The Second Book
Cleophila
In vain, mine eyes, you labour to amend
With flowing tears your fault of hasty sight;
Since to my heart her shape you so did send
That her I see, though you did lose your light.
In vain, my heart, now you with sight are burned,
With sighs you seek to cool your hot desire;
Since sighs (into mine inward furnace turned)
For bellows serve to kindle more the fire.
Reason, in vain (now you have lost my heart)
My head you seek, as to your strongest fort;
Since there mine eyes have played so false a part
That to your strength your foes have sure resort
And since in vain I find were all my strife,
To this strange death I vainly yield my life.
Basilius
Let not old age disgrace my high desire,
O heav'nly soul in human shape contained.
Old wood inflamed doth yield the bravest fire,
When younger doth in smoke his virtue spend.
Ne let white hairs (which on my face do grow)
Seem to your eyes of a disgraceful hue;
Since whiteness doth present the sweetest show,
Which makes all eyes do honour unto you.
Old age is wise and full of constant truth;
Old age well stayed from ranging humour lives;
Old age hath known whatever was in youth;
Old age o'ercome, the greater honour gives
And to old age since you yourself aspire,
Let not old age disgrace my high desire.
Dorus
Since so mine eyes are subject to your sight,
That in your sight they fixed have my brain;
Since so my heart is filled with that light,
That only light doth all my life maintain;
Since in sweet you all goods so richly reign,
That where you are no wished good can want;
Since so your living image lives in me,
That in myself yourself true love doth plant;
How can you him unworthy then decree,
In whose chief part your worths implanted be?
Dorus
My sheep are thoughts, which I both guide and serve;
Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless love;
On barren sweets they feed, and feeding starve;
I wail their lot; but will not other prove.
My sheephook is wanhope, which all upholds;
My weeds, desire, cut out in endless folds.
What wool my sheep shall bear, while thus they live,
In you it is, you must the judgement give.
Philoclea
Ye living powers enclosed in stately shrine
Of growing trees, ye rural gods that wield
Your sceptres here, if to your ears divine
A voice may come which troubled soul doth yield,
This vow receive, this vow O gods maintain:
My virgin life no spotted thought shall stain.
Thou purest stone, whose pureness doth present
My purest mind; whose temper hard doth show
My tempered heart; by thee my promise sent
Unto myself let after-livers know.
No fancy mine, nor others' wrong suspect
Make me, O virtuous Shame, thy laws neglect.
O Chastity, the chief of heav'nly lights,
Which makes us most immortal shape to wear,
Hold thou my heart, establish thou my sprites;
To only thee my constant course I bear
Till spotless soul unto thy bosom fly,
Such life to lead, such death I vow to die.
Philoclea
My words, in hope to blaze my steadfast mind,
This marble chose, as of like temper known:
But lo, my words defaced, my fancies blind,
Blots to the stone, shame to myself I find;
And witness am, how ill agree in one,
A woman's hand with constant marble stone.
My words full weak, the marble full of might;
My words in store, the marble all alone;
My words black ink, the marble kindly white;
My words unseen, the marble still insight,
May witness bear, how ill agree in one,
A woman's hand with constant marble stone.
Cleophila
Loved I am, and yet complain of love;
As loving not, accused, in love I die.
When pity most I crave, I cruel prove;
Still seeking love, love found as much I fly.
Burnt in myself, I muse at others' fire;
What I call wrong, I do the same, and more;
Barred of my will, I have beyond desire;
I wail for want, and yet am choked with store.
This is thy work, thou god for ever blind;
Though thousands old, a boy entitled still.
Thus children do the silly birds they find
With stroking hurt, and too much cramming kill.
Yet thus much love, O Love, I crave of thee:
Let me be loved, or else not loved be.
Cleophila
Over these brooks trusting to ease mine eyes
(Mine eyes e'en great in labour with their tears),
I laid my face (my face wherein there lies
Clusters of clouds which no sun ever clears)
In wat'ry glass my watered eyes I see:
Sorrows ill eased, where sorrows painted be.
My thoughts, imprisoned in my secret woes,
With flamy breath do issue oft in sound;
The sound to this strange air no sooner goes
But that it doth with echo's force rebound
And makes me hear the plaints I would refrain:
Thus outward helps my inward griefs maintain.
Now in this sand I would discharge my mind,
And cast from me part of my burd'nous cares;
But in the sands my pains foretold I find,
And see therein how well the writer fares.
Since stream, air, sand, mine eyes and ears conspire:
What hope to quench where each thing blows the fire?
Gynecia
With two strange fires of equal heat possessed,
The one of love, the other jealousy,
Both still do work, in neither find I rest;
For both, alas, their strengths together tie;
The one aloft doth hold the other high.
Love wakes the jealous eye lest thence it moves;
The jealous eye, the more it looks, it loves.
These fires increase, in these I daily burn;
They feed on me, and with my wings do fly;
My lively joys to doleful ashes turn;
Their flames mount up, my powers prostrate lie;
They live in force, I quite consumed die
One wonder yet far passeth my conceit:
The fuel small, how be the fires so great?
Dorus
Feed on my sheep; my charge, my comfort, feed;
With sun's approach your pasture fertile grows,
O only sun that such a fruit can breed.
Feed on my sheep, your fair sweet feeding flows,
Each flow'r, each herb, doth to your service yield,
O blessed sun whence all this blessing goes.
Feed on my sheep, possess your fruitful field,
No wolves dare howl, no murrain can prevail,
And from the storms our sweetest sun will shield.
Feed on my sheep, sorrow hath stricken sail,
Enjoy my joys, as you did taste my pain,
While our sun shines no cloudy griefs assail
Feed on my sheep, your native joys maintain,
Your wool is rich; no tongue can tell my gain.
Philisides
Leave off my sheep: it is no time to feed,
My sun is gone, your pasture barren grows,
O cruel sun, thy hate this harm doth breed.
Leave off my sheep, my show'r of tears o'erflows,
Your sweetest flow'rs, your herbs, no service yield,
My sun, alas, from me for ever goes
Leave off my sheep, my sighs burn up your field,
My plaints call wolves, my plagues in you prevail,
My sun is gone, from storms what shall us shield?
Leave off my sheep, sorrow hath hoised sail,
Wail in my woes, taste of your master's pain,
My sun is gone, now cloudy griefs assail
Leave leaving not my mourning to maintain,
You bear no wool, and loss is all my gain.
Dametas
A hateful cure with hate to heal;
A bloody help with blood to save;
A foolish thing with fools to deal;
Let him be bobbed that bobs will have
But who by means of wisdom high
Hath saved his charge? It is e'en I
Let others deck their pride with scars,
And of their wounds make brave lame shows;
First let them die, then pass the stars,
When rotten Fame will tell their blows.
But eye from blade, and ear from cry:
Who hath saved all? It is e'en I.
Basilius, Gynecia, Pamela and Philoclea
Apollo great, whose beams the greater world do light,
And in our little world dost clear our inward sight,
Which ever shines, though hid from earth by earthly shade,
Whose lights do ever live, but in our darkness fade;
Thou god, whose youth was decked with spoil of Python 's skin
(So humble knowledge can throw down the snakish sin),
Latona 's son, whose birth in pain and travail long
Doth teach to learn the good what travails do belong;
In travail of our life (a short but tedious space
While brickle hour-glass runs) guide thou our panting race:
Give us foresightful minds; give us minds to obey
What foresight tells; our thoughts upon thy knowledge stay.
Let so our fruits grow up that Nature be maintained;
But so our hearts keep down, with vice they be not stained.
Let this assured hold our judgements ever take,
That nothing wins the heav'n but what doth earth forsake.
In vain, mine eyes, you labour to amend
With flowing tears your fault of hasty sight;
Since to my heart her shape you so did send
That her I see, though you did lose your light.
In vain, my heart, now you with sight are burned,
With sighs you seek to cool your hot desire;
Since sighs (into mine inward furnace turned)
For bellows serve to kindle more the fire.
Reason, in vain (now you have lost my heart)
My head you seek, as to your strongest fort;
Since there mine eyes have played so false a part
That to your strength your foes have sure resort
And since in vain I find were all my strife,
To this strange death I vainly yield my life.
Basilius
Let not old age disgrace my high desire,
O heav'nly soul in human shape contained.
Old wood inflamed doth yield the bravest fire,
When younger doth in smoke his virtue spend.
Ne let white hairs (which on my face do grow)
Seem to your eyes of a disgraceful hue;
Since whiteness doth present the sweetest show,
Which makes all eyes do honour unto you.
Old age is wise and full of constant truth;
Old age well stayed from ranging humour lives;
Old age hath known whatever was in youth;
Old age o'ercome, the greater honour gives
And to old age since you yourself aspire,
Let not old age disgrace my high desire.
Dorus
Since so mine eyes are subject to your sight,
That in your sight they fixed have my brain;
Since so my heart is filled with that light,
That only light doth all my life maintain;
Since in sweet you all goods so richly reign,
That where you are no wished good can want;
Since so your living image lives in me,
That in myself yourself true love doth plant;
How can you him unworthy then decree,
In whose chief part your worths implanted be?
Dorus
My sheep are thoughts, which I both guide and serve;
Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless love;
On barren sweets they feed, and feeding starve;
I wail their lot; but will not other prove.
My sheephook is wanhope, which all upholds;
My weeds, desire, cut out in endless folds.
What wool my sheep shall bear, while thus they live,
In you it is, you must the judgement give.
Philoclea
Ye living powers enclosed in stately shrine
Of growing trees, ye rural gods that wield
Your sceptres here, if to your ears divine
A voice may come which troubled soul doth yield,
This vow receive, this vow O gods maintain:
My virgin life no spotted thought shall stain.
Thou purest stone, whose pureness doth present
My purest mind; whose temper hard doth show
My tempered heart; by thee my promise sent
Unto myself let after-livers know.
No fancy mine, nor others' wrong suspect
Make me, O virtuous Shame, thy laws neglect.
O Chastity, the chief of heav'nly lights,
Which makes us most immortal shape to wear,
Hold thou my heart, establish thou my sprites;
To only thee my constant course I bear
Till spotless soul unto thy bosom fly,
Such life to lead, such death I vow to die.
Philoclea
My words, in hope to blaze my steadfast mind,
This marble chose, as of like temper known:
But lo, my words defaced, my fancies blind,
Blots to the stone, shame to myself I find;
And witness am, how ill agree in one,
A woman's hand with constant marble stone.
My words full weak, the marble full of might;
My words in store, the marble all alone;
My words black ink, the marble kindly white;
My words unseen, the marble still insight,
May witness bear, how ill agree in one,
A woman's hand with constant marble stone.
Cleophila
Loved I am, and yet complain of love;
As loving not, accused, in love I die.
When pity most I crave, I cruel prove;
Still seeking love, love found as much I fly.
Burnt in myself, I muse at others' fire;
What I call wrong, I do the same, and more;
Barred of my will, I have beyond desire;
I wail for want, and yet am choked with store.
This is thy work, thou god for ever blind;
Though thousands old, a boy entitled still.
Thus children do the silly birds they find
With stroking hurt, and too much cramming kill.
Yet thus much love, O Love, I crave of thee:
Let me be loved, or else not loved be.
Cleophila
Over these brooks trusting to ease mine eyes
(Mine eyes e'en great in labour with their tears),
I laid my face (my face wherein there lies
Clusters of clouds which no sun ever clears)
In wat'ry glass my watered eyes I see:
Sorrows ill eased, where sorrows painted be.
My thoughts, imprisoned in my secret woes,
With flamy breath do issue oft in sound;
The sound to this strange air no sooner goes
But that it doth with echo's force rebound
And makes me hear the plaints I would refrain:
Thus outward helps my inward griefs maintain.
Now in this sand I would discharge my mind,
And cast from me part of my burd'nous cares;
But in the sands my pains foretold I find,
And see therein how well the writer fares.
Since stream, air, sand, mine eyes and ears conspire:
What hope to quench where each thing blows the fire?
Gynecia
With two strange fires of equal heat possessed,
The one of love, the other jealousy,
Both still do work, in neither find I rest;
For both, alas, their strengths together tie;
The one aloft doth hold the other high.
Love wakes the jealous eye lest thence it moves;
The jealous eye, the more it looks, it loves.
These fires increase, in these I daily burn;
They feed on me, and with my wings do fly;
My lively joys to doleful ashes turn;
Their flames mount up, my powers prostrate lie;
They live in force, I quite consumed die
One wonder yet far passeth my conceit:
The fuel small, how be the fires so great?
Dorus
Feed on my sheep; my charge, my comfort, feed;
With sun's approach your pasture fertile grows,
O only sun that such a fruit can breed.
Feed on my sheep, your fair sweet feeding flows,
Each flow'r, each herb, doth to your service yield,
O blessed sun whence all this blessing goes.
Feed on my sheep, possess your fruitful field,
No wolves dare howl, no murrain can prevail,
And from the storms our sweetest sun will shield.
Feed on my sheep, sorrow hath stricken sail,
Enjoy my joys, as you did taste my pain,
While our sun shines no cloudy griefs assail
Feed on my sheep, your native joys maintain,
Your wool is rich; no tongue can tell my gain.
Philisides
Leave off my sheep: it is no time to feed,
My sun is gone, your pasture barren grows,
O cruel sun, thy hate this harm doth breed.
Leave off my sheep, my show'r of tears o'erflows,
Your sweetest flow'rs, your herbs, no service yield,
My sun, alas, from me for ever goes
Leave off my sheep, my sighs burn up your field,
My plaints call wolves, my plagues in you prevail,
My sun is gone, from storms what shall us shield?
Leave off my sheep, sorrow hath hoised sail,
Wail in my woes, taste of your master's pain,
My sun is gone, now cloudy griefs assail
Leave leaving not my mourning to maintain,
You bear no wool, and loss is all my gain.
Dametas
A hateful cure with hate to heal;
A bloody help with blood to save;
A foolish thing with fools to deal;
Let him be bobbed that bobs will have
But who by means of wisdom high
Hath saved his charge? It is e'en I
Let others deck their pride with scars,
And of their wounds make brave lame shows;
First let them die, then pass the stars,
When rotten Fame will tell their blows.
But eye from blade, and ear from cry:
Who hath saved all? It is e'en I.
Basilius, Gynecia, Pamela and Philoclea
Apollo great, whose beams the greater world do light,
And in our little world dost clear our inward sight,
Which ever shines, though hid from earth by earthly shade,
Whose lights do ever live, but in our darkness fade;
Thou god, whose youth was decked with spoil of Python 's skin
(So humble knowledge can throw down the snakish sin),
Latona 's son, whose birth in pain and travail long
Doth teach to learn the good what travails do belong;
In travail of our life (a short but tedious space
While brickle hour-glass runs) guide thou our panting race:
Give us foresightful minds; give us minds to obey
What foresight tells; our thoughts upon thy knowledge stay.
Let so our fruits grow up that Nature be maintained;
But so our hearts keep down, with vice they be not stained.
Let this assured hold our judgements ever take,
That nothing wins the heav'n but what doth earth forsake.
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