Classic Poem

STREPHON .

I ioy in griefe, and doe detest all ioyes;
Despise delight, am tyr'd with thought of ease;
I turne my minde to all formes of annoyes,
And with the change of them my fancie please,
I studie that which may me most displease;
And in despite of that displeasure's might,
Embrace that most that most my soule destroyes.
Blinded with beames, fell darknesse is my sight;
Dwell in my ruines, feed with sucking smart,
I thinke from me, not from my woes to part.

KLAIUS .

I thinke from me, not from my woes to part,
And loath this time, call'd life, nay thinke that life
Nature to me for torment did impart;
Thinke myhard haps haue blunted Death's sharpe knife,
Not sparing me, in whom his workes be rife;
And thinking this, thinke Nature, Life, and Death,
Place Sorowe's triumph on my conquered heart:
Whereto I yeeld, and seeke none other breath
But from the sent of some infectious graue;
Nor of my fortune ought but mischiefe craue.

STREPHON .

Nor of my fortune ought but mischiefe craue,
And seeke to nourish that which now containes
All what I am: if I myselfe will saue,
Then must I saue what in me chiefly raines,
Which is the hatefull web of sorrowe's paines.
Sorrow, then, cherish me, for I am sorow;
No being now but sorrow I can haue;
Then decke me as thine owne; thy helpe I borow,
Since thou my riches art, and that thou haste
Enough to make a fertil mind lye waste.

KLAIUS .

Enough to make a fertill minde lye wast,
Is that huge storme which powres it selfe on me:
Hailestones of teares, of sighs, a monstrous blast,
Thunders of cries, lightnings my wilde lookes be,
The darkened heav'n mysoule, which nought can see,
The flying sprits which trees by roots vp teare,
Be those despaires which haue my hopes quite wast.
The difference is, all folkes those stormes forbeare,
But I cannot; who then my selfe should flie,
So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doe lie.

SIREPHON .

So close vnto my selfe my wrackes doo lie,
Both cause, effect, beginning, and the ende
Are all in me: what helpe, then, can I trie?
My ship my selfe, whose course to loue doth bend,
Sore beaten doth her mast of comfort spend;
Her cable, Reason, breakes from anchor, Hope;
Fancie, her tackling, torne away doth flie;
Ruine, the wind, hath blowne her from her scope,
Brused with waues of cares, but broken is
On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse.

KLAIUS .

On rocke, Despaire, the buriall of my blisse,
I long doe plowe with plough of deepe desire:
The seede fast meaning is, no truth to misse;
I harow it with thoughts, which all conspire
Fauour to make my chiefe and onely hire.
But woe is me, the yeare is gone about,
And now I faine would reape, I reape but this,
Hatefully-growne Absence new sprong out.
So that I see, — although my sight empaire, —
Vaine is their paine who labour in despaire.

SIREPHON .

Vaine is their paine who labour in despaire,
For so did I, when with my angle Will
I sought to catch the fish torpedo faire.
Eu'n then Despaire did Hope alreadie kill,
Yet fancie would perforce employ his skill,
And this hath got; the catcher now is caught,
Lam'd with the angle which it selfe did beare,
And vnto death, quite drownd in dolours, brought
To death, as then disguisde in her faire face:
Thus, thus, alas, I had my losse in chase.

KLAIUS .

Thus, thus, alas, I had my losse in chase,
When first that crowned basiliske I knew,
Whose footsteps I with kisses oft did trace,
Till, by such hap as I must euer rue,
Mine eyes did light vpon her shining hue,
And hers on me, astonisht with that sight:
Since then my heart did lose his wonted place,
Infected so with her sweet poyson's might,
That, leauing me for dead, to her it went:
But, ah, her flight hath my dead reliques spent.

SIREPHON .

But, ah, her flight hath my dead reliques spent,
Her flight from me, from me, though dead to me,
Yet liuing still in her, while her beames lent
Such vitall sparke that her mine eyes might see.
But now those liuing lights absented be,
Full dead before, I now to dust should fall,
But that eternall paines my soule haue hent,
And keepe it still within this body thrall;
That thus I must while in this death I dwell,
In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell.

KLAIUS .

In earthly fetters feele a lasting hell,
Alas, I doo, from which to finde release,
I would the earth, I would the heauens fell;
But vaine it is to thinke these paines should cease,
Where life is death, and death cannot breed peace.
O faire, O onely faire, from thee, alas,
These foule, most foule disasters to me fell,
Since thou from me — O me! — O sunne, didst passe.
Therefore esteeming all good blessings toyes,
I ioy in griefe, and doe detest all ioyes.

SIREPHON .

I ioy in griefe, and doe detest all ioyes.
But now an end, O Klaius; now an end:
For euen the hearbes our hatefull musicke 'stroyes,
And from our burning breath the trees doe bend.