
     The daies aggreeuances and damages.

Encumbred thus, I went vnto my bed,
Loue knowes, with litle hope of taking rest,
Fancie and frenzie worketh on my head,
One while the one, then th’other gets the best:
Now eithers faction egarly addrest;
     To hostile conflict furiously discend,
     Of purpose strait to make a finall end.

Extremitie proceeding on so far,
When eithers forces equally were spent,
They stinted of themselues this raging war,
And left with victorie indifferent:
Slumber that found the time conuenient,
     Seeing the slacknes of their wearied traine,
     Vpon th’aduantage seased on my braine.

Who holding me vnder his shadie wings,
To mitigate the anguish of my thought,
Presented me with diuers pleasant things,
Amongst the rest, a Ladie faire he brought,
Fro[m] heauen no doubt those features there are wrought,
     Whose raies of beautie admirable bright,
     Filled my chamber with a Sunshine light.

Hir Amber tresses on hir shoulders lies,
The which as she doth moue, diuided run,
About hir bodie iust in circle wise,
Like to the curious web Arachne spun;
Or else to make a fit comparison,
     Like slender twist turned to shining fire,
     Or flames by woonder wrought into a wire.

The forehead that confines these burnisht haires,
For whitenes striueth with vntouched snowe;
For smoothnes with the Iuorie compares;
And doth the Alablasters glistring showe,
Vnder this firmament you are to know,
     Two powrfull stars which at their pleasure moue,
     The variable effects that followes loue.

Hir cheekes resembleth right a garden plot,
Of diuers sorts of rare Carnation flowres,
The which the scortching Sun offendeth not,
Nor boystrous winter with his rotting showres;
Vncertaine Iuno thereon neuer lowres:
     Heere Venus with hir little loues reposes,
     Amongst the lillies and the damaske roses.

Hir lips compares with the Vermilion morne,
Hir equall teeth in semicircle wise,
For orientnes selected pearle may scorne,
What may I of hir issuing breath deuise,
That from this pearle and Synaber doth rise:
     The francumsence and myrr, that Inde presents,
     Within this aire leese their extolled sents.

The nose, the chin, the straight erected necke,
Supporter to the head: next shoulders stands,
The which discends into the arme direct,
And terminates their length vpon the hands:
At each of these my wits amased stands:
     For when I would their merits vtter foorth,
     I finde all words inferior to their woorth.

The garments wherewithall she was attyrde,
But slender in account, and yet were more
Than hir perfections needfully requyrde,
Whose euery part hath of contentment store:
But as it was, thanks to my dreame therefore,
     Who causde the apparition to be wrought,
     As all lay open to mine eies or thought.

There was, as I obseru’d next to hir skin,
A snowe white lawne, transparent as the aire,
And ouer this a garment wondrous thin,
Of networke, wrought in blacke, exceeding faire;
Whose masks were small, and thred as fine as haire,
     Girt with a tawnie Cyprous were hir clothes,
     And thus attirde, this Angell woman goes.

Hir mouing brests as equall Promontories,
Diuided by an Indraft from the maine,
Doe imitate the gently moued Seas,
That rising fall, and falling rise againe:
As they, so did my life in euery vaine:
     My spirit issued as they waxed hier,
     And as they setled, backe againe retier.

Next neighbor heerunto in due discent,
Hir bellie plaine, the bed of namelesse blisse,
Wherein all things appeere aboue content,
And paradise is nothing more than this:
In which Desire was mou’d to doe amisse;
     For when his eies vpon this tree was cast,
     O blame him not, if he requirde to taste.

What followed this, I cannot well report:
The tawnie Cyprous that forehanging fell,
Restraind mine eies in most malitious sort,
Which of themselues were else affected well,
Although as witnes nought thereof I tell:
     I doubt not those that fine conceited be,
     Sees somwhat further, than mine eies might see.

But of hir praises thus in generall,
Desirde perfection shewd in euerie part,
Yet all appeerd in each one seuerall,
Vnto the wonder of the eie and hart,
Of euery priuate part to write apart.
     Were worke and argument for him that vses,
     The daily conuersation of the Muses.

Who this should be, if any long to heare,
I say it is the portraict of the Saint,
Which deepe ingraued in my hart I beare,
The Mistres of my hope, my feare, and plaint,
And thou that with hir praises I acquaint,
     If thou canst nothing else, yet wish thou me,
     Deliuerd of that beauties crueltie.

With vnperceiued motion drawing ny,
Vnto the bed of my distresse and feare,
She with hir hand doth put the curtaine by,
And sits hir downe vpon the one side there:
My wasted spirits quite amazed were,
     To see the sudden morning of those eies,
     Within the darke thus inexpected rise.

Being abrode (quoth she) I lately hard,
That you were falne into a sudden feuer,
And solitarie in your chamber bard,
From companie you did your selfe disseuer,
To charitie it appertaineth euer,
     In duties to our neighbors for to sticke,
     And visit the afflicted and the sicke.

Which Christian office hither hath me led,
Wishing I could recouerie to you bring,
Ladie (quoth I) as easily done as sed,
For you that haue my life in managing,
What need you wish, when you may doe the thing:
     For if you be disposd to charitie,
     Bestowe on me this wisht recouerie.

Is’t in my garden that may doe thee good?
(Quoth she) or in my closet of conserues,
Or may my kitchin any kinde of foode
Deuise, that to thy taste and fancie serues,
Ladie (said I) no coolice, no conserues,
     No herbe, no potion commeth nie that part,
     That suffereth this anguish and this smart.

When further I would faine haue spoken on,
With fearfulnes I felt my toong restrained,
And shamefastnes with red Vermilion,
My shallow cheekes and countenance distained:
Now by this meanes my hart more deepely pained,
     Sent out a flood of weeping to betoken,
     The rest of that my toong had left vnspoken.

As soone as sighes had ouerblowne my teares,
And teares allaid my sighings vehemence,
Audacitie expulser of those feares,
Gaue to desire at last preheminence,
Who saw it now to be of consequence;
     Sauced his tale with dutie and respect,
     And thus began, or to the like effect.

It is no feuer (Ladie) in the vaines,
Nor in the blood, of humors the excesse,
Nor stomacks vapor, that annoies the braines,
Nor ill contagion in the Arteries,
Nor any griefe that Physicke remedies:
     It is, &c. and heere my lips refusde to moue,
     Stopping the sentence ere I came to Loue.

Haply (said she) as I doe iudge thereon,
It is some toy or fancie in your head,
Some sicknes grounded on opinion,
Or else some error your conceit hath bred:
Then as suppose you to this anguish led,
     By mine aduice, if you list ruled be,
     For health sake doe suppose the contrarie.

Were it within the compas of my wits,
(Leader of my desires) thus I replide,
To remedie the outrage of those fits,
That from this bodie would my life diuide,
The rather should these cordials be applide,
     That I might keepe my life in health, to doe,
     The seruices that loue commands me to.

But out alas, that waied downe with paine,
With hands erected vp, that I should crie,
As doth the saylers blowne into the maine,
After the ship that fore the winde doth flie,
And yet in sight of helpe, must helpeles die:
     So I, neere hir that can my woes appease,
     Doe perish like the outcast in the Seas.

Are you the woorser that I am so neere,
The Ladie said, and I not thereof ware?
Nay happie then (quoth I) that you are heere,
And haples too, bicause you are so farre:
She aunswered hereunto, these riddles are:
     Can neere be far, can happy haples be?
     As well (quoth I) as see, and not to see.

What is he (Madame) that doth baite his eies,
Be he of mortall or immortall kinde,
Vpon the beauties which your visage dies,
And drawes not present death into his minde,
Vnles your gratious lookes do prooue so kinde,
     As with a yeelding fauour to preuent,
     The dangers thereunto are incident.

Can it be possible you should not knowe
The powre and vertue of sweete beauties gift?
Can heauen and nature measureles bestowe
The things that you to Angels calling lift?
And you not vnderstand their purpos’d drift?
     Might they aduance yee to a Goddesse seate
     And you be ignorant why they make yee great?

If this were true, which you of me suppose,
The praise of beautie, and commended parts,
I see no reason to esteeme of those,
That do complaine them of such pettie smarts,
Not incident to men of valiant harts:
     The argument is dull, and nothing quicke,
     Bicause that I am faire, you should be sicke.

Suppose I haue those graces and those flowres,
And all the vertues that you can recite,
You looke, you like, and you must haue them yours;
Forsooth, bicause they mooue your appetite:
I see no reason to impart my right,
     Before that God and men agreed be,
     To let all things run in communitie.

An easie thing for you to ouercome,
(Faire Ladie) him, that is so deepe your thrall:
For euery syllable from your lips that come,
Beares wit, and weight, and vehemence withall:
Vnder the which, my subiect spirits fall:
     If you do speake, or if you nought expresse,
     Your beautie of it selfe is Conqueresse.

With fauour (Ladie) giue me leaue to speake,
(If you will listen a condemneds tale)
No pettie wound can make my hart strings breake:
Nor might a trifle worke this deadly bale:
Your soueraigne beautie doth me hither hale:
     The stronger doth (euen by a common course)
     Ouer the weaker exercise his force.

Ladie, in condiscending vnto Loue,
You do not share nor yet your right forgo,
In that you shall your seruants sute approue,
And blesse him with those fauors you can showe,
To higher place of dignitie you growe:
     The Sun were not in my opinion bright,
     If there were not eie witnes of his light.

No abiect commons of those things he seekes,
Nor any way doth labor to induce
That liues to serue and honor hir he leekes,
In hope at last to make an happie truce,
And for this cause all other he refuse:
     To exercise those parts with serious care,
     Which to his Mistres fancie pleasing are.

But sir (quoth she) how can ye answere this?
You men complaine, Loues torments to be great;
Saying that he a mightie Tyrant is;
Such one as putteth reason from hir seat;
Why wish ye to insnare me in this net?
     Better it is you suffer that you doe,
     Then such extreames should happen vpon two.

When Loue (sweete Ladie) thorowly accords,
The Louers and beloueds harts in one,
This amitie a perfect heauen affords,
Vpon the instant of this vnion:
Banisht is thence all sorrow, care, and mone,
     For they which in conspiring Loue abide,
     Liue with continuall ioies, vnsatisfide.

This is beleeu’d and knowne by common brute,
When of vs Dames ye hap to get a graunt,
You giue it to the cunning of your sute,
Vsing with your companions thus to vaunt:
These pretie fooles, tis nothing to enchaunt:
     As fishers vse for fish, with fish to bait,
     These faire ones, so, faire speeches catches strait.

Let not (sweete Loue) the fault of one or few,
Or sinister report of truthelesse fame,
Endamage the desart of him can shew
Many effects repugnant to the same,
Vnworthie he of life, or Louers name,
     Shall dare vnto hir honor, wrong, or scathe,
     Of whom both life, and happines he hathe.

It is a proofe (said she) of foolishnes,
To set that vpon chaunce which may be sure,
Exempt from Loue, I liue in happines,
In which condition I will yet indure:
Griefes come apace, we neede not them procure:
     In the estate I liue, I am content,
     And minde not Loue, in dread of discontent.

I know (quoth I) you can from Loue refraine,
Bicause he holds his state within your eies:
But I, the vassall of his hard disdaine,
Am so deiected, as I cannot rise;
Albeit my sute and seruice you dispise,
     Yet giue me leaue to honor and admire,
     Your beautie which afflicteth my desire.

Ther’s little reason (said she then) to like
The thing which you affirme to vexe ye so,
If your desire such discontentment strike,
Such war, such anguish, agonies, and woe,
Let that fantastike I aduise ye goe:
     The man is much desirous of vnrest,
     That home intreates a knowne disquiet guest.

Excepting Loue, demaund you at my hand,
What euer is in my abilitie:
And may with vertue, and mine honor stand,
Ladie (said I) Loue is the Maladie,
And vnto Loue, Loue’s th’onely remedie:
     But sith you doe herein my sute detest,
     Then grant me this, the last I shall request.

When haples Loue hath brought me to the graue,
If so at any time you passe that way,
Where my consuming bones their buriall haue,
Vouchsafe yee then for pitties sake to say,
As I remember, heere my seruant lay,
     Long time a Louer in affection true,
     Whom my disdaine and rigor ouerthrew.

Altho yee die (quoth she) I will not loue,
And for you will not loue (said I) I die:
Then presently my spirits faild to moue,
Retiring backe themselues successiuelie:
But when she did the signe of death espie,
     She puld, she halde, seruant (said she) abide,
     Let not thy mistres be thy homicide.

If thy affections doe from Loue proceede,
How canst thou die, and I thy liues life neere?
If thou doost loue, and honor me indeede,
Why with this act dost thou defame me heere?
If thou esteemst my Loue and honor deere,
     O liue, and see my rigour ouerthrowne,
     And come and take possession of thine owne.

And then vnable weeping to withholde,
She sundrie meanes assaies to make me liue,
My brests she strikes, she rubs my temples colde,
And with such vehemence of labou