Classic Poem

THYRSIS .

Come, Dorus, come; let songs thy sorrowes signifie,
And if for want of vse thy mind ashamed is,
That verie shame with Loue's high title dignifie.
No stile is held for base where loue well named is:
Each eare sucks vp the words a true-loue scattereth,
And plaine speech oft, than quaint phrase better framed is.

DORUS .

Nightingales seldome sing, the pie still chattereth,
The wood cries most before it throughly kindled be,
Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth;
Hardlie they heard which by good hunters singled be:
Shallow brookes murmur most, deepe silent slide away;
Nor true-loue loues his loues with others mingled be.

THYRSIS .

If thou wilt not be seene, thy face go hide away,
Be none of vs, or els maintaine our fashion;
Who frownes at others' feasts doth better bide away
But if thou hast a loue, in that loue's passion,
I challenge thee by shew of her perfection,
Which of vs two deserueth most compassion.

DORUS .

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

THYRSIS .

Muse, hold your peace: but thou my god Pan glorifie
My Kala's gifts, who with all good gifts filled is;
Thy pipe, O Pan, shall helpe, though I sing sorily.
A heape of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is;
Who, though she be no bee, yet full of honey is;
A lilly field, with plough of rose which tilled is;
Milde as a lambe, more daintie then a conie is;
Her eyes my eye-sight is; her conuersation
More glad to me then 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 turn'd, but mended in translation.

DORUS .

Such Kala is: but ah my fancies raised be
In one, whose name to name were high presumption,
Since vertues all, to make her title, pleased be:
O happie Gods, which by inward assumption
Enioy her soule, in bodie's faire possession;
And keepe it ioyn'd, fearing your seate's consumption.
How oft with raine of teares skies make confession,
Their dwellers rapt with sight of her perfection,
From heau'nly throne to her heau'n vse digression!
Of best things then what world shall yeeld confection
To liken her? decke yours with your comparison:
She is her selfe of best things the collection.

THYRSIS .

How oft my dolefull Sire cride to me, Tarie, sonne,
When first he spied my loue! how oft he said to me,
Thou art no souldier fit for Cupid's garrison!
My sonne, keepe this, that my long toyle hath layd to me: —
Loue well thine owne; me think, wool's whitnesse passeth all:
I neuer found long loue such wealth hath payd to me. —
This wind he spent: but when my Kala glasseth all
My sight in her faire limmes, I then assure my selfe,
Not rotten sheepe, but high crownes she surpasseth all.
Can I be poore, that her gold haire procure my selfe?
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?
Till I get her, shall I to keepe inure my selfe?

DORUS

How oft, when Reason saw loue of her harnised
With armour of my heart, he cryed, O vanitie
To set a pearle in steele so meanelie varnished!
Looke to thy selfe, reach not beyond humanitie;
Her minde, beames, state, farre from thy weake wings banished:
And loue which louer hurts is inhumanitie.
Thus Reason said: but she came, Reason vanished;
Her eyes so maistering me, that such obiection
Seem'd but to spoile the foode of thoughts long famished;
Her peerelesse height my minde to high erection
Drawes up; and if hope failing end life's pleasure,
Of fairer death how can I make election?

THYRSIS .

Once my well-waiting eyes espied my treasure,
With sleeues turn'd vp, loose haire, and breast enlarged,
Her father's corne, mouing her faire limmes, measure.
O, cried I, of so meane worke be discharged:
Measure my case how by thy beauties filling
With seed of woes my heart brimfull is charged.
Thy father bids thee saue, and chids for spilling;
Saue then my soule, spill not my thoughts well heaped,
No louely praise was euer got by killing.
These bold words she did beare; this fruit I reaped,
That she, whose looke 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 Loue's chiefe clothing dressed.
I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying: —
Let not dead earth enioy so deare a couer,
But decke therewith my soule for your sake dying;
Lay all your feare upon your fearfull louer:
Shine, eyes, on me, that both our liues be guarded:
So I your sight, you shall your selues recouer
I cried, and was with open rayes rewarded:
But straight they fled, summond by cruell honour, —
Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.

THYRSIS .

This maide, thus made for ioyes, O Pan, bemone her,
That without loue she spends her yeares of loue:
So faire a field would well become an owner;
And if enchantment can a hard heart moue,
Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,
Affection's charmes in my behalfe to proue
The circle is my round-about-her sight,
The power I will inuoke dwels in her eyes:
My charmes should be, — she haunt me day and night.

DORUS .

Farre other case, O Muse, my sorrow tries,
Bent to such one in whom my selfe must say,
Nothing can mend one point that in her lies
What circle then in so rare force beares sway,
Whose sprite all sprites can foile, raise, damne or saue?
No charme holds her, but well possesse she may,
Possesse she doth, and makes my soule her slaue,
My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatall knot:
No thrall like them that inward bondage haue.

THYRSIS .

Kala, at length conclude my lingring lot;
Disdaine me not, although I be not faire:
Who is an heire of manie hundreth sheepe,
Doth beauties keepe which neuer sunne can burne,
Nor stormes doe turne: fairenesse serues oft to wealth
Yet all my health I place in your good will,
Which if you will — O do — bestow on me:
Such as you see, such still you shall me find,
Constant and kind; my sheepe your food shall breed,
Their wooll your weed, I will you musicke yeeld
In flowrie field; and as the day begins,
With twentie ginnes we will the small birds take,
And pastimes make, as Nature things hath made;
But when in shade we meet of myrtle bowes,
Then Loue allowes our pleasures to enrich,
The thought of which doth passe all worldly pelfe.

DORUS .

Ladie, your selfe, whom neither name I dare,
And titles are but spots to such a worth,
Heare plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind;
The noblest kind reiects not others' woes.
I haue no shewes of wealth: my wealth is you,
My beautie's hew your beames, my health your deeds;
My minde for weeds your vertues' liuerie weares,
My foode is teares, my tunes waymenting yeeld,
Despaire my field, the flowers spirits' warres;
My day new cares; my ginnes my daily sight,
In which do light small birds of thoughts orethrowne:
My pastimes none, time passeth on my fall
Nature made all, but me of dolours made:
I finde no shade, but where my sunne doth burne,
No place to turne; without, within, it fries:
Nor helpe by life or death, who liuing dies.

THYRSIS .

But if my Kala thus my sute denies,
Which so much reason beares:
Let crowes picke out mine eyes, which too much saw
If she still hate Loue's law,
My earthly mould doth melt in watrie teares.

DORUS .

My earthly mould doth melt in watrie teares,
And they againe resolue
To aire of sighes, sighes to the hart's fire turne,
Which doth to ashes burne
Thus doth my life within it selfe dissolue.

THYRSIS .

Thus doth my life within it selfe dissolue,
That I grow like the beast,
Which beares the bit a weaker force doth guide,
Yet patient must abide:
Such weight it hath which once is full possest.

DORUS .

Such weight it hath which once is full possest,
That I become a vision,
Which hath in others' head his onely being,
And liues in fancie seeing
O wretched state of man in selfe-diuision!

THYRSIS .

O wretched state of man in selfe-diuision!
O well thou sayest! a feeling declaration
Thy tongue hath made, of Cupid's deepe incision.
But now hoarse voice doth faile this occupation,
And others long to tell their loues' condition:
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.

DORUS .

Of singing thou hast got the reputation,
Good Thyrsis mine, I yeeld to thy abilitie;
My heart doth seeke another estimation.
But ah my Muse, I would thou hadst facilitie
To worke my goddesse so by thy inuention,
On me to cast those eyes where shine nobilitie,
Seene and vnknowne; heard, but without attention.