Classic Poem

Lalus and Dorus

Lalus . Come, Dorus , come, let songs thy sorrows signify;
And if, for want of use, thy mind ashamed is,
That very shame with love's high title dignify.
No style is held for base where love well named is:
Each ear sucks up the words a true love scattereth,
And plain speech oft than quaint phrase better framed is.

Dorus Nightingales seldom sing, the pie still chattereth;
The wood cries most before it throughly kindled be;
Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth;
Hardly they herd which by good hunters singled be;
Shallow brooks murmur most, deep silent slide away;
Nor true love loves his loves with others mingled be.

Lalus . If thou wilt not be seen, thy face go hide away;
Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion:
Who frowns at others' feasts doth better bide away.
But if thou hast a love, in that love's passion,
I challenge thee, by show of her perfection,
Which of us two deserveth most compassion.

Dorus . Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:
Sing, then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)
Thy health too mean a match for my infection.
No, though the heav'ns for high attempt have blamed me,
Yet high is my attempt. O Muse, historify
Her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.

Lalus . Muse, hold your peace; but thou, my god Pan , glorify
My Kala 's gifts, who with all good gifts filled is.
Thy pipe, O Pan , shall help, though I sing sorrily
A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is,
Who, though she be no bee, yet full of honey is;
A lily field, with plough of rose, which tilled is;
Mild as a lamb, more dainty than a cony is;
Her eyes my eyesight is, her conversation
More glad to me than to a miser money is.
What coy account she makes of estimation!
How nice to touch, how all her speeches peised be!
A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.

Dorus . Such Kala is: but ah, my fancies raised be
In one whose name to name were high presumption,
Since virtues all to make her title pleased be.
O happy gods, which by inward assumption
Enjoy her soul, in body's fair possession,
And keep it joined, fearing your seat's consumption;
How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,
Their dwellers rapt with sight of her perfection,
From heav'nly throne to her heav'n use digression.
Of best things then what world can yield confection
To liken her? Deck yours with your comparison:
She is herself of best things the collection.

Lalus . How oft my doleful sire cried to me, " Tarry, son,"
When first he spied my love? How oft he said to me,
" Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid 's garrison.
My son, keep this that my long toil hath laid to me:
Love well thine own; methinks wool's whiteness passeth all;
I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me."
This wind he spent; but when my Kala glasseth all
My sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself,
Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.
Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?
Till I get her, shall I to keep inure myself?

Dorus . How oft, when Reason saw love of her harnished
With armour of my heart, he cried, " O vanity,
To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished!
Look to thyself; reach not beyond humanity:
Her mind, beams, state, far from thy weak wings banished;
And love which lover hurts is inhumanity."
Thus Reason said; but she came, Reason vanished;
Her eyes so mast'ring me that such objection
Seemed but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished.
Her peerless height my mind to high erection
Draws up; and if, hope failing, end life's pleasure,
Of fairer death how can I make election?

Lalus . Once my well-waiting eyes espied my treasure,
With sleeves turned up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged,
Her father's corn (moving her fair limbs) measure
" O," cried I, " of so mean work be discharged;
Measure my case, how by thy beauty's filling
With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charged.
Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling:
Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heaped;
No lovely praise was ever got with killing."
These bold words she did hear, this fruit I reaped:
That she, whose look alone might make me blessed,
Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.

Dorus . Once, O sweet once, I saw, with dread oppressed,
Her whom I dread: so that with prostrate lying
Her length the earth in love's chief clothing dressed.
I saw that richesse fall, and fell a-crying:
" Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,
But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying.
Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover;
Shine eyes on me, that both our lives be guarded,
So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover."
I cried, and was with open rays rewarded;
But straight they fled, summoned by cruel honour,
Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.

Lalus . This maid, thus made for joys, O Pan , bemoan her,
That without love she spends her years of love:
So fair a field would well become an owner.
And if enchantment can a hard heart move,
Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,
Affection's charms in my behalf to prove.
The circle is my round-about-her sight;
The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes;
My charm should be she haunt me day and night.

Dorus . Far other care, O Muse, my sorrow tries,
Bent to such one, in whom, myself must say,
Nothing can mend one point that in her lies.
What circle, then, in so rare force bears sway,
Whose sprite all sprites can spoil, raise, damn, or save?
No charm holds her, but well possess she may;
Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave,
My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot:
No thralls like them that inward bondage have.

Lalus. Kala , at length, conclude my ling'ring lot:
Disdain me not, although I be not fair.
Who is an heir of many hundred sheep
Doth beauties keep, which never sun can burn,
Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth.
Yet all my health I place in your goodwill,
Which if you will (O do) bestow on me,
Such as you see, such still you shall me find,
Constant and kind. My sheep your food shall breed,
Their wool your weed; I will you music yield
In flow'ry field; and as the day begins
With twenty gins we will the small birds take,
And pastimes make, as Nature things hath made
But when in shade we meet of myrtle boughs
Then love allows our pleasures to enrich,
The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.

Dorus . Lady, yourself, whom neither name I dare,
And titles are but spots to such a worth,
Hear plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind:
The noblest kind rejects not others' woes.
I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,
My beauty's hue your beams, my health your deeds;
My mind for weeds your virtue's liv'ry wears;
My food is tears; my tunes waymenting yield;
Despair my field; the flowers spirit's wars;
My day new cares; my gins my daily sight,
In which do light small birds of thoughts o'erthrown;
My pastimes none; time passeth on my fall;
Nature made all, but me of dolours made;
I find no shade but where my sun doth burn;
No place to turn: without, within it fries;
Nor help by life or death who living dies.

Lalus . But if my Kala this my suit denies,
Which so much reason bears,
Let crows pick out mine eyes which too much saw.
If she still hate love's law,
My earthy mould doth melt in wat'ry tears.

Dorus . My earthy mould doth melt in wat'ry tears,
And they again resolve
To air of sighs, sighs to the heart's fire turn,
Which doth to ashes burn;
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.

Lalus . Thus doth my life within itself dissolve,
That I grow like the beast
Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,
Yet patient must abide;
Such weight it hath which once is full possessed.

Dorus . Such weight it hath which once is full possessed
That I become a vision,
Which hath in other's head his only being,
And lives in fancy's seeing.
O wretched state of man in self-division!

Lalus . O wretched state of man in self-division!
O well thou say'st! A feeling declaration
Thy tongue hath made of Cupid 's deep incision.
But now hoarse voice doth fail this occupation,
And others long to tell their loves' condition:
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.

Dorus . Of singing thou hast got the reputation,
Good Lalus mine: I yield to thy ability;
My heart doth seek another estimation
But ah, my Muse, I would thou hadst facility
To work my goddess so by thy invention
On me to cast those eyes, where shine nobility:
Seen and unknown; heard, but without attention

Dorus

Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,
Which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am.
Fortune thus gan say: " Misery and misfortune is all one,
And of misfortune, Fortune hath only the gift.
With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests,
Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand."
" Tush, tush," said Nature, " this is all but a trifle; a man's self
Gives haps or mishaps, e'en as he ord'reth his heart.
But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous."
Love smiled, and thus said: " Want joined to desire is unhappy.
But if he naught do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?
None but I works by desire; by desire have I kindled in his soul
Infernal agonies unto a beauty divine,
Where thou, poor Nature, left'st all thy due glory to Fortune.
Her virtue is sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers."
Nature abashed went back; Fortune blushed, yet she replied thus:
" And e'en in that love shall I reserve him a spite."
Thus, thus, alas! woeful in nature, unhappy by fortune,
But most wretched I am now love awakes my desire.

Cleophila

If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of,
So that eyes' message be of her received,
Hope, we do live yet.

But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,
Or if eyes' language be not unto her known,
So that eyes' message do return rejected,
Hope, we do both die.

Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;
So become our tombs monuments of her praise;
So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;
Hers be the glory.

If the senseless spheres do yet hold a music,
If the swan's sweet voice be not heard but at death,
If the mute timber when it hath the life lost,
Yieldeth a lute's tune,

Are then human minds privileged so meanly
As that hateful death can abridge them of power
With the voice of truth to record to all worlds
That we be her spoils?

Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise;
Fleshly veil consumes, but a soul hath his life,
Which is held in love; love it is that hath joined
Life to this our soul.

But if eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of,
So that eyes' message be of her received,
Hope, we do live yet.

Dorus and Cleophila

Dorus . Lady, reserved by the heav'ns to do pastors' company honour,
Joining your sweet voice to the rural Muse of a desert,
Here you fully do find this strange operation of Love,
How to the woods Love runs as well as rides to the palace,
Neither he bears reverence to a prince nor pity to beggar,
But (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a nearness,
All to a lesson he draws, nor hills nor caves can avoid him

Cleophila . Worthy shepherd, by my song to myself all favour is happened,
That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,
Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.
But; O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection
Of Phoebus ' violence in shade of stately cypress tree,
Or pleasant myrtle, may teach th'unfortunate Echo
In these woods to resound the renowned name of a goddess.
Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,
(Although simply attired) your manly affection utter.
Happy be those mishaps which, justly proportion holding,
Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgement;
But wretched be the souls which, veiled in a contrary subject,
How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.
What skill serveth a sore of a wrong infirmity judged?
What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case?
You, though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:
Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit
But so unheard, condemned, kept thence we do seek to abide in,
Self-lost and wand'ring, banished that place we do come from,
What mean is there, alas, we can hope our loss to recover?
What place is there left we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Unto the heav'ns? Our wings be too short; th'earth thinks us a burden;
Air, we do still with sighs increase; to the fire? We do want none;
And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward
Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune 's seat would be dried up there
Happy shepherd, with thanks to the gods still think to be thankful,
That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased
Dorus . Unto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,
That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased
But yet, alas! O but yet, alas! our haps be but hard haps,
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour
Well may a pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteemed
Silly shepherd's poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifies our woes,
Into the fair looker-on, pastime, not passion, enters
And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital
What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,
Pleased to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo ,
And hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish;
Then shall those things ease their inward horrible anguish
When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,
Or when an echo begins unmoved to sing them a love song.
Say then what vantage we do get by the trade of a pastor
(Since no estates be so base, but Love vouchsafeth his arrow,
Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,
Since outward pleasures be but halting helps to decayed souls),
Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in?
Far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access,
Whose fair bodily gifts are framed most lovely to each eye
Virtue you have; of virtue you have left proofs to the whole world,
And virtue is grateful with beauty and richesse adorned;
Neither doubt you a whit, time will your passion utter.
Hardly remains fire hid where skill is bent to the hiding;
But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,
Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing.
Give therefore to the Muse great praise in whose very likeness
You do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.

Cleophila . First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed;
First the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean;
First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger;
First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,
Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,
Her praise, whence to the world all praise had his only beginning;
But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case
None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt
Great to thee my estate seems, thy estate is blest by my judgement:
And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his own self.
For yet (weigh this, alas!) great is not great to a greater
What judge you doth a hillock show by the lofty Olympus?
Such this small greatness doth seem compared to the greatest.
When cedars to the ground be oppressed by the weight of an emmet,
Or when a rich ruby's just price be the worth of a walnut,
Or to the sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle,
Then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,
Virtue, richesse, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
O no, no, hardy shepherd, worth can never enter a title
Where proofs justly do teach, thus matched, such worth to be naught worth.
Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite; kings' crowns do not help them
From the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal,
And precious couches full oft are shaked with a fever
If then a bodily evil in a bodily gloss be not hidden,
Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love's fire?

Dorus . O glitt'ring miseries of man, if this be the fortune
Of those Fortune lulls, so small rest rests in a kingdom.
What marvel though a prince transform himself to a pastor,
Come from marble bowers, many times the gay harbour of anguish,
Unto a silly cabin, though weak, yet stronger against woes?
Now by thy words I begin, most famous lady, to gather
Comfort into my soul. I do find, I do find what a blessing
Is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
Of carking agonies (to estates which still be adherent)
Destiny keeps me aloof. For if all thy estate to thy virtue
Joined, by thy beauty adorned, be no means these griefs to abolish;
If neither by that help thou canst climb up to thy fancy,
Nor yet, fancy so dressed, do receive more plausible hearing;
Then do I think, indeed, that better it is to be private
In sorrow's torments than, tied to the pomps of a palace,
Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breathed out,
But perforce digest all bitter juices of horror
In silence, from a man's own self with company robbed
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my life's bondage, yet may disburden a passion
(Oppressed with ruinous conceits) by the help of an outcry;
Not limited to a whisp'ring note, the lament of a courtier,
But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heavens, do decipher,
With bold clamour unheard, unmarked, what I seek, what I suffer.
And when I meet these trees, in the earth's fair livery clothed,
Ease I do feel (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
For that I find in them part of my estate represented
Laurel shows what I seek; by the myrrh is showed how I seek it;
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest;
Myrtle makes my request; my request is crowned with a willow;
Cypress promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort;
Sweet juniper saith this: though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire;
Yew doth make me bethink what kind of bow the boy holdeth
Which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart;
Fir trees great and green, fixed on a high hill but a barren,
Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well placed, to me fruitless;
Fig that yields most pleasant fruit, his shadow is hurtful:
Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her
But in a palm, when I mark how he doth rise under a burden,
And may I not (say I then) get up though griefs be so weighty?
Pine is a mast to a ship; to my ship shall hope for a mast serve?
Pine is high, hope is as high; sharp-leaved, sharp yet be my hope's buds.
Elm embraced by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth.
Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:
Thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.
Old aged oak cut down, of new works serves to the building:
So my desires, by my fear cut down, be the frames of her honour.
Ash makes spears which shields do resist: her force no repulse takes;
Palms do rejoice to be joined by the match of a male to a female,
And shall sensive things be so senseless as to resist sense?
Thus be my thoughts dispersed; thus thinking nurseth a thinking;
Thus both trees and each thing else be the books of a fancy.
But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I lift my beteared eyes,
Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,
And think there she do dwell and hear what plaints I do utter:
When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me;
When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer.
Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image:
" Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest
That men's hearts be thy seat and endless fame be thy servant,
O descend for a while from this great height to behold me;
But naught else do behold (else is naught worth the beholding)
Save what a work by thyself is wrought; and since I am altered
Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done.
In mean caves oft treasure abides; to an hostry a king comes;
And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden."

Cleophila . Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight
Justly to grant thy reward, such envy I bear to thy fortune.
But to myself, what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,
Whom both Nature seems to debar from means to be helped,
And if a mean were found, Fortune th'whole course of it hinders.
Thus plagued, how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?
Whence may I show to my mind any light of a possible escape?
Bound, and bound by so noble bands as loath to be unbound,
Gaoler I am to myself, prison and prisoner to mine own self.
Yet be my hopes thus placed, here fixed lives my recomfort,
That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,
Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,
Will at length perceive these flames by her beams to be kindled,
And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.
O be it so: grant such an event, O gods, that event give!
And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer
Of my own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar
But cease, worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers
With moanful melodies, for enough our griefs be revealed
If by the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked;
And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.Dorus . Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:
Sing, then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)
Thy health too mean a match for my infection.
No, though the heav'ns for high attempt have blamed me,
Yet high is my attempt. O Muse, historify
Her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.
Lalus . Muse, hold your peace; but thou, my god Pan , glorify
My Kala 's gifts, who with all good gifts filled is.
Thy pipe, O Pan , shall help, though I sing sorrily
A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is,
Who, though she be no bee, yet full of honey is;
A lily field, with plough of rose, which tilled is;
Mild as a lamb, more dainty than a cony is;
Her eyes my eyesight is, her conversation
More glad to me than to a miser money is.
What coy account she makes of estimation!
How nice to touch, how all her speeches peised be!
A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.
Dorus . Such Kala is: but ah, my fancies raised be
In one whose name to name were high presumption,
Since virtues all to make her title pleased be.
O happy gods, which by inward assumption
Enjoy her soul, in body's fair possession,
And keep it joined, fearing your seat's consumption;
How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,
Their dwellers rapt with sight of her perfection,
From heav'nly throne to her heav'n use digression.
Of best things then what world can yield confection
To liken her? Deck yours with your comparison:
She is herself of best things the collection.
Lalus . How oft my doleful sire cried to me, " Tarry, son,"
When first he spied my love? How oft he said to me,
" Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid 's garrison.
My son, keep this that my long toil hath laid to me:
Love well thine own; methinks wool's whiteness passeth all;
I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me."
This wind he spent; but when my Kala glasseth all
My sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself,
Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.
Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?
Till I get her, shall I to keep inure myself?
Dorus . How oft, when Reason saw love of her harnished
With armour of my heart, he cried, " O vanity,
To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished!
Look to thyself; reach not beyond humanity:
Her mind, beams, state, far from thy weak wings banished;
And love which lover hurts is inhumanity."
Thus Reason said; but she came, Reason vanished;
Her eyes so mast'ring me that such objection
Seemed but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished.
Her peerless height my mind to high erection
Draws up; and if, hope failing, end life's pleasure,
Of fairer death how can I make election?
Lalus . Once my well-waiting eyes espied my treasure,
With sleeves turned up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged,
Her father's corn (moving her fair limbs) measure
" O," cried I, " of so mean work be discharged;
Measure my case, how by thy beauty's filling
With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charged.
Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling:
Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heaped;
No lovely praise was ever got with killing."
These bold words she did hear, this fruit I reaped:
That she, whose look alone might make me blessed,
Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.
Dorus . Once, O sweet once, I saw, with dread oppressed,
Her whom I dread: so that with prostrate lying
Her length the earth in love's chief clothing dressed.
I saw that richesse fall, and fell a-crying:
" Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,
But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying.
Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover;
Shine eyes on me, that both our lives be guarded,
So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover."
I cried, and was with open rays rewarded;
But straight they fled, summoned by cruel honour,
Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.
Lalus . This maid, thus made for joys, O Pan , bemoan her,
That without love she spends her years of love:
So fair a field would well become an owner.
And if enchantment can a hard heart move,
Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,
Affection's charms in my behalf to prove.
The circle is my round-about-her sight;
The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes;
My charm should be she haunt me day and night.
Dorus . Far other care, O Muse, my sorrow tries,
Bent to such one, in whom, myself must say,
Nothing can mend one point that in her lies.
What circle, then, in so rare force bears sway,
Whose sprite all sprites can spoil, raise, damn, or save?
No charm holds her, but well possess she may;
Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave,
My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot:
No thralls like them that inward bondage have.
Lalus. Kala , at length, conclude my ling'ring lot:
Disdain me not, although I be not fair.
Who is an heir of many hundred sheep
Doth beauties keep, which never sun can burn,
Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth.
Yet all my health I place in your goodwill,
Which if you will (O do) bestow on me,
Such as you see, such still you shall me find,
Constant and kind. My sheep your food shall breed,
Their wool your weed; I will you music yield
In flow'ry field; and as the day begins
With twenty gins we will the small birds take,
And pastimes make, as Nature things hath made
But when in shade we meet of myrtle boughs
Then love allows our pleasures to enrich,
The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.
Dorus . Lady, yourself, whom neither name I dare,
And titles are but spots to such a worth,
Hear plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind:
The noblest kind rejects not others' woes.
I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,
My beauty's hue your beams, my health your deeds;
My mind for weeds your virtue's liv'ry wears;
My food is tears; my tunes waymenting yield;
Despair my field; the flowers spirit's wars;
My day new cares; my gins my daily sight,
In which do light small birds of thoughts o'erthrown;
My pastimes none; time passeth on my fall;
Nature made all, but me of dolours made;
I find no shade but where my sun doth burn;
No place to turn: without, within it fries;
Nor help by life or death who living dies.
Lalus . But if my Kala this my suit denies,
Which so much reason bears,
Let crows pick out mine eyes which too much saw.
If she still hate love's law,
My earthy mould doth melt in wat'ry tears.
Dorus . My earthy mould doth melt in wat'ry tears,
And they again resolve
To air of sighs, sighs to the heart's fire turn,
Which doth to ashes burn;
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.
Lalus . Thus doth my life within itself dissolve,
That I grow like the beast
Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,
Yet patient must abide;
Such weight it hath which once is full possessed.
Dorus . Such weight it hath which once is full possessed
That I become a vision,
Which hath in other's head his only being,
And lives in fancy's seeing.
O wretched state of man in self-division!
Lalus . O wretched state of man in self-division!
O well thou say'st! A feeling declaration
Thy tongue hath made of Cupid 's deep incision.
But now hoarse voice doth fail this occupation,
And others long to tell their loves' condition:
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.
Dorus . Of singing thou hast got the reputation,
Good Lalus mine: I yield to thy ability;
My heart doth seek another estimation
But ah, my Muse, I would thou hadst facility
To work my goddess so by thy invention
On me to cast those eyes, where shine nobility:
Seen and unknown; heard, but without attention
Dorus

Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,
Which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am.
Fortune thus gan say: " Misery and misfortune is all one,
And of misfortune, Fortune hath only the gift.
With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests,
Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand."
" Tush, tush," said Nature, " this is all but a trifle; a man's self
Gives haps or mishaps, e'en as he ord'reth his heart.
But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous."
Love smiled, and thus said: " Want joined to desire is unhappy.
But if he naught do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?
None but I works by desire; by desire have I kindled in his soul
Infernal agonies unto a beauty divine,
Where thou, poor Nature, left'st all thy due glory to Fortune.
Her virtue is sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers."
Nature abashed went back; Fortune blushed, yet she replied thus:
" And e'en in that love shall I reserve him a spite."
Thus, thus, alas! woeful in nature, unhappy by fortune,
But most wretched I am now love awakes my desire.
Cleophila

If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of,
So that eyes' message be of her received,
Hope, we do live yet.
But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,
Or if eyes' language be not unto her known,
So that eyes' message do return rejected,
Hope, we do both die.
Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;
So become our tombs monuments of her praise;
So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;
Hers be the glory.
If the senseless spheres do yet hold a music,
If the swan's sweet voice be not heard but at death,
If the mute timber when it hath the life lost,
Yieldeth a lute's tune,
Are then human minds privileged so meanly
As that hateful death can abridge them of power
With the voice of truth to record to all worlds
That we be her spoils?
Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise;
Fleshly veil consumes, but a soul hath his life,
Which is held in love; love it is that hath joined
Life to this our soul.
But if eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes' language she do hap to judge of,
So that eyes' message be of her received,
Hope, we do live yet.
Dorus and Cleophila

Dorus . Lady, reserved by the heav'ns to do pastors' company honour,
Joining your sweet voice to the rural Muse of a desert,
Here you fully do find this strange operation of Love,
How to the woods Love runs as well as rides to the palace,
Neither he bears reverence to a prince nor pity to beggar,
But (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a nearness,
All to a lesson he draws, nor hills nor caves can avoid him
Cleophila . Worthy shepherd, by my song to myself all favour is happened,
That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,
Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.
But; O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection
Of Phoebus ' violence in shade of stately cypress tree,
Or pleasant myrtle, may teach th'unfortunate Echo
In these woods to resound the renowned name of a goddess.
Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,
(Although simply attired) your manly affection utter.
Happy be those mishaps which, justly proportion holding,
Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgement;
But wretched be the souls which, veiled in a contrary subject,
How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.
What skill serveth a sore of a wrong infirmity judged?
What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case?
You, though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:
Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit
But so unheard, condemned, kept thence we do seek to abide in,
Self-lost and wand'ring, banished that place we do come from,
What mean is there, alas, we can hope our loss to recover?
What place is there left we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Unto the heav'ns? Our wings be too short; th'earth thinks us a burden;
Air, we do still with sighs increase; to the fire? We do want none;
And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward
Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune 's seat would be dried up there
Happy shepherd, with thanks to the gods still think to be thankful,
That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased
Dorus . Unto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,
That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased
But yet, alas! O but yet, alas! our haps be but hard haps,
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour
Well may a pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteemed
Silly shepherd's poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifies our woes,
Into the fair looker-on, pastime, not passion, enters
And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital
What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,
Pleased to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo ,
And hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish;
Then shall those things ease their inward horrible anguish
When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,
Or when an echo begins unmoved to sing them a love song.
Say then what vantage we do get by the trade of a pastor
(Since no estates be so base, but Love vouchsafeth his arrow,
Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,
Since outward pleasures be but halting helps to decayed souls),
Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in?
Far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access,
Whose fair bodily gifts are framed most lovely to each eye
Virtue you have; of virtue you have left proofs to the whole world,
And virtue is grateful with beauty and richesse adorned;
Neither doubt you a whit, time will your passion utter.
Hardly remains fire hid where skill is bent to the hiding;
But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,
Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing.
Give therefore to the Muse great praise in whose very likeness
You do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.
Cleophila . First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed;
First the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean;
First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger;
First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,
Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,
Her praise, whence to the world all praise had his only beginning;
But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case
None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt
Great to thee my estate seems, thy estate is blest by my judgement:
And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his own self.
For yet (weigh this, alas!) great is not great to a greater
What judge you doth a hillock show by the lofty Olympus?
Such this small greatness doth seem compared to the greatest.
When cedars to the ground be oppressed by the weight of an emmet,
Or when a rich ruby's just price be the worth of a walnut,
Or to the sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle,
Then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,
Virtue, richesse, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
O no, no, hardy shepherd, worth can never enter a title
Where proofs justly do teach, thus matched, such worth to be naught worth.
Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite; kings' crowns do not help them
From the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal,
And precious couches full oft are shaked with a fever
If then a bodily evil in a bodily gloss be not hidden,
Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love's fire?
Dorus . O glitt'ring miseries of man, if this be the fortune
Of those Fortune lulls, so small rest rests in a kingdom.
What marvel though a prince transform himself to a pastor,
Come from marble bowers, many times the gay harbour of anguish,
Unto a silly cabin, though weak, yet stronger against woes?
Now by thy words I begin, most famous lady, to gather
Comfort into my soul. I do find, I do find what a blessing
Is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
Of carking agonies (to estates which still be adherent)
Destiny keeps me aloof. For if all thy estate to thy virtue
Joined, by thy beauty adorned, be no means these griefs to abolish;
If neither by that help thou canst climb up to thy fancy,
Nor yet, fancy so dressed, do receive more plausible hearing;
Then do I think, indeed, that better it is to be private
In sorrow's torments than, tied to the pomps of a palace,
Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breathed out,
But perforce digest all bitter juices of horror
In silence, from a man's own self with company robbed
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my life's bondage, yet may disburden a passion
(Oppressed with ruinous conceits) by the help of an outcry;
Not limited to a whisp'ring note, the lament of a courtier,
But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heavens, do decipher,
With bold clamour unheard, unmarked, what I seek, what I suffer.
And when I meet these trees, in the earth's fair livery clothed,
Ease I do feel (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
For that I find in them part of my estate represented
Laurel shows what I seek; by the myrrh is showed how I seek it;
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest;
Myrtle makes my request; my request is crowned with a willow;
Cypress promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort;
Sweet juniper saith this: though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire;
Yew doth make me bethink what kind of bow the boy holdeth
Which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart;
Fir trees great and green, fixed on a high hill but a barren,
Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well placed, to me fruitless;
Fig that yields most pleasant fruit, his shadow is hurtful:
Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her
But in a palm, when I mark how he doth rise under a burden,
And may I not (say I then) get up though griefs be so weighty?
Pine is a mast to a ship; to my ship shall hope for a mast serve?
Pine is high, hope is as high; sharp-leaved, sharp yet be my hope's buds.
Elm embraced by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth.
Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:
Thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.
Old aged oak cut down, of new works serves to the building:
So my desires, by my fear cut down, be the frames of her honour.
Ash makes spears which shields do resist: her force no repulse takes;
Palms do rejoice to be joined by the match of a male to a female,
And shall sensive things be so senseless as to resist sense?
Thus be my thoughts dispersed; thus thinking nurseth a thinking;
Thus both trees and each thing else be the books of a fancy.
But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I lift my beteared eyes,
Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,
And think there she do dwell and hear what plaints I do utter:
When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me;
When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer.
Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image:
" Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest
That men's hearts be thy seat and endless fame be thy servant,
O descend for a while from this great height to behold me;
But naught else do behold (else is naught worth the beholding)
Save what a work by thyself is wrought; and since I am altered
Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done.
In mean caves oft treasure abides; to an hostry a king comes;
And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden."
Cleophila . Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight
Justly to grant thy reward, such envy I bear to thy fortune.
But to myself, what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,
Whom both Nature seems to debar from means to be helped,
And if a mean were found, Fortune th'whole course of it hinders.
Thus plagued, how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?
Whence may I show to my mind any light of a possible escape?
Bound, and bound by so noble bands as loath to be unbound,
Gaoler I am to myself, prison and prisoner to mine own self.
Yet be my hopes thus placed, here fixed lives my recomfort,
That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,
Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,
Will at length perceive these flames by her beams to be kindled,
And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.
O be it so: grant such an event, O gods, that event give!
And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer
Of my own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar
But cease, worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers
With moanful melodies, for enough our griefs be revealed
If by the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked;
And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.