Classic Poem

The hap and hard fortune of a carelesse lover.

My hart on hoyh, with carelesse mind I raunging freedoms fielde,
Blind Cupide, by arest unwares, to Beautie bad me yeald:
What! yeald (quoth I) at Beauties becke, as Venus slave to serve?
May he whome freedome alwayes fed by bondage stoupe to sterve?

No, Cupide, no; with me go tell, dame Beautie beares no sway,
Nor pleasure with her painted sheath can make me Cupide pray.
This answere made, with winged feete he tooke his flight away,
And did impart to Beautie straight his rest I would not bay.

With anger fraught who foorth with wild an armie should be had,
And captaines, having charge themselves, in armour should be clad;
Her selfe she plaste in formost rank, with Pleasure in her hand,
And Lady Love elected was hygh marshall of her band.

Faire Venus in the rereward went, her sonne in ambush lay:
Thus Beautie and her warlike crue did mearch in battle ray;
But I, poore I, which feard no force in freedomes lease, at large,
Pursude my sport with carelesse mynd: of Love I took no charge .

But all too soone I heard a sound of dub, dub, in my eare,
And therewithall I sawe in sight tenne aunchents to appeare;
Which poudred were with pyned hartes in bloudy colours set,
Which forst me flee to wisdomes wood, to scape Dan Cupids net.

But (craftie) he in scoute there lay, who first gave charge on me,
And brought me bound to Beauties barre her prisoner for to be:
Then stinging love enforst me pray, Dame Pleasure plead my case,
But Beautie sayd, in vaine I sude in hope of future grace.

For martiall law foorthwith (quoth she) thy hart in bale shall bounce.
Therwith she chargd her marshall high this sentence to pronounce:
To bate thy pride, which wouldst not stoupe when Beautie bent her lure,
Thy casting shall be clods of care, saunce hope of happie cure.

With flouds of teares thy dazeld eyes thy sickly cheekes shall staine,
And fancie with his fleating toyes shall harbour in thy braine:
Thy heart shall poudred be with paine, thy guts with griefe to boyle,
Thy seething sighes shall scalde thy lippes to taste of inwarde toyle.

Thy intrales all shall parched be with flames of sond desire,
The heavie peise of bodyes griefe thy pyned legges shall tire.
Despaire then was the hangman made, which doome did Beautie please,
And I to bondage was bequeath'd, to live in little ease.

Wherewith the gem of Venus band, unprayd of her bon gre ,
Did beg me, wretch, at Beauties hand her prisoner for to be;
And, after vowe of loyaltie, did let me goe at large;
Yea, further payd my farewell fee my bondage to discharge.
In lue whereof at her commaund my service, loe! is prest,
As homage due for saved life, yea more, her slave I rest.