Classic Poem

DICUS .

Dorus, tell me where is thy wonted motion,
To make these woods resound thy lamentation?
Thy saint is dead, or dead is thy deuotion;
For who doth hold his loue in estimation,
To witnesse that he thinkes his thoughts delicious,
Thinkes to make each thing badge of his sweet passion

DORUS

But what doth make thee, Dicus, so suspicious
Of my due faith, which needs must be immutable?
Who others' vertue doubt, themselues are vicious.
Not so; although my metall were most mutable,
Her beames haue wrought therein most faire impression:
To such a force soone change were nothing sutable.

DICUS

The hart well set doth neuer shunne confession;
If noble be thy bandes, make them notorious;
Silence doth seeme the marke of base oppression.
Who glories in his loue doth make Loue glorious,
But who doth feare, or bideth mute wilfully,
Shewes guilty heart doth deeme his state opprobrious
Thou, then, that fram'st both words and voyce most skilfully,
Yeelde to our eares a sweet and sound relation,
If Loue tooke thee by force, or caught thee guilefully.

DORUS

If sunnie beames shame heau'nly habitation,
If three-leau'd grasse seeme to the sheepe vnsauorie,
Then base and sowre is Loue's most high vocation
Or if sheepe's cries can helpe the sunne's owne brauerie,
Then may I hope my pipe may haue abilitie
To helpe her praise who decks me in her slauerie.
No, no; no words ennoble selfe-nobilitie: —
As for your doubts, her voyce was it deceiued me,
Her eye the force beyond all possibilitie.

DICUS .

Thy words well voyc'd, well grac'de, had almost heaued me
Quite from my selfe to loue Loue's contemplation,
Till of these thoughts thy sodaine end bereaued me.
Goe on therefore, and tell vs by what fashion
In thy owne proofe he gets so strange possession,
And how possest he strengthens his inuasion.

DORUS

Sight is his roote, in thought is his progression,
His childhood wonder, prentizeship attention,
His youth delight, his age the soule's oppression,
Doubt is his sleepe, he waketh in inuention,
Fancie his foode, his clothing is of carefulnesse,
Beauty his booke, his play louers' dissention,
His eyes are curious search, but vaild with warefulnesse,
His wings desire oft clipt with desperation;
Largesse his hands, could neuer skill of sparefulnesse
But how he doth, by might or by perswasion,
To conquere, and his conquest how to ratifie,
Experience doubts, and schooles hold disputation.

DICUS

But so thy sheepe may thy good wishes satisfie
With large encrease and wool of fine perfection;
So she thy loue, her eyes thy eyes may gratifie;
As thou wilt giue our soules a deare refection,
By telling how shee was, how now she framed is
To helpe or hurt in thee her owne infection.

DORUS

Blest be the name wherewith my mistres named is;
Whose wounds are salues, whose yokes please more then pleasure doth:
Her staines are beames, vertue the fault she blamed is;
The hart, eye, eare, here onely finde his treasure dothe,
All numbring artes her endlesse graces number not;
Time, place, life, wit, scarcely her rare gifts measure doth.
Is she in rage? so is the sunne in sommer hot,
Yet haruest brings. Doth she, alas, absent her selfe?
The sunne is hid, his kindly shadowes cumber not
But when to giue some grace she doth content her selfe,
O then it shines, then are the heau'ns distributed,
And Venus seemes, to make vp her, she spent her selfe.
Thus, then, I say, me mischiefes haue contributed
A greater good by her diuine reflection;
My harmes to me, my blisse to her attributed.
Thus she is fram'd: her eyes are my direction,
Her loue my life, her anger my destruction;
Lastly, what so she is, that's my protection

DICUS .

Thy safetie sure is wrapped in destruction,
For that construction thine owne words do beare.
A man to feare a woman's moodie eye
Makes reason lye a slaue to seruile sense;
A weake defence where weaknesse is thy force:
So is remorse in follie dearely bought.

DORUS .

If I had thought to heare blasphemous words,
My breast to swords, my soule to hell haue sold
I rather would, then thus mine eares defile
With words so vile, which viler breath doth breed.
O heards, take heed, for I a woolfe haue found,
Who hunting round the strongest for to kill,
His breast doth fill with earth of others' woe:
And loden so, pulls downe, pull'd downe destroyes
O shepheards' boyes, eschue these tongues of venome,
Which doe envenome both the soule and senses.
Our best defenses are to flie these adders.
O tongues, like ladders made to clime dishonour,
Who iudge that honour which hath scope to slaunder!

DICUS .

Dorus, you wander farre in great reproches,
So Loue encroches on your charmed reason;
But it is season for to end our singing,
Such anger bringing: as for me, my fancie
In sicke man's frenzie rather takes compassion
Then rage for rage: rather my wish I send to thee,
Thou soone may haue some helpe, or chaunge of passion:
She oft her lookes, the stars her fauour bend to thee,
Fortune store, Nature health, Loue graunt perswasion
A quiet minde none but thy selfe can lend to thee;
Thus I commend to thee all our former loue.

DORUS .

Well do I proue errour lyes oft in zeale,
Yet it is zeale, though errour of true heart.
Nought could impart such heates to friendly minde;
But for to find thy words did her disgrace
Whose onely face the little heauen is;
Which who doth misse, his eyes are but delusions,
Barr'd from their chiefest obiect of delightfulnesse,
Throwne on this earth, the chaos of confusions.
As for thy wish, to my enraged spitefulnesse
The louely blow, with rare reward my prayer is,
Thou maist loue her, that I may see thy sightfulnesse.
The quiet mind (whereof my selfe empairer is,
As thou dost thinke) should most of all disquiet me
Without her loue, then my mind who fairer is.
Her only cure, from surfet woes can diet me;
She holds the ballance of my contentation;
Her cleared eyes, nought else in stormes can quiet me.
Nay rather then my ease discontentation
Should breed to her, let me for aye deiected be
From any ioy which might her griefe occasion.
With so sweet plagues my happy harmes infected be:
Paine wils me die, yet will of death I mortifie;
For though life irkes, in life my loues protected be;
Thus for each change my changelesse heart I fortifie.