Classic Poem

I.

Neere Wilton sweete huge heapes of stones are found,
But so confusde that neither any eye
Can count them iust, nor Reason reason trye,
What force brought them to so vnlikely ground
To stranger weights my minde's waste soile is bound,
Of passion-hilles, reaching to Reason's skie
From Fancie's earth; passing all numbers' bound,
Passing all ghesse whence into me should fly
So mazde a masse, or, if in me it growes,
A simple soule should breed so mixed woes.

II.

The Bruertons haue a lake, which, when the sunne
Approching warmes, not else, dead loges vp sends
From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends,
Sore signe it is the lord's last thred is spun.
My lake is Sense, where still streames neuer runne
But when my sunne her shining twinnes there bends;
Then from his depth with force in her begunne,
Long-drowned hopes to watrie eyes it lends;
But when that failes my dead hopes vp to take,
Their master is faire warn'd his will to make.

III.

We haue a fish, by strangers much admirde,
Which caught, to cruell search yeelds his chiefe part;
(With gall cut out) closde vp againe by art,
Yet liues untill his life be new requirde.
A stranger fish myselfe, not yet expirde,
Though rapt with Beautie's hooke, I did impart
Myselfe vnto th' anatomy desirde,
Insteed of gall, leauing to her my hart:
Yet liue with thoughts closde vp, till that she will,
By conquest's right, insteed of searching, kill.

IV.

Peake hath a caue, whose narrow entries finde
Large roomes within, whose droppes distill amaine,
Till knit with cold, though there vnknowne remaine,
Decke that poor place with alabaster linde.
Mine eyes the streight, the roomie caue my minde,
Whose cloudie thoughts let fall an inward raine
Of sorrowe's droppes, till colder reason binde
Their running fall into a constant vaine
Of trueth, farre more then alabaster pure,
Which though despisde, yet still doth truth endure.

V.

A field there is, where, if a stake be prest
Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt
Is chang'd to stone in hardnesse, cold, and weight,
The wood aboue doth soone consuming rest.
The earth her eares, the stake is my request,
Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seate,
To honor turnd, doth dwell in honor's nest,
Keeping that forme, though void of wonted heate;
But all the rest, which feare durst not applie,
Failing themselues, with withered conscience dye.

VI.

Of ships by shipwrack cast on Albion coast,
Which rotting on the rockes their death do dye:
From wooden bones and bloud of pitch doth flie
A bird, which gets more life then ship had lost.
My ship, Desire, with winde of Lust long tost,
Brake on faire cleeves of constant Chastitie;
Where, plagu'd for rash attempt, giues vp his ghost;
So deepe in seas of vertue, beauties ly:
But of this death flies vp the purest loue,
Which seeming lesse, yet nobler life doth moue.

VII.

These wonders England breedes; the last remaines;
A ladie, in despite of Nature, chaste;
On whom all loue, in whom no loue is plaste,
Where Fairenesse yeelds to Wisdome's shortest raines
An humble pride, a skorne that fauour staines;
A woman's mould, but like an angell graste;
An angell's mind, but in a woman caste;
A heauen on earth, or earth that heauen containes:
Now thus, this wonder to myselfe I frame, —
She is the cause that all the rest I am.