Fidelia Newly Corrected and Augmented
The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A15642.0001.001
Project Note
This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.
The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.
This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.
Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.
However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.
This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.
Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
FIDELIA. NEWLY CORRECTED and augmented, By GEORGE WITHERS of Lincolns Inn Gentleman.
LONDON Printed by E. G. for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at his shop at the Eagle and Child in Britain's Burse. 1619.
THE STATIONER to the Reader.
T His Epistle entitled Fidelia, was long since, imprinted to the use of the Author, who by the entreaty of some of his acquaintance was content to bestow it on such as had voluntarily requested it in way of an Aduenture. But having dispersed many, and remembering how far it would be from his disposition to lay claim to proffered gratuities, he wholly repented himself of what indeed he never well approved of, and how justly soever he might have challenged, more then many would have lost, yet in steed of being beholding, is resolved, rather to make those that have received any of his Books a little beholding to him, in freely forgiving them their unvrged promises: And forasmuch as he perceives that it hath delighted some, and is never likely to prejudice any, it hath pleased him that I should publish it to my own benefit, so long as I shall in the imprinting thereof carefully respect his credit, which as I never intend to fail of, on my part, so (hoping you that shall read it, will on your behalfes censure it with as little ill meaning to him as he had malice towards you in the composing thereof) I commit it to your discretions, and wish I could as well present you with all he hath been Author of.
Yours, GEORGE NORTON.
An Elegiacall Epistle of Fidelia to her unconstant Friend.
THE ARGUMENT.
This Elegiacall Epistle, being a fragment of some greater Poem, discovers the modest affections of a discreet and constant woman, shadowed under the name of Fidelia; wherein you may perceive the height of their passions, so far as they seem to agree with reason, and keep within such decent bounds as beseemeth their sex, but further it meddles not. The occasion seems to proceed from some mutability in her friend; whose objections she here presupposing, confuteth, and in the person of him, justly upbraideth all that are subject to the like change, or fickleness in mind. Among the rest some more weighty Arguments then are (perhaps) expected in such a subject, are briefly, and yet somewhat seriously handled.
OFt I heard tell, and now for truth I find,
Once out of sight, and quickly out of mind.
And that it hath been rightly said of old,
Love that's soon'st hot, is ever soonest cold.
Or else my tears at this time had not stained
The spotless paper, nor my lines complained.
I had not now been forced to have sent
These for the
Nuncio's
of my discontent;
Or thus exchanged, so unhappily,
My songs of mirth, to write an Elegy.
But now I must; and since I must do so,
Let me but crave thou wilt not flout my woe:
Nor entertain my sorrows with a scoff,
But at least read them, ere thou cast them off.
And though thy heart's too hard to have compassion,
If thoulit not pity, do not blame my
Passion.
For well thou knowest (alas that ere 'twas known)
There was a time (although that time be gone)
I, that for this, scarce dare a beggar be,
Presum'd for more to have commanded thee.
Yea the
Day
was (but see how things may change)
When thou and I have not been half so strange;
But oft embraced with a gentle greeting,
And no worse words than
Turtle. Dove,
or
Sweeting.
Yea had thy meaning, and those vows of thine,
Prov'd but as faithful, and as true as mine,
It still had been so: (for I do not fain)
I should rejoice it might be so again.
But since thy
Love
grows cold, and thou unkind,
Be not displeased I somewhat breath my mind,
I am in hope my words may prove a mirror,
Whereon thou looking, mayest behold thine error.
And yet the
Heaven,
and my sad heart doth know,
How grieu'd I am, and with what feeling woe
My mind is tortured, to think that I
Should be the brand of thy disloyalty:
Or live, to be the author of a line,
That shall be tainted with a fault of thine;
(Since if that thou but slightly touched be,
Deepe wounds of grief, and shame, it strikes in me)
And yet I must; ill hap compels me to
What I nere thought to have cause to do.
And therefore seeing that some angry
Fate
Imposes on me, what I so much hate:
Or since it is so, that the Powers divine
Me miserable, to such cares assign;
Oh that
Loves
patron, or some sacred
Muse
Amongst my
Passions,
would such Art infuse,
My well-framed words, and aiery sighs might prove,
The happy blasts to re-inflame thy love.
Or at least touch thee with thy fault so near,
That thou mightest see thou wronged'st, who held thee deer:
Seeing, confess the same, and so abhor it;
Abhorring, pity, and repent thee for it.
But (
Deare
) I hope that I may call thee so,
For thou art dear to me, although a foe;
Tell me, isit true that I do hear of thee,
And by thy absence now, so seems to be?
Can such abuse be in thy Court of
Love,
False and inconstant now, thou
He
shouldst prove?
He that so woeful, and so pensive sat,
Vowing his service at my feet of late?
Art thou that
quondam
lover, whose sad eye
I never saw yet, in my presence dry?
And from whose gentle-seeming tongue I know
So many pity-moving words could flow?
Wasit thou so soughtst my love, so seeking that
As if it had been all th'hadst aimed at;
Making me think thy
Passion
without stain,
And gently quite thee with my love again:
With this persuasion I so fairly placed it,
Nor
Time,
nor
Envy
should have ere defaced it▪
Isit so? have I done thus much? and art thou
So over-cloyed with my favors now?
Art wearied since with loving, and estranged
So far? Is thy affection so much changed,
That I of all my hopes must be deceived,
And all good thoughts of thee, be quite bereaved?
Then I find true, which long before this day,
I feared myself, and heard some wiser say;
That there is naught on earth so sweet, that can
Long relish with the curious taste of Man.
Happy was I; yea well it was with me,
Before I came to be bewitchit by thee.
I joy'd the sweet'st content that ever
Mayd
Possessed yet; and truly well-a-paid,
Made to myself alone, as pleasant mirth
As ever any
Virgin
did, on earth.
The melody I us'd was free, and such,
As that Bird makes, whom never hand did touch,
But vn-allured with Fowlers, whistling flies
Above the reach of human treacheries.
And well I do remember, often then
Could I read or'e the policies of men,
Discover what uncertainties they were,
How they would sigh, look sad, protest, and swear,
Nay fain to die, when they did never prove
The slendrest touch of a right worthy love:
But had chil'd hearts, whose dullness understood
No more of
Passion,
then they did of good.
All which I noted well, and in my mind
(A general humor amongst women-kind)
This vow I made; (thinking to keep it than)
That never the fair tongue of any man,
Nor his complaint, though never so much grieu'd,
Should move my heart to liking whilst I lived.
But who can say what she shall live to do?
I have believed, and let in liking too,
And that so far, I cannot yet see how
I may so much as hope, to help it now;
Which makes me think, what e're we women say,
Another mind will come, another day:
And that men may to things vnhopit for clime,
Who watch but
Opportunity
and
Time.
For 'tis well known, we were not made of clay,
Or such course, and ill-tempered stuff as they,
For he that framed us of their flesh, did deign
When 'twas at best, to new refine 't again.
Which makes us ever since the kinder
Creatures,
Of far more flexible, and yielding
Natures.
And as we oft excel in outward parts,
So we have nobler, and more gentle hearts.
Which you well knowing, daily do devise
How to imprint on them your
Cruelties.
But do I find my cause thus bad indeed?
Or else on things imaginary feed?
Am I the lasse that late so truly jolly,
Made myself merry oft, at others folly?
Am I the Nymph that
Cupids
fancies blamed,
That was so cold, so hard to be inflamed?
Am I myself? or is myself that
She
Who from this
Thraldome,
or such falsehoods free,
Late owned mine own heart, and full merry then,
Did fore-warn others to beware of Men,
And could not, having taught them what to do,
Now learn myself, to take heed of you too?
Fool
that I am; I fear my guerdon's just,
In that I knew this, and presumed to trust.
And yet (alas) for ought that I could tell,
One spark of goodness in the world might dwell.
And then I thought, if such a thing might be,
Why might not that one spark remain in thee?
For thy fair ou-tside, and thy fairer tongue,
Promised
much although thy years were young.
And
Virtue,
wheresoever she be now,
Seem'd them to sit enthron'd upon thy brow.
Yea sure it was; but whether 'twere or no,
Certain I am I was persuaded so,
Which made me loath to think that words of fashion
Could be so framed, so over-laid with
Passion,
Or sighs so feeling feigned from any breast;
Nay say thou hadst been false in all the rest,
Yet from thine eye my heart such notice took,
Me thought guile could not fain so sad a look.
But now I'ue tried, my bought experience knows,
They are oft worst that make the fairest shows.
And howsoe're men fain an outward grieving,
'It is neither worth respecting, nor believing,
For she that doth one to her mercy take,
Warmes in her bosom but a frozen snake:
Which heated with her favors, gathers sense,
And stings her to the heart in recompense.
But tell me why, and for what secret spite
You in poor women's miseries delight:
For so it seems; else why d'ye labor for
That, which when 'tis obtained, you do ahhor?
Or to what end do you endure such pain
To win our love, and cast it off again?
Oh that we either your hard hearts could borrow,
Or else your strengths to help us bear our sorrow!
But we are cause of all this grief and shame,
And we have none but our own selves to blame:
For still we see your falsehoods for our learning,
Yet never can have power to takit for warning;
But as if borne to be deluded by you,
We know you trustlesse, and yet still we try you.
(Alas) what wrong was in my power to do thee?
Or what despite have I e're done unto thee?
That thou shouldst choose Me, above all the rest,
To be thy scorn, and thus be made a jest.
Must men's ill natures such true villains prove them,
To make them only wrong those most that love them?
Couldst thou find none in
Country, Town
nor
Court,
But only Me, to make thy
Fool,
thy sport?
Thou knowest I have no wanton courses run,
Nor seemed easy unto lewdness won.
And though I cannot boast me of much wit,
Thou saw'st no sign of fondness in me yet.
Nor did ill nature ever so ore sway me,
To flout at any that did woe or pray me.
But grant I had been guilty of abusage,
Of thee I am sure I ner'e deseru'd such usage.
But thou wert grieved to behold my smilings,
When I was free from love, and thy beguilings.
Or to what purpose else, didst thou bestow
Thy time, and study to delude me so?
Hast thou good parts? and dost thou bend them all
To bring those that ner'e hated thee in thrall?
Pretheee take heed, although thou yet enjoy'st them
They'l be took from thee, if thou so employ'st them.
For though I wish not the least harm to thee,
I fear, the just
Heavens
will revenged be.
Oh! what of
Mee
by this time had become,
If my desires with thine had hapt to rome,
Or I, unwisely had consented to
What (shameless) once thou didst attempt to do?
I might have fallen, by those immodest tricks,
Had not some power been stronger then my Sex.
And if I should have so been drawn to folly,
I saw thee apt enough to be unholy.
Or if my weakness had been prone to sin,
I poorly by thy strength had succor'd been.
You
Men
make us believe you do but try,
And that's your part (you say) ours to deny.
Yet I much fear, if we through frailty stray,
There's few of you within your bounds will stay;
But, maugre all your seeming
Virtue,
be
As ready to forget yourselves, as we.
I might have feared thy part of love not strong,
When thou didst offer me so base a wrong.
And that I after loathed thee not, did prove
In me some extraordinary
Love.
For sure had any other, but in thought,
Presum'd unworthily what thou hast sought,
Might it appear, I should do thus much for him,
With a scarce reconeiled hate abhor him.
My young experience never yet did know
Whether desire might range so far, or no,
To make true
Lovers
carelessly request,
What rash enjoying makes them most vnblest,
Or blindly, thorough frailty give consenting
To that, which done brings nothing but repenting.
But in my judgment it doth rather prove
That thou art fired with lust, then warmed with love.
And if it be for proofemen so proceed,
It shows a doubt, else what do trials need?
And where is that man living ever knew
That false distrust, could be with love that's true?
Since the mere cause of that vnblam'd effect,
Such an opinion is, as hates suspect.
And yet I will thee, and thy love excuse,
If thou wilt neither me, nor mine abuse.
For I will suppose thy passion made thee proffer
That unto me, thou to none else wouldst offer.
And so, think thou; if I have thee denied,
Whom I more loved then all men else beside.
What hope have they, such favors to obtain,
That never half so much respect could gain?
Such was my love that I did value thee
Above all things below eternity.
Nothing on
Earth
unto my heart was nearer,
No joy so prized, nor no jewel dearer.
Nay: I do fear I did
Idolatrize,
For which
Heavens
wrath inflicts these miseries,
And makes the things which it for blessings sent,
To be renewers of my discontent.
Where was there any of the
Naiades,
The
Dryades,
or the
Hamadryades?
Which of the
British
shires can yield again,
A mistress of the Spring, or Wood, or Plain?
Whose eye enjoyed more sweet contents then mine,
Till I received my overthrow by thine?
Where's she did more delight in Springs and Rils?
Where's she that walked more Groues, or Downes, or Hills?
Or could by such fair artless prospects, more
Add by conceit, to her contentments store
Then I; whilst thou wert true, and with thy Gracēs
Didst give a pleasing presence to those places?
But now
What is; What was
hath overthrown,
My Rose-decked allies, now with Rue are strowne;
And from those flowers that honeyed use to be,
I suck naught now but juice to poison me.
For eu'n as she, whose gentle spirit can rise
To apprehend
Loves
noble mysteries,
Spying a precious
Jewel
richly set,
Shine in some corner of her
Cabinet,
Taketh delight at first to gaze upon
The pretty luster of the sparkling stone,
And pleased in mind, by that doth seem to see
How virtue shines through base obscurity;
But prying nearer, seeing it doth prove
Some relique of her deer deceased
Love,
Which to her sad remembrance doth lay ope,
What she most sought, and sees most far from hope:
Fainting almost beneath her
Passions
weight,
And quite forgetful of her first conceit:
Looking vponit again, from thence she borrows
Sad melancholy thoughts to feed her sorrows.
So I beholding
Natures
curious bowers,
Seel'd, strow'd, and trimmed up with leaves, herbs, and flowers.
Walk pleased on a while, and do devize
How on each object I may moralize,
But ere I pace on many steps, I see
There stands a
Hawthorne
that was trimmed by thee:
Here thou didst once slip off the virgin spraies,
To crown me with a wreath of living Bayes.
On such a Bank, I see how thou didst lie,
When viewing of a shady
Mulbery,
The hard mishap thou didst to me discuss
Of loving
Thysbe,
and young
Piramus:
And oh (think I) how pleasing was it then,
Or would be yet, might he return agen.
But if some neighbouring
Row
do draw me to
Those
Arbors,
where the shadows seem to woo
The weary love-sick
Passenger,
to sit
And view the beauties
Nature
strowes on it:
How fair (think I) would this sweet place appear,
If he I love, were sporting with me here!
Nay, every several object that I see,
Doth severally (me thinks) remember thee.
But the delight I us'd from it to gather,
I now exchange for cares, and seek them rather.
But those whose dull and gross affections can
Extend but only to desire a
Man,
Cannot the depth of these rare
Passions
know:
For their imaginations flag too low;
And cause their base
Conceits
do apprehend
Nothing but that whereto the flesh doth tend;
In
Loves
embraces they nere reach unto
More of content than the brute
Creatures
do.
Neither can any judge of this, but such
Whose braver minds for braver thoughts do touch.
And having spirits of a nobler frame,
Feele the true heat of
Loves
vnquenched flame.
They may conceive aright what smarting sting
To their
Remembrances
the place will bring,
Where they did once enjoy, and then do miss,
What to their souls most deer and precious is.
With me 'tis so; for those walks that once seemed
Pleasing, when I of thee was more esteemed,
To me appear most desolate and lonely,
And are the places now of torment only.
Where I the highest of contents did borrow,
There am I paid it home with treble sorrow.
Unto one place I do remember well,
We walked the eu'nings to hear
Phylomell:
And that seems now to want the light it had:
The shadow of the
Grou's
more dull and sad▪
As if it were a place but fit for Fowls
That screech ill▪luck; as melancholy
Owls,
Or fatal
Ravens,
that seld' boding good,
Croke their black
Auguries
from some dark wood.
Then if from thence I half despairing go,
Another place begins another woe:
For thus unto my thought it seems to say,
Hither thou saw'st him riding once that way;
Thither to meet him thou didst nimbly hast thee,
Yon he alighted, and eu'n there embraced thee:
Which whilst I sighing wish to do again,
Another object brings another pain;
For passing by that
Green,
which (could it speak)
Would tell it saw us run at
Barly-break;
There I beheld, what on a thin rin'd tree
Thou hadst engraven for the love of me;
When we two, all alone, in heat of day,
With chaste embraces drave swift hours away:
Then I remember too, unto my smart,
How loath we were, when time compelled, to part;
How cunningly thy
Passions
thou couldest fain,
In taking leave, and coming back again:
So oft, until (as seeming to forget
We were departing) down again we set;
And freshly in that sweet discourse went on,
Which now I almost faint to think upon.
Viewing again those other Walkes, and Groues
That have been witnesses of our chaste loves;
When I behold those Trees whose tender skin
Hath that cut out, which still cuts me within.
Or come by chance, unto that pretty Rill
Where thou wouldst sit, & teach the neighboring Hill
To answer in an Echo unto those
Rare
Problems
which thou often didst propose.
When I come there (think I) if these could take
That use of words and speech which we partake,
They might unfold a thousand pleasures then
Which I shall never live to taste agen:
And thereupon
Remembrance
doth so rack
My thoughts, with representing what I lack,
That in my mind those Clerks do argue well,
Which hold
Priuation
the greatest plague of hell.
For there's no torment gripes me half so bad,
As the
Remembrance
of those joys I had.
Oh hast thou quite forgot, when sitting by
The banks of
Thame,
beholding how the
Fry
Play'd on the silver waves? There where I first
Granted to make my
Fortune
thus accurst;
There where thy too-too earnest suite compelled
My over-soon believing heart to yield
One favor first, which then another drew
To get another, till (alas) I rue
That day and hour, thinking I nere should need
(As now) to grieve for doing such a deed.
So freely I my curtesies bestowed
That whose I was unwarily I showed,
And to my heart such passage made for thee,
Thou canst not to this day removed be,
And what breast could resist it, having seen
How true thy love had in appearance been.
For I shall ner'e forget, when thou hadst there
Laid open every discontent and care,
Wherewith thou deeply seemed'st to me oppressed,
When thou (as much as any could protest)
Had'st vowed and sworn, and yet perceiu'dst no sign
Of pity-moving in this breast of mine:
Well Love (said'st thou) since neither sigh nor vow,
Nor any service may prevail me now:
Since neither the recital of my smart,
Nor those strong
Passions
that assail my heart,
Nor anything may move thee to belief
Of these my sufferings, or to grant relief:
Since there's no comfort, nor desert, that may
Get me so much as
Hope
of what I pray;
Sweet
Love
farewell, farewell fair beauties light,
And every pleasing object of the sight:
My poor despairing heart here biddeth you,
And all Content, for evermore adue.
Then eu'n as thou seemed'st ready to depart;
Reaching that hand, which after gave my heart,
(And thinking this sad
Farewell
did proceed,
From a sound breast, but truly moved indeed)
I stayed thy departing from me so,
Whilst I stood mute with sorrow, thou for show.
And the mean while as I beheld thy look,
My eye th'impression of such
Pitty
took,
That, with the strength of
Passion
overcome,
A deep fetched sigh my heart came breathing from:
Whereat thou (ever wisely using this
To take advantage when it offered is)
Renewd'st thy suit to me, who did afford
Consent, in silence first, and then in word.
So that for yielding thou mayest thank thy wit:
And yet when ever I remember it,
Trust me, I muse, and often, wondering, think
Thorough what craney, or what secret chinke
That
Love
unawares, so like a sly close Elfe,
Did to my heart insinuate it self.
Gallants I had, before thou camest to woo,
Could as much love, and as well court me too;
And though they had not learned so the fashion,
Of acting such well-counterfeited
Passion;
In wit, and person, they did equal thee,
And worthier seemed, unless thou wilt faithful be.
Yet still vnmou'd, vnconquer'd I remained,
No, not one thought of love was entertained:
Nor could they brag of the least favor to them,
Save what mere courtesy enioyn'd to do them.
Hard was my heart: But wouldit had harder been,
And then, perhaps, I had not let thee in,
Thou
Tyrant,
that art so imperious there,
And only take'st delight to
Dominere.
But held I out such strong, such oft assailing,
And ever kept the honor of prevailing?
Was this poor breast from loves allurings free,
Cruel to all, and gentle unto thee?
Did I unlock that strong affections door,
That never could be broken ope before,
Only to thee? and at thy intercession
So freely give up all my hearts possession:
That to myself I left not one poor vein,
Nor power, nor will to put thee fromit again?
Did I do this, and all on thy bare vow,
And wilt thou thus requite my kindness now?
Oh that thou either hadst not learned to fain,
Or I had power to cast thee off again!
How is it that thon art become so rude,
And over-blinded by
Ingratitude?
Swearst thou so deeply that thou wouldst persevere,
That I might thus be cast away forever?
Well, then tis true that Lovers perjuries,
Among some men, are thought no injuries:
And that she, only, hath least cause of grief,
Who of your words hath smalst, or, no belief.
Had I the wooer been, or fondly woon,
This had been more though, then thou couldst have don;
But neither being so, what Reason is
On thy side, that should make thee offer this?
I know, had I been false, or my faith faild,
Thou wouldst at women's fickleness have raild:
And if in me it had an error been,
In thee shall the same fault be thought no sin?
Rather I hold that which is bad in me,
Will be a greater blemish unto thee;
Because by
Nature
thou art made more strong,
And therefore abler to endure a wrong.
But tis our
Fortune,
you will have all the power,
Only the
Care,
and
Burthen
must be our.
Nor can you be content a wrong to do,
Unless you lay the blame upon us too.
Oh that there were some gentle-minded
Poet
That knew my heart, as well as now I know it;
And would endear me to his love so much,
To give the world (though but) a slender rouch
Of that sad
Passion
which now clogs my heart,
And show my truth, and thee how false thou art:
That all might know, what is believed by no man,
Ther's fickleness in men, and faith in woman.
Thou sawst I first let
Pitty
in, then liking,
And lastly that which was thy only seeking;
And when I might have scornd that love of thine,
(As now vngently thou despisest mine,)
Among the inmost Angles of my breast:
To lodge it by my heart I thought it best:
Which thou hast stolen too like a thankelesse Mate,
And left me nothing but a black self-hate.
What canst thou say for this, to stand contending?
What color hast thou left for thy offending?
That wit, perhaps, hath some excuse in store,
Or an evasion to escape a sore.
But well I know, if thou excuse this treason,
It must be by some greater thing then reason.
Are any of those
Virtues
yet defaced,
On which thy first affection seemed placed?
Hath any secret foe my true faith wronged,
To rob the bliss that to my heart belonged?
What then? shall I condemned be unheard,
Before thou knowest how I may be cleared?
Thou art acquainted with the times condition,
Know'st it is full of envy, and suspicion,
So that the war'est in thought, word, and action,
Shall be most iniur'd by foul-mouthed detraction:
And therefore thou, methinks, shouldest wisely pause
Before thou credit rumors without cause.
But I have gotten such a confidence
In thy opinion, of my innocence:
It is not that, I know, with-holds thee now:
Sweet, tell me then; is it some sacred vow?
Hast thou resolved, not to join thy hand
With any one in
Hymens
holy band?
Thou shouldst have done it then, when thou wert free,
Before thou hadst bequeathed thyself to me.
What vow dost deem more pleasing unto
Heaven,
Then what is by unfeigned lovers given?
If any be, yet sure it frowneth at
Those that are made for contradicting that.
But if thou wouldst live chastely all thy life,
That thou mayest do, though we be man and wife:
Or if thou longest a
Virgin
-death to die,
Why, if it be thy pleasure, so do I.
Make me but thine, and I will (contented) be
A Virgin still, yet live and lie with thee.
Then let not thy inventing brain assay
To mock, and still delude me every way;
But call to mind, how thou hast deeply sworn
Nor to neglect, nor leave me thus forlorn.
And if thou wilt not be to me as when
We first did love, do but come see me then;
Vouchsafe that I may sometime with thee walk,
Or sit and look on thee, or hear thee talk;
And I, that most content once aimed at,
Will think there is a world of bliss in that.
Dost thou suppose that my
Desires
denies
With thy affections well to sympathize?
Or such perverseness hast thou found in me,
May make our
Natures
disagreeing be?
Thou knowest when thou didst wake I could not sleep
And if thou wert but sad, that I should weep.
Yet even when the tears my cheek did stain
If thou didst smile, why I could smile again:
I never did contrary thee in ought:
Nay, thou canst tell, I oft have spake thy thought.
Waking; the self-same course with thee I run,
And sleeping, oftentimes our dreams were one.
The Dial needle, though it sense doth want,
Still bends to the beloved
Adamant,
Lift the one up, the other upward tends;
If this fall down, that presently descends:
Turn but about the stone, the steel turns too;
Then straight returns, if but the other do;
And if it stay, with trembling keeps one place,
As if it panting longed for an embrace.
So wasit with me: for if thou merry wert,
That mirth of thine, moved joy within my heart:
I sighed too, when thou didst sigh, or frown;
When thou wert sick, thou hast perceived me swoon;
And being sad, have oft, with forced delight,
Striu'd to give thee content, beyond my might.
When thou wouldst talk, then have I talked with thee,
And silent been, when thou wouldst silent be.
If thou abroad didst go, with joy I went;
If home thou lou'dst, at home was my content:
Yea, what did to my
Nature
disagree,
I could make pleasing, cause it pleased thee.
But ifit be either my weak Sexe, or youth,
Makes thee misdoubt my vndistained truth,
Know this; as none till that unhappy hour,
When I was first made thine, had ever power
To move my heart, by vows, or tears expense,
No more, I swear, could any
Creature
since.
No looks but thine, though aimed with
Passions
Art,
Could pierce so deep to penetrate my heart.
No name but thine, was welcome to my ear,
No word did I so soon, so gladly hear:
Nor never could my eyes behold or see,
What I was since delighted in, but thee.
And sure thou wouldst believe it to he so,
If I could tell, or words might make thee know,
How many a weary night my tumbled bed
Hath known me sleeplesse: what salt tears I'ue shed,
What scalding sighs, the marks of souls oppressed,
Have hourly breathed from my careful breast:
Nor wouldst thou deem those waking sorrows feigned
If thou mightest see how sleeping I am pained.
For if sometimes I chance to take a slumber,
Vnwelcome dreams my broken rest doth cumber,
Which dreaming makes me start, starting with fears
Wakes; and so waking I renew my cares:
Until my eyes ore-tired with watch and weeping,
Drownd in their own floods, fall again to sleeping.
Oh! that thou couldst but think, when last we parted,
How much I, grieving for thy absence, smarted.
My very soul fell sick, my heart to aking,
As if they had their last
Farewels
been taking;
Or feared by some secret Diuination,
This thy revolt, and causeless alteration.
Didst thou not feel how loath that hand of mine,
Was to let go the hold it had of thine?
And with what heavy, what unwilling look,
I leave of thee, and then of comfort took?
I know thou didst; and though now thus thou do,
I am deceiu'd, but then it grieu'd thee too.
Then, if I so with
Loves
fell passion vext
For thy departure only was perplexed,
When I had left to strengthen me some trust,
And hope, that thou wouldest never have prou'd unjust:
What was my torture then and hard endurance,
When of thy falsehood I received assurance.
Alas, my tongue, a while, with grief was dumb,
And a cold shuddering did my joints benumb,
Amazement seized my thought, and so prevailed,
I found me ill, but knew not what I ailed;
Nor can I yet tell, since my suffering then
Was more then could be shown by Poets pen;
Or well conceived by any other heart
Then that which in such care hath borne a part.
Oh me; how loath was I to have believed
That to be true, for which so much I grieu'd?
How glady would I have persuaded been
There had been no such matter, no such sin.
I would have had my heart think that (I knew
To be the very truth) not to be true.
Why may not this, thought I, some vision be,
Some sleeping dream, or waking fantasy
Begotten by my over-blinded folly,
Or else engendered through my
Melancholy?
But finding it so real (thought I) then
Must I be cast from all my hopes agen?
What are become of all those fading blisses,
Which late my hope had, and now so much misses?
Where is that future fickle happiness
Which I so long expected to possess?
And thought I too; where are his dying
Passions,
His honeyed words, his bitter lamentations?
To what end were his
Sonnets, Epigrams,
His pretty
Posies,
witty
Anagrams?
I could not think, all that might have been feigned,
Nor any faith, I thought so firm, been stained:
Nay, I do sure and confidently know:
It is not possible it should be so:
If that rare Art and
Passion
was thine own,
Which in my presence thou hast often shown.
But since thy change, my much presaging heart
Is half afrai'd, thou some impostor wert:
Or that thou didst but (Player-like addrest)
Act that which flowed from some more gentle breast.
Thy puffed invention, with worse matter swollen,
Those thy conceits from better wits hath stolen:
Or else I know it could not be, that thou
Shouldst be so over-cold as thou art now;
Since those, who have that feelingly their own,
Euer possess more worth concealed, then known.
And if
Love
ever any Mortals touch,
To make a brave impression, 'tis in such,
Who sworn loves Chaplains, will not violate
That, whereunto themselves they consecrate.
But oh you noble brood, on whom the world
The slighted burden of neglect hath hurled,
(Because your thoughts for higher objects borne,
Their groveling humors and affections scorn)
You whom the
God's,
to hear your strains, will follow,
Whilst you do court the sisters of
Apollo.
You whom there's none thats worthy, can neglect,
Or any that unworthy is, affect:
Do not let those that seek to do you shame,
Bewitch us with those songs they cannot frame:
The noblest of our Sexe, and fairest too,
Do ever love and honor such as you.
Then wrong us not so much to give your
Passion
To those that have it but in imitation:
And in their dull breasts never feel the power
Of such deep thoughts as sweetly move in your.
As well as you, they us thereby abuse,
For (many times) when we our
Lovers
choose,
Where we think
Nature
that rich
Iowell
sets
Which shines in you, we light on counterfeits.
But see, see whither discontentment bears me,
And to what vncoth strains my
Passion
rears me:
Yet pardon me, I here again repent,
If I have erred through that discontent.
Be what thou wilt, be counterfeit or right,
Be constant, serious, or be vain, or light,
My love remains inviolate the same,
Thou canst be nothing that can quench this flame,
But it will burn as long as thou hast breath
To keep it kindled (if not after death)
Ne're was there one more true, then I to thee
And though my faith must now despised be,
Vnpriz'd, vnualued at the lowest rate;
Yet this I will tell thee, 'tis not all thy state,
Nor all that better-seeming worth of thine,
Can buy thee such another
Love
as mine:
Liking it may, but oh there's as much odds,
Twixt love and that, as between men and God's:
And 'tis a purchase not procured with treasure,
As some fools think, nor to be gained at pleasure.
For were it so, and any could assure it,
What would not some men part with, to procure it?
But though thou weighit not, as thou oughtst to do,
Thou knowest I love, and once didst love me too.
Then where's the cause of this dislike in thee?
Survey thyself, I hope there's none in me.
Yet look on her from whom thou art estranged?
See; is my person, or my beauty changed?
Once thou didst praise it, prithee viewit agen,
And mark ifit be not still the same 'twas then:
No false
Uermilion▪
die my cheek distaines,
It is the poor blood dispierst through pores & veins;
Which thou hast oft seen through my forehead flushing,
To show no dawby color hid my blushing:
Nor never shall:
Virtue,
I hope, will save me,
Contented with that beauty
Nature
gave me:
Or ifit seem less, for that griefs ve
•
se hath hid it,
Thou threw'st it on me, 'twas not I that did it,
And canst again restore, what may repair
All that's decayed, and make me far more fair:
Which if thou do, I will be more wary than
To keepit for thee vnblemisht, what I can;
And cause at best 'twill want much of perfection,
The rest shall be supplied with true affection.
But I do fear, it is some others riches,
Whose more abundance that thy mind bewitches,
So that base object, that too general aim,
Makes thee my lesser
Fortune
to disclaim.
Fye, canst thou so degenerate in spirit,
As to prefer the means before the merit?
Although I cannot say it is in me,
Such worth sometimes with poverty may be
To equalize the match she takes upon her;
Tho th' other vaunt of
Birth, Wealth, Beauty, Honor:
And many a one that did for greatness wed,
Would gladly change it for a meaner bed.
Yet are my
Fortunes
known indifferent,
Not basely mean, but such as may content:
And though I yield the better to be thine,
I may be bold to say thus much, for mine;
That if thou couldst of them and me esteem,
Neither thy state, nor birth, would mis-beseem:
Or if it did; how can I helpit (alas!)
Thou, not alone, before knew'st what it was.
But I (although not fearing so to speed)
Did also disinableit more than need,
And yet thou woo'dst, and wooing didst persevere,
As if thou hadst intended
Love
forever:
Yea, thy account of wealth thou madest so small,
Thou hadst not any question ofit at all;
But hating much that peasant-like condition,
Did'st seem displeased I held it in suspicion,
Whereby I think, if nothing else do thwart us,
It cannot be the want of that will part us.
Yea, I do rather doubt indeed, that this
The needless fear of friends displeasure is;
That is the bar that stops out my delight,
And all my hope and joy confoundeth quite.
But bears there any in thy heart such sway
To shut me thence, and wipe thy love away?
Can there be any friend that hath the power,
To disvnite hearts so conioyn'd as our?
E're I would have so done by thee; I'd rather
Have parted with one dearer then my father.
For though the will of our Creator binds
Each child to learn and know his parents minds,
Yet sure I am, so just a
Deity.
Commandeth nothing against
Piety.
Nor doth that band of duty give them leave,
To violate their faith, or to deceive.
And though that
Parents
have authority,
To rule their children in minority;
Yet they are never granted such power on them,
That will allow to tyrannize upon them,
Or use them under their command so ill,
To force them, without reason, to their will.
For who hath read in all the sacred writ,
Of any one compelled to marriage (yet?)
Or father so unkind (thereto required)
Deny'd his
Child
the match that he desired,
So that be found the laws did not forbid it?
I think those gentler ages no men did it.
In those days therefore for them to have been
Contracted without license, had been sin;
Since there was more good
Nature
among men,
And everyone more truly loving then.
But now (although we stand obliged still
To labor for their liking, and good will)
There is no duty whereby they may tie us
From ought which without reason they deny us:
For I do think, it is not only meant,
Children should ask, but
Parents
should consent:
And that they err, their duty as much breaking,
For not consenting, as we not for speaking.
"It is no marvel many matches be
"Concluded now without their privity;
"Since they, through greedy
Avarice
misled,
"Their interest in that have forfeited.
For these respectlesse of all care, do marry
Hot youthful
May
to cold old
January.
Those for some greedy end do basely tie
The sweetest fair to foul deformity.
Forcing a love from where 'twas placed late,
To re-engraff it where it turns to hate.
It seems no cause of hindrance in their eyes,
Though manners nor affections sympathize.
And two Religions by their rules of state,
They may in one made body tolerate,
As if they did desire that double stem,
Should fruitful bear but
Nauters
like to them.
Alas, how many numbers of both kinds
By that have ever discontented minds!
And live (though seeming unto others well)
In the next torments unto those of hell.
How many desprate grown by this their sin,
Have both undone themselves and all their kin?
Many a one we see it makes to fall
With the too-late repenting
Prodigal.
Thousands, though else by nature gentler given,
To act the horridest murders oft are driven.
And (which is worse) there's many a careless else,
(Unless heaven pity) kills and damns himself.
Oh what hard heart, or what vnpittying eyes,
Could hold from tears to see those Tragedies,
Parents
by their neglect in this, have hurld
Upon the stage of this respectlesse world?
It is not one
Man,
one
Family,
one
Kin,
No nor one
Country
that hath ruined been
By such their
Folly,
which the cause hath prou'd,
That foreign oft, and civil wars were moved
By such beginnings many a City lies
Now in the dust, whose
Turrets
brau'd the skies:
And diverse
Monarkes
by such fortunes crossed,
Have seen their Kingdoms fired, and spoiled and lost.
Yet all this while, thou seest, I mention not
The ruin, shame, and chastity hath got;
For 'tis a task too infinite to tell
How many thousands that would have done well,
Do by the meánes of this, suffer desires
To kindle in their hearts unlawful fires:
Nay, some in whose cold breast never flame had been
Have only for mere vengeance fallen to sin.
My self have seen, and my heart bled to seeit,
A witless Clowne enjoy a match unmeet.
She was a Lasse that had a look to move
The heart of cold
Diogenes
to love:
Her eye was such, whose every glance did know
To kindle flames upon the hills of snow;
And by her powerful peircings could imprint,
Or sparkle fire into a heart of flint:
And yet, unless I much deceived be,
In very thought did hate immodestie:
And (had sh'enioyd the man she could have loved)
Might, to this day, have lived vnreprou'd:
But being forced, perforce, by seeming friends,
With her consent, she her contentment ends.
In that compelled, her self to him she gave,
Whose bed, she rather could have wisht her grave;
And since, I hear, what I much fear is true,
That she hath bidden shame and fame adue.
Such are the causes now that
Parents
quite
Are put beside much of their ancient right:
There fear of this, makes children to with-hold
From giving them those dues which else they would:
And these thou see'st are the too-fruitful ils,
Which daily spring from their unbridled wills.
Yet they, forsooth, will have it understood,
That all their study, is their children's good.
A seeming
Love
shall cover all they do:
When, if the matter were well lokit into,
Their careful reach is chiefly to fulfill
Their own foul, greedy, and insatiate will:
Who quite forgetting they were ever young,
Would have the children dote with them on dung.
Grant, betwixt two, there be true love, content,
Birth not mis-seeming, wealth sufficient,
Equality in years, an honest fame,
In every side the person without blame,
And they obedient too: What can you gather
Of Love, or of Affection, in that father,
That but a little to augment his treasure,
(Perhaps, no more but only for his pleasure:)
Shall force his child to one he doth abhor,
From her he loves, and justly seeketh for;
Compelling him, (for such mis-fortune grieu'd)
To die with care, that might with joy have lived?
This you may say is
Love,
and swear as well,
There's pains in
Heaven,
and delights in
Hell;
Or that the Devils fury and austerity,
Proceeds out of his care of our prosperity.
Would
Parents
(in this age) have us begin
To take by their eyes, our affections in?
Or do they think we bear them in our fist,
That we may still remove them as they list?
It is impossible it should be thus,
For we are ruled by
Love,
not Love by us:
And so our power so much never reacheth to,
To know where we shall love, until we do.
And when it comes, hide it a while we may,
But 'tis not in our strengths to driueit away.
Either mine own eye should my chuser be,
Or I would never wear
Hymens
Livery.
For who is he so near my heart doth rest,
To know what 'tis, that mine approveth best:
I have myself beheld those men, whose frame,
And outward personages had naught of blame,
They had (what might their good proportion grace)
The much more moving part, a comely face,
With many of those complements, which we,
In common men, of the best breeding, see.
They had discourse, and wit enough to carry
Themselves in fashion, at an
Ordinary;
Gallants they were, loved company and sport,
Wore favors, and had
Mistresses
in Court:
And every way were such that now might seem
Worthy of note, respect, and such esteem;
Yet hath my eye more cause of liking seen,
Where naught perhaps by some hath noted been:
And I have there found more content, by far,
Where some of these perfections wanting are;
Yea so much, that their beauties were a blot
To them (me thought) because he had them not.
There some peculiar thing innated is,
That bears an vncontrouled sway in this;
And nothing but it self knows how to fit
The mind with that which best shall suit with it.
Then why should
Parents
thrust themselves into
What they want warrant for, and power to do?
How is it they are so forgetful grown,
Of those conditions, that were once their own?
Do they so dote amidst their wits perfection,
To think that age and youth hath like affection!
(When they do see 'mong those of equal years,
One hateth what another most endeares.)
Or do they think their wisdoms can invent
A thing to give, that's greater than Content?
No, neither shall they wrap us in such blindness,
To make us think the spite they do, a kindness.
For as I would advise no child to stray
From the least duty that he ought to pay:
So would I also have him wisely know,
How much that duty is which he doth owe:
That knowing what doth unto both belong,
He may do them their right, himself no wrong.
For if my
Parents
him I loath should choose,
It is lawful, yea my duty to refuse:
Else, how shall I lead so upright a life,
As is enjoined to the
Man
and
Wife?
Since that we see some time there are repentings,
Even where there are the most, and best contentings.
What, though that by our
Parents
first we live,
Is not life, misery enough to give;
Which at their births the children doth undo,
Unless they add some other mischief to?
Cause they gave being to this flesh of our,
Must we be therefore slaves unto their power?
We never desired it, for how could we tell,
Not being, but that not to be was well:
Nor know they whom they profit by it, seeing
Happy were some, if they had had no being.
Indeed, had they produced us without sin,
Had all our duty to have pleased them been:
Of the next life, could they assure the state,
And both beget us and regenerate;
There were no reason then we should withstand
To undergo their tyranou'st command:
In hope that either for our hard endurance,
We should, at last, have comfort in assurance:
Or if in our endeavours we mis-sped,
At least feel nothing when we should be dead.
But what's the
Reason
for it that we shall be
Inthral'd so much unto Mortality?
Our souls on will of any
Men
to tie
Unto an everlasting misery.
So far, perhaps too, from the good of either,
We ruin them, our selves, and all together.
Children owe much, I must confess, 'tis true,
And a great debt is to the
Parents
due:
Yet if they have not so much power to crave
But in their own defense the lives they gave:
How much less then, should they become so cruel
As to take from them the high prised Jewel
Of liberty in choice, whereon depends
The main contentment that the heaven here lends;
Worth life or wealth, nay far more worth then either,
Or twenty thousand lives put all together.
Then howsoever some, severer bent,
May deem of my opinion, or intent,
With that which follows thus conclude I do:
(And I have Reason for it, and Conscience too)
No Parent may his Childs just suite deny
On his bare will, without a reason why:
Nor he so us'd, be disobedient thought,
If vnapprou'd he take the match he sought.
So then if that thy faith vncrazed be,
Thy friends dislike shall be no stop to me:
For if their will be not of force to do it,
They shall have no cause else to drive them to it.
Let them bring all forth that they can allege,
We are both young, and of the fittest age,
If thou dissembledst not, both love, and both
To admit hindrance in our loves were loath.
It is prejudicial unto none that lives,
And God's, and human Law our warrant gives.
Nor are we much unequal in degree,
Perhaps our
Fortunes
somewhat different be.
But say that little means, which is, were not,
The want of wealth may not dissolve this knot.
For though some such preposterous courses wend,
Prescribing to themselves no other end▪
Marr'age was not ordained toenrich men by,
Unless it were in their posterity.
And he that doth for other causes wed,
Ner'e knows the true sweetes of a marriage bed:
Nor shall he by my will, for 'tis unfit
He should have bliss that never aim'd at it.
Though that bewitching gold the
Rabble
blinds,
And is the object of the
Vulgar
minds:
Yet those me thinks that graced seem to be,
With so much good as doth appear in thee,
Should scorn, their better▪ taught desires to tie
To that, which fools do get their honor by.
I can like of the wealth I (must confess)
Yet more I prize the man, though money-Jesse.
I am not of their humor yet, that can
For Title, or Estate, affect a
Man;
Or of myself, one body deign to make
With him I loath, for his possessions sake.
Nor wish I ever to have that mind bred
In me, that is in those; who, when they wed,
Think it enough they do attain the grace
Of some new honor, to fare well, take place,
Weare costly clothes, in others sights agree,
Or happy in opinion seem to be.
I weigh not this: for were I sure before
Of
Spencers
wealth, or our rich
Suttons
store;
Had I therewith a man, whom
Nature
lent
Person
enough to give the eye content:
If I no outward due, nor right did want,
Which the best husbands in appearance grant▪
Nay, though alone we had no private jars,
But merry lived from all domestic cares;
Unless I thought his
Nature
so incline,
That it might also sympathize with mine,
(And yield such correspondence with my mind,
Our souls might mutually contentment find,
By adding unto these which went before,
Some certain vnexpressed pleasures more,
Such as exceed the straight and curbed dimensions▪
Of common minds, and vulgar apprehensions)
I would not care for such a match, but tarry
In this estate I am, and never marry.
Such were the sweets I hoped to have possessed,
When
Fortune
should with thee have made me blest.
My heart could hardly think of that content
To apprehend it without rauishment.
Each word of thine (me-thought) was to my ears
More pleasing then that music, which the
Spheres
(They say) do make the God's, when in their chime,
Their motions
Diapason
with the time.
In my conceit, the opening of thy eye,
Seem'd to give light to every object by,
And shed a kind of life unto my show,
In everything that was within it view.
More joy I'ue felt to have thee but in place,
Then many do in the most close embrace
Of their beloved'st friend, which well doth prove,
Not to thy body only tends my love.
But mounting a true height, grows so divine,
It makes my soul to fall in love with thine.
And sure now whatsoer'e thy body do,
Thy soul loves mine, and oft they visit too.
For late I dreamed they went I know not whither,
Unless to
Heaven,
and there played together;
And to this day I nere could know or see,
'Twixt them or us the least
Antipathy.
Then what should make thee keep thy person hence,
Or leave to love, or hold it in suspense?
If to offend thee I unawares was driven,
Isit such a fault as may not be forgiven?
Or if by frowns of
Fate
I have been check,
So that I seem not worth thy first respect,
Shall I be therefore blamed and upbraided,
With what could not be holpen, nor avoided?
It is not my fault: yet cause my
Fortunes
do,
Wilt thou be so unkind to wrong me too?
Not unto
Thine,
but thee I set my heart,
So naught can wipe my love out while thou art:
Though thou wert poorer both of house and meat,
Then he that knows not where to sleep or eat:
Though thou wert sunk into obscurity,
Become an abject in the worlds proud eye,
Though by perverseness of thy
Fortune
crossed,
Thou wert deformed, or some limb hadst lost,
That love which
Admiration
first begot,
Pitty
would strengthen, that it failed not:
Yea I should love thee still, and without blame,
As long as thou couldst keep thy mind the same;
Which is of
Virtues
so compact (I take it)
No mortal change shall have the power to shake it.
This may, and will (I know) seem strange to those
That cannot the
Abyss
of love disclose,
Nor must they think, whom but the outside moves,
Euer to apprehend such noble
Loves,
Or more conjecture their vnsounded measure,
Then can we mortals of immortal pleasure.
Then let not those dull vnconceiuing brains,
Who shall hereafter come to read these strains,
Suppose that no loves fire can be so great,
Because it gives not their cold Clime such heat.
Or think m'invention could have reached here
Unto such thoughts, unless such love there were.
For then they shall but show their knowledge weak,
And injure me, that feel of what I speak.
But now my lines grow tedious, like my wrong,
And as I thought that, thou thinkest this too long.
Or some may deem, I thrust myself into
More then beseemeth modesty to do.
But of the difference I am not unwitting,
Betwixt a peevish coins, and things unfitting:
Nothing respect I, who pries ore my doing:
For here's no vain allurements, nor fond wooing,
To train some wanton stranger to my lure;
But with a thought that's honest, chaste, and pure,
I make my cause unto thy conscience known,
Suing for that which is by right my own.
In which complaint, if thou do hap to find
Any such word, as seems to be unkind:
Mistake me not, it but from
Passion
sprung,
And not from an intent to do thee wrong.
Or if among these doubts my sad thoughts breed,
Some (peradventure) may be more than need;
They are to let thee know, might we dispute,
There's no objections but I could refute;
And spite of
Envy
such defences make,
Thou shouldst embrace that love thou dost forsake.
Then do not (oh forgetful man) now deem,
That 'tis ought else then I have made it seem.
Or that I am unto this
Passion
moved,
Because I cannot else-where be beloved:
Or that it is thy state, whose greatness known,
Makes me become a suitor for my own:
Suppose not so; for know this day there be
Some that woo hard for what I offer thee:
And I have ever yet contented been
With that estate I first was placed in.
Banish those thoughts, and turn thee to my heart,
Come once again, and be what once thou wert.
Reviue me by those wonted joys repairing,
That am nigh dead with sorrows and despairing.
So shall the memory of this annoy,
But add more sweetness to my future joy;
Yea make me think thou meantst not to deny me,
But only wert estranged thus, to try me.
And lastly, for that loves sake thou once bar'st me,
By that right hand thou gau'st, hat oath thou swar'st me,
By all the
Passions,
and (if any be)
For her deer sake that makes thee injure me;
I here conjure thee; no; entreat and sue,
That if these lines do over-reach thy view,
Thou wouldst afford me so much favor for them▪
As to accept, or at least not abhor them.
So though thou wholly cloak not thy disdain,
I shall have somewhat the less cause to plain:
Or if thou needs must scoff at this, or me,
Doit by thyself, that none may witness be.
Not that I fear 'twill bring me any blame,
Only I am loath the world should know my shame.
For all that shall this plaint with reason view,
Will judge me faithful, and thee most untrue.
But if
Obliuion,
that thy love bereft,
Hath not so much good nature in thee left,
But that thou must, as most of you men do,
When you have conquered, tyranize it too:
Know this before, that it is praiseto no man,
To wrong so frail a
Creature
as a woman,
And to insult or'e one, so much made thine,
Will more be thy disparagement then mine.
But oh (I pray that it portend no harm,)
A cheering heat my chilled senses warms:
Just now I flashing feel into my breast,
A sudden comfort, not to be expressed;
Which to my thinking, doth again begin
To warm my heart, to let some hope come in;
It tells me, 'tis impossible that thou
Shouldst live not to be mine; It whispers how
My former fears and doubts have been in vain,
And that thou mean'st yet to return again.
It says thy absence from some cause did grow,
Which, or I should not, or I could not know.
It tells me now, that all those proofs, whereby
I seemed assured of thy disloyalty,
May be but treacherous plots of some base foes,
That in thy absence sought our overthrows.
Which if it prove; as yet me thinks it may,
Oh! what a burden shall I cast away?
What cares shall I lay by? and to what height
Tower in my new ascension to delight?
Sure ere the full of it I come to try,
I shall eu'n surfeit in my joy, and die.
But such a loss might well be called a thriving,
Since more is got by dying so, then living.
Come kill me then, my dear, if thou think fit▪
With that which never killed woman yet:
Or write to me before, so shalt thou give
Content more moderate that I may live:
And when I see my staff of trust unbroken,
I will vnspeake again what is mis-spoken.
What I have written in dispraise of
Men,
I will recant, and praise as much agen;
In recompense I will add unto their Stories,
Encomiastick
lines to ymp their glories.
And for those wrongs my love to thee hath done▪
Both I and it unto thy
Pitty
run:
In whom, if the least guilt thou find to be,
For ever let thy arms imprison me.
Mean while I will try if misery will spare
Me so much respite, to take truce with care.
And patiently await the doubtful doom,
Which I expect from thee should shortly come;
Much longing that I one way may be sped,
And not still linger 'twixt alive and dead.
For I can neither live yet as I should,
Because I least enjoy of that I would;
Nor quiet die, because (indeed) I first
Would see some better days, or know the worst.
Then hasten
Deare,
if to my end it be,
It shall be welcome, cause it comes from thee.
If to renew my
Comfort
ought be sent,
Let me not loose a minute of
Content.
The precious
Time
is short, and will away;
Let us enjoy each other while we may.
Cares
thrive,
Age
creepeth on,
Men
are but shades,
Ioyes
lessen,
Youth
decays, and
Beauty
fades;
New turns come on, the old returneth never
If we let our go past, 'tis past forever.
Inter EQVITAND: PALINOD.
MY
Genius
say what
Thoughts
these paintngs move?
Thy
Thoughts
of
Love.
What
Flames
are these that set my heart on fire?
Flames
of
Desire.
What are the
Means
that these two underprop?
Thy earnest
Hope.
Then yet I am happy in my sweet
Friends
choice.
For they in depth of
Passion
may rejoice,
Whose
Thoughts
and
Flames
and
Means
have such blest scope.
They may at once both
Love, Desire,
and
Hope.
But tell what
Fruit
at last my
Love
shall gain?
Hidden
Disdaine.
What will that
Hope
prove which yet
Faith
keeps fair?
Hopelesse
Despair.
What
End
will run my
Passions
out of breath?
Untimely
Death.
Oh me! that
Passion
joined with
Faith
and
Love.
Should with my
Fortunes
so ungracious prove,
That
she'le
no
fruit,
nor
Hope,
nor
End
bequeath,
But cruellest
Disdaine, Despair,
and
Death.
Then what new
Study
shall I now apply?
Study to
Dye.
How might I end my
Care,
and die content?
Care to
Repent.
And what good thoughts may make my
end
more holy?
Think on thy
Folly.
Well, so I will, and since my
Fate
may give
Nothing but discontents whilst here I live.
My
Studies, Cares,
and
Thoughts
I will all apply
To weigh my
Folly
well,
Repent,
and
Dye.
Sonnets.
HEnce away thou
Syren
leave me,
Pish vnclasp these wanton arms,
Sugred words can near deceive me,
Though thou prove a thousand charms.
Fie, fie, forbear no common snare
Can ever my affection chain,
Thy sugared baits of Love deceits
Are all bestowed on me in vain.
I have else where vowed a duty,
Turn away thy tempting eye;
Shew not me thy painted beauty,
These impostures I defy:
My spirit loathes where gaudy clothes,
And feigned oaths, may love obtain,
I love her so whose looks swears no,
That all thy labor will be vain.
I am no slave to such as you be,
Nor shall that soft snowy Brest,
Rowling eye, nor lip of rubie
Euer rob me of my rest.
Go, go, display thy beauties ray
To some more son enamored Swain,
Thy forced wiles of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vain.
Can he prize the tainted posies
That on others breast are worn,
Which may pluck the Virgin roses
From the never▪ touched thorn:
I can go rest on her sweet breast
That is the pride of
Cinthia's
train,
Then stay thy tongue, thy Mermaids song
Is, all bestowed on me in vain.
He is a fool that basely dallies,
Where each Pesant mates with him;
Shall I haunt the thronged valleys,
When there's noble Hills to clime:
No, no, though Clownes are scared with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain,
Then those I will prove, so will thy love
Be all bestowed on me in vain.
Yet I would not deign embraces
With the fairest Queens that be,
If another shar'd those graces,
Which they had bestowed on me.
I will grant that one my love where none
Shall come to rob me of my gain,
The fickle heart makes tears and art,
And all bestowed on me in vain.
I do scorn to vow a duty
Where each lustful Lad may woo,
Give me her whose sun-like beauty
Buzzards dare not sore unto:
She it is affords that bliss,
For which I would refuse no pain,
But such as you fond fools adieu,
You seek to captive me in vain.
She that's proud in the beginning,
And disdains each looker on,
Is a
Harpie
in the winning,
But a
Turtle
being woon:
What ere betide she'le near divide
The favor she to one doth daine,
But fondlings loves uncertain proves,
All all that trust in them are vain.
There fore-know when I enjoy one,
And for love employ my breath,
She I court shall be a coy one,
Though I purchased with my death.
The pleasures there few aim at dare,
But if perhaps a Lover plain,
She is not woone nor I undone,
By placing of my love in vain.
Leave me then thou
Syren
leave me,
Take away these charmed arms,
Craft thou seest can near deceive me,
I am proof, 'gainst women's charms.
Oft fools assay to lead astray
The heart that constant must remain,
But I the while do sit and smile,
To see them spend their love in vain.
SHall I wasting in despair
Die because a woman's fair;
Or my cheeks make pale with care,
'Cause another's rosie are.
Be she fairer then the day,
Or the flowery meedes of
May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be.
Shall my foolish heart be pined,
'Cause I see a woman's
••
nde,
Or a well disposed nature,
Ioyned in a comely feature.
Be she kind or meeker than
Turtle Dove or Pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be.
Shall a woman's virtues make
Me to perish for her sake;
Or her merits value known
Make me quite forget my own.
Be she with that goodness blest
That may merit name of best,
If she seem not so to me,
What care I how good she be.
Cause her fortunes seems too high,
Should I play the fool and die;
He that bears a noble mind,
If not outward help he find,
Think what with them he would do,
That without them dares to woo.
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be.
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will nere the more despair;
If she love me then believe
I will die ere she shall grieve
If she slight me when I woo,
I can slight and bid her go,
If she be not fit for me,
What care I how others be.
FINIS.
[illustration]
LONDON, Printed by E. G. for Thomas Walkley, and are to be sold at the sign of the Eagle & Child in Britain's Burse. 1619.