These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face,Which show the certain proof of my ne'er-ceasing pains,Fair Phillis, are no tears that trickle from my brains;For why? Such streams of ruth within me find no place.These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy graceAnd thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowersWhich from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showersOf rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face.My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is,The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame,The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same;And by how much my fire is violent and sly,By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high,That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss.
These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face,Which show the certain proof of my ne'er-ceasing pains,Fair Phillis, are no tears that trickle from my brains;For why? Such streams of ruth within me find no place.These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy graceAnd thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowersWhich from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showersOf rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face.My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is,The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame,The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same;And by how much my fire is violent and sly,By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high,That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss.
Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame,From day to day is changed in sundry sort;The proof whereof myself may well report,Who oft transformed by him may teach the same.I first was turned into a wounded hart,That bare the bloody arrow in my side;Then to a swan that midst the waters glide,With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart;Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower;Then was I made a fountain sudden dry,Distilling all my tears from troubled eye;Now am I salamander by his power,Living in flames, but hope ere long to beA voice, to talk my mistress' majesty.
Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame,From day to day is changed in sundry sort;The proof whereof myself may well report,Who oft transformed by him may teach the same.I first was turned into a wounded hart,That bare the bloody arrow in my side;Then to a swan that midst the waters glide,With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart;Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower;Then was I made a fountain sudden dry,Distilling all my tears from troubled eye;Now am I salamander by his power,Living in flames, but hope ere long to beA voice, to talk my mistress' majesty.
My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyesHave power to perfect nature's privy wants,Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise,With pretty tread did press the tender plants.Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feetIs proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet.Her fingers fair in favouring every flowerThat wooed their ivory for a wishèd touch,By chance—sweet chance!—upon a blessed hourDid pluck the flower where Love himself did couch.Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed,And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest.The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall,Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves;And twixt her teats, with favour did installThe lovely rose, where Love his rest receives.The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh,Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty;And said, let Venus seek another son,For here my only matchless mother is;From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run,That deifies my state with greater bliss.This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled,Since Love was both her prisoner and her child.
My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyesHave power to perfect nature's privy wants,Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise,With pretty tread did press the tender plants.Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feetIs proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet.Her fingers fair in favouring every flowerThat wooed their ivory for a wishèd touch,By chance—sweet chance!—upon a blessed hourDid pluck the flower where Love himself did couch.Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed,And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest.The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall,Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves;And twixt her teats, with favour did installThe lovely rose, where Love his rest receives.The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh,Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty;And said, let Venus seek another son,For here my only matchless mother is;From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run,That deifies my state with greater bliss.This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled,Since Love was both her prisoner and her child.
Now I find thy looks were feignèd,Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd;Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,Heart unstable, light as feathers,Tongue untrusty, subtile-sighted,Wanton will, with change delighted,Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!Of thine eyes, I made my mirror,From thy beauty came mine error,All thy words I counted witty,All thy smiles I deemèd pity.Thy false tears that me aggrievèd,First of all my trust deceivèd.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!Feigned acceptance when I askèd,Lovely words with cunning maskèd,Holy vows but heart unholy;Wretched man, my trust was folly!Lily white and pretty winking,Solemn vows, but sorry thinking.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!Now I see, O seemly cruel,Others warm them at my fuel!Wit shall guide me in this durance,Since in love is no assurance.Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure;Beauty is a fading treasure.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!Prime youth lusts not age still follow,And make white these tresses yellow;Wrinkled face for looks delightfulShall acquaint the dame despightful;And when time shall eat thy glory,Then too late thou wilt be sorry.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
Now I find thy looks were feignèd,Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd;Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,Heart unstable, light as feathers,Tongue untrusty, subtile-sighted,Wanton will, with change delighted,Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!
Of thine eyes, I made my mirror,From thy beauty came mine error,All thy words I counted witty,All thy smiles I deemèd pity.Thy false tears that me aggrievèd,First of all my trust deceivèd.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!
Feigned acceptance when I askèd,Lovely words with cunning maskèd,Holy vows but heart unholy;Wretched man, my trust was folly!Lily white and pretty winking,Solemn vows, but sorry thinking.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!
Now I see, O seemly cruel,Others warm them at my fuel!Wit shall guide me in this durance,Since in love is no assurance.Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure;Beauty is a fading treasure.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for this treason!
Prime youth lusts not age still follow,And make white these tresses yellow;Wrinkled face for looks delightfulShall acquaint the dame despightful;And when time shall eat thy glory,Then too late thou wilt be sorry.Siren pleasant, foe to reason,Cupid plague thee for thy treason!
Resembling none, and none so poor as I,Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem,Whose first-born loves at first obscured did die,And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem,Under the ensign of whose tirèd pen,Love's legions forth have masked, by others masked;Think how I live wrongèd by ill-tongued men,Not master of myself, to all wrongs tasked!Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things,Support these languishing conceits that perish!Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small thingsMay win this wordly palm, so you do cherish.Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this,He will and shall revive, if you allow this.
Resembling none, and none so poor as I,Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem,Whose first-born loves at first obscured did die,And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem,Under the ensign of whose tirèd pen,Love's legions forth have masked, by others masked;Think how I live wrongèd by ill-tongued men,Not master of myself, to all wrongs tasked!Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things,Support these languishing conceits that perish!Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small thingsMay win this wordly palm, so you do cherish.Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this,He will and shall revive, if you allow this.
Giles Fletcher, author ofLicia, was one of that distinguished family that included Richard Fletcher, the Bishop of London, and his son John Fletcher, the dramatist. The two sons of Dr. Giles Fletcher were also men of marked poetic ability: Phineas, the author of that extraordinary allegorical poem,The Purple Island; and Giles, ofChrist's Victory and Triumph. There was a strong family feeling in this circle; Phineas and Giles pay compliments to each other in their verse and show great reverence and tenderness toward the memory of the poetic powers of their father. But Giles Fletcher the elder was not thought of in his own time as a poet. Educated at Eton and Trinity, Cambridge, where he was made LL.D. in 1581, a member of Parliament in '85, employedin many public services at home and abroad during a career that lasted until 1611, in which year Dr. Fletcher died at the age of seventy-two, he was known as a man of action, a man for public responsibility, rather than as the retired scholar or riming courtier. Most important among the foreign embassages undertaken by Fletcher was the one to Russia. The results were of great import to England, commercially and otherwise, but the book he wrote on his return was, for political reasons, suppressed.
It happened that the years of enforced idleness that followed the suppression of this book came in the time when the young sonneteers at London were all busy. He returned from his embassage in '89; the book was suppressed in '91.Liciawas published in '93. The writing ofLiciawas "rather an effect than a cause of idleness;" he did it "only to try his humor," he says apologetically in the dedicatory addresses. "Whereas my thoughts and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt in causes of greater weight, yet the present jar of this disagreeing age drives me into a fit so melancholy, as I had only leisure to grow passionate."
In case wise heads should think him to be treating "an idle subject and so frivolous," or that it has been "vainly handled and so odious," he sets forth the nobility of his view. "Howsoever, Love in this age hath behaved himself in that loose manner as it is counted a disgrace to give him but a kind look, yet I take the passion in itself to be of that honor and credit, as it is a perfect resemblance of the greatest happiness, and rightly valued at his just price (in a mind that is sincerely and truly amorous), an affection of greatest virtue and able of himself to eternise the meanest vassal." "For Love," he declares, "is a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a poet) not respecting the contentment of him that loves, but the virtues of the beloved; satisfied with wondering, fed with admiration; respecting nothing but his lady's worthiness; made as happy by love as by all favors; chaste by honor; far from violence; respecting but one, and that one in such kindness, honesty, truth, constancy, and honor, as were all the world offered to make a change, yet the boot were too small and therefore bootless. This is love, and far more than this,which I know a vulgar head, a base mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not nor cannot have. Thus do I commend that love wherewith in these poems I have honoured the worthy Licia."
The sonnet-cycle is inscribed "To the worthie kinde wise and virtuous ladie, the Ladie Mollineux; wife to the right worshipful Sir Richard Mollineux Knight." Nothing is known of this lady, except that her family may possibly have been very distantly connected with that of Fletcher. What the poet's feeling was towards his patroness he defines sufficiently. "Now in that I have written love sonnets, if any man measure my affection by my style, let him say I am in love.... Yet take this by the way; though I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat profane."
What "shadowings" the poet may intend he refuses to confide to us. "If thou muse what my Licia is, take her to be some Diana, at the least chaste; or some Minerva; no Venus, fairer far.It may be she is Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not dislike: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Discipline. It may be I mean that kind courtesy which I found at the patroness of these poems. It may be some college; it may be my conceit, and portend nothing." It is evident then that the patroness herself is not the real person behind the poetic title. He therefore dedicatesLiciato Lady Molineux, not because the sonnets themselves are addressed to her, but because he has received "favours undeserved" at her hands and those of "wise Sir Richard" for which he "wants means to make recompence," and therefore in the meantime he begs her to accept this. "If thou like it," he says to the reader, "take it, and thank the worthy Lady Mollineux, for whose sake thou hast it; worthy, indeed, and so not only reputed by me in private affection of thankfulness but so equally to be esteemed by all that know her. For if I had not received of her ... those unrequitable favours, I had not thus idly toyed."
A warm admirer of Fletcher has expressed his opinion thatLicia"sparkles with brilliants of thefirst water." A more temperate judgment is that of another, who says that he "took part without discredit in the choir of singers who were men of action too."Liciais what a typical sonnet-cycle ought to be, a delicate and almost intangible thread of story on which are strung the separate sonnet-pearls. In this case the jewels have a particular finish. Fletcher has adopted the idea of a series of quatrains, often extending the number to four, and a concluding couplet, which he seems fond of utilising to give an epigrammatic finish to the ingenious incident he so often makes the subject of the sonnet. He is fully in the spirit of the Italian mode, however, acknowledging in his title page his indebtedness to poets of other nationalities than his own.
Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky,From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light,I send these poems to your graceful eye;Do you but take them, and they have their right.I build besides a temple to your name,Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;And will erect an altar for the same,Which shall your virtues and your honour raise.But heaven the temple of your honour is,Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud;The ground an altar, base for such a blissWith pity torn, because I sighed so loud.And since my skill no worship can impart,Make you an incense of my loving heart.Sad all alone not long I musing sat,But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire,A laurel garland in my hand I gat;So the Muses I approached the nigher.My suite was this, a poet to become,To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.Phœbus denied, and sware there was no room,Such to be poets as fond fancy led.With that I mourned and sat me down to weep.Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said,"Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep."This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed.That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong,For now of love must needs be all my song.
Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky,From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light,I send these poems to your graceful eye;Do you but take them, and they have their right.I build besides a temple to your name,Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;And will erect an altar for the same,Which shall your virtues and your honour raise.But heaven the temple of your honour is,Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud;The ground an altar, base for such a blissWith pity torn, because I sighed so loud.And since my skill no worship can impart,Make you an incense of my loving heart.Sad all alone not long I musing sat,But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire,A laurel garland in my hand I gat;So the Muses I approached the nigher.My suite was this, a poet to become,To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.Phœbus denied, and sware there was no room,Such to be poets as fond fancy led.With that I mourned and sat me down to weep.Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said,"Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep."This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed.That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong,For now of love must needs be all my song.
Weary was love and sought to take his rest,He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap;And slyly crept from thence unto her breast,Where still he meant to sport him in his hap;The virgin frowned like Phœbus in a cloud;"Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such,My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud."This said, my love did give the wag a touch;Then as the foot that treads the stinging snakeHastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue,So love my love was forced for to forsake,And for more speed, without his arrows flew."Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to meMy mother Venus in her pride to be."
Weary was love and sought to take his rest,He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap;And slyly crept from thence unto her breast,Where still he meant to sport him in his hap;The virgin frowned like Phœbus in a cloud;"Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such,My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud."This said, my love did give the wag a touch;Then as the foot that treads the stinging snakeHastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue,So love my love was forced for to forsake,And for more speed, without his arrows flew."Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to meMy mother Venus in her pride to be."
The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen,And all amazed, to wonder thus began:"Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen,And shapes himself like to a seemly man?Mean are the matches which he sought before,Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare,And she alone hath treasured beauty's store,In whom all gifts and princely graces are."Cupid replied: "I posted with the sunTo view the maids that livèd in those days,And none there was that might not well be won,But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays."Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem,She hath no heat, although she living seem.
The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen,And all amazed, to wonder thus began:"Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen,And shapes himself like to a seemly man?Mean are the matches which he sought before,Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare,And she alone hath treasured beauty's store,In whom all gifts and princely graces are."Cupid replied: "I posted with the sunTo view the maids that livèd in those days,And none there was that might not well be won,But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays."Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem,She hath no heat, although she living seem.
Love and my love did range the forest wild,Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both.Love her encountered, though he was a child."Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth,And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile."I mounted am, and armèd with my spear;Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile;I could thee conquer if I naked were."With this love wept, and then my love replied:"Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more."Thus did my love, and then her force she tried;Love was made ice, that fire was before.A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove,Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love.
Love and my love did range the forest wild,Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both.Love her encountered, though he was a child."Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth,And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile."I mounted am, and armèd with my spear;Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile;I could thee conquer if I naked were."With this love wept, and then my love replied:"Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more."Thus did my love, and then her force she tried;Love was made ice, that fire was before.A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove,Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love.
Love with her hair my love by force hath tied,To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand;I smiled for joy, when I the boy espiedTo lie unchained and live at her command.She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile,Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss,Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile,Because she scorns all hearts but only this.Venus for this in pride began to frownThat Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be.She in disdain her pretty son threw down,And in his place, with love she chainèd me.So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall,Not her a goddess, but thyself I call.
Love with her hair my love by force hath tied,To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand;I smiled for joy, when I the boy espiedTo lie unchained and live at her command.She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile,Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss,Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile,Because she scorns all hearts but only this.Venus for this in pride began to frownThat Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be.She in disdain her pretty son threw down,And in his place, with love she chainèd me.So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall,Not her a goddess, but thyself I call.
My love amazed did blush herself to see,Pictured by art, all naked as she was."How could the painter know so much by me,Or art effect what he hath brought to pass?It is not like he naked me hath seen,Or stood so nigh for to observe so much."No, sweet; his eyes so near have never been,Nor could his hands by art have cunning such;I showed my heart, wherein you printed were,You, naked you, as here you painted are;In that my love your picture I must wear,And show't to all, unless you have more care.Then take my heart, and place it with your own;So shall you naked never more be known.
My love amazed did blush herself to see,Pictured by art, all naked as she was."How could the painter know so much by me,Or art effect what he hath brought to pass?It is not like he naked me hath seen,Or stood so nigh for to observe so much."No, sweet; his eyes so near have never been,Nor could his hands by art have cunning such;I showed my heart, wherein you printed were,You, naked you, as here you painted are;In that my love your picture I must wear,And show't to all, unless you have more care.Then take my heart, and place it with your own;So shall you naked never more be known.
Death in a rage assaulted once my heartWith love of her, my love that doth deny.I scorned his force, and wished him to depart,I heartless was, and therefore could not die.I live in her, in her I placed my life,She guides my soul, and her I honour must.Nor is this life but yet a living strife,A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just.Cupid enraged did fly to make me love,My heart lay guarded with those burning eyesThe sparks whereof denied him to remove;So conquered now, he like a captive lies;Thus two at once by love were both undone,My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son.
Death in a rage assaulted once my heartWith love of her, my love that doth deny.I scorned his force, and wished him to depart,I heartless was, and therefore could not die.I live in her, in her I placed my life,She guides my soul, and her I honour must.Nor is this life but yet a living strife,A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just.Cupid enraged did fly to make me love,My heart lay guarded with those burning eyesThe sparks whereof denied him to remove;So conquered now, he like a captive lies;Thus two at once by love were both undone,My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son.
Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel,The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed;But you, my love, far harder do I feelThan flint, or these, or is the winter's frost.My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move;My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent;Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love;But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent.The frost too hard, not melted with my flame,I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat.Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame,But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat;Then shall I say as by trial find;These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind.
Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel,The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed;But you, my love, far harder do I feelThan flint, or these, or is the winter's frost.My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move;My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent;Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love;But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent.The frost too hard, not melted with my flame,I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat.Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame,But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat;Then shall I say as by trial find;These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind.
Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep,Whereas my love his armor took away;The boy awaked, and straight began to weep,But stood amazed, and knew not what to say."Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son,"Thy weapons none can wield, but thou alone;Licia the fair, this harm to thee hath done,I saw her here, and presently was gone;She will restore them, for she hath no needTo take thy weapons where thy valour lies;For men to wound the Fates have her decreed,With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes."No, Venus, no: she scorns them, credit me;But robbed thy son that none might care for thee.
Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep,Whereas my love his armor took away;The boy awaked, and straight began to weep,But stood amazed, and knew not what to say."Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son,"Thy weapons none can wield, but thou alone;Licia the fair, this harm to thee hath done,I saw her here, and presently was gone;She will restore them, for she hath no needTo take thy weapons where thy valour lies;For men to wound the Fates have her decreed,With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes."No, Venus, no: she scorns them, credit me;But robbed thy son that none might care for thee.
A painter drew the image of the boy,Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind;With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy;I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find:"A needless task I see thy cunning take;Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed;Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make,Nor weapons wears, whereof to be affrayed;But if thou, love, wilt paint with greatest skillA love, a maid, a goddess, and a queen;Wonder and view at Licia's picture still,For other love the world hath never seen;For she alone all hope all comfort gives;Men's hearts, souls, all, led by her favour lives."
A painter drew the image of the boy,Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind;With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy;I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find:"A needless task I see thy cunning take;Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed;Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make,Nor weapons wears, whereof to be affrayed;But if thou, love, wilt paint with greatest skillA love, a maid, a goddess, and a queen;Wonder and view at Licia's picture still,For other love the world hath never seen;For she alone all hope all comfort gives;Men's hearts, souls, all, led by her favour lives."
In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw,Queens of esteem, divine they were all three,A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw,Their virtues all in one alone to be.Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride,(The matchless queen, commander of the gods,When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride)Hath far more beauty, and more grace by oddsJuno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare,I grant a goddess, but not half so mild;Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare;Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.She them surpasseth, when their prides are fullAs far as they surpass the meanest trull.
In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw,Queens of esteem, divine they were all three,A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw,Their virtues all in one alone to be.Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride,(The matchless queen, commander of the gods,When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride)Hath far more beauty, and more grace by oddsJuno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare,I grant a goddess, but not half so mild;Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare;Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.She them surpasseth, when their prides are fullAs far as they surpass the meanest trull.
I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing,Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire,Myself a monarch, or some mighty king,And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher.But when I view what winds the cedars toss,What storms men feels that covet for renown,I blame myself that I have wished my loss,And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown.Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought,My heart's content, procurer of my bliss,For whom a crown I do esteem as naught,As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss!Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me;Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee.
I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing,Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire,Myself a monarch, or some mighty king,And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher.But when I view what winds the cedars toss,What storms men feels that covet for renown,I blame myself that I have wished my loss,And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown.Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought,My heart's content, procurer of my bliss,For whom a crown I do esteem as naught,As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss!Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me;Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee.
Enamored Jove commanding did entreatCupid to wound my love, which he denied,And swore he could not for she wanted heatAnd would not love, as he full oft had tried.Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear,Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!"Whereat the boy did fly away for fearTo Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay.Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face,For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled,Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a placeWhere grace and honour have their kingdom held.Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyesThe seely boy the greatest god defies.
Enamored Jove commanding did entreatCupid to wound my love, which he denied,And swore he could not for she wanted heatAnd would not love, as he full oft had tried.Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear,Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!"Whereat the boy did fly away for fearTo Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay.Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face,For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled,Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a placeWhere grace and honour have their kingdom held.Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyesThe seely boy the greatest god defies.
My love lay sleeping, where birds music made,Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light;The heat was great but greater was the shadeWhich her defended from his burning sight.This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take,Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath;She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake,Seeing t'was love, which she did think was death,She cut his wings and causèd him to stay,Making a vow, he should not thence depart,Unless to her the wanton boy could payThe truest, kindest and most loving heart.His feathers still she usèd for a fan,Till by exchange my heart his feathers won.
My love lay sleeping, where birds music made,Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light;The heat was great but greater was the shadeWhich her defended from his burning sight.This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take,Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath;She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake,Seeing t'was love, which she did think was death,She cut his wings and causèd him to stay,Making a vow, he should not thence depart,Unless to her the wanton boy could payThe truest, kindest and most loving heart.His feathers still she usèd for a fan,Till by exchange my heart his feathers won.
I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine,Fairer than Phœbus, in his brightest pride,Set forth in colors by a hand divine,Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide.It was a picture, that I could descry,Yet made with art so as it seemed to live,Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye,Whereof my senses could no reason give.With that the painter bid me not to muse;"Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame;For if she saw, in faith, it could not chooseBut that the work had wholly been a flame,"—Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes,That phœnix-like from thence I may arise.
I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine,Fairer than Phœbus, in his brightest pride,Set forth in colors by a hand divine,Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide.It was a picture, that I could descry,Yet made with art so as it seemed to live,Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye,Whereof my senses could no reason give.With that the painter bid me not to muse;"Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame;For if she saw, in faith, it could not chooseBut that the work had wholly been a flame,"—Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes,That phœnix-like from thence I may arise.
Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend!A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had.It is not heaven that can such nectar sendWhereat my senses all amazed were glad.This done, she fled as one that was affrayed,And I desired to kiss by kissing more;My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed,Yet wished to kiss her as I did before.Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp,Loath to depart till both together die,So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp,That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie.Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call;Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all.
Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend!A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had.It is not heaven that can such nectar sendWhereat my senses all amazed were glad.This done, she fled as one that was affrayed,And I desired to kiss by kissing more;My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed,Yet wished to kiss her as I did before.Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp,Loath to depart till both together die,So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp,That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie.Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call;Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all.
As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore,Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring,Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before,Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring;As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night,Or as the fish that gallop in the seas;As airs each part that still escapes our sight,So are my sighs, controllers of my ease.Yet these are such as needs must have an end,For things finite none else hath nature done;Only the sighs, which from my heart I send,Will never cease, but where they first begun.Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee;For you immortal made them so to be.
As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore,Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring,Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before,Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring;As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night,Or as the fish that gallop in the seas;As airs each part that still escapes our sight,So are my sighs, controllers of my ease.Yet these are such as needs must have an end,For things finite none else hath nature done;Only the sighs, which from my heart I send,Will never cease, but where they first begun.Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee;For you immortal made them so to be.
I swear, fair Licia, still for to be thine,By heart, by eyes, by what I held most dear;Thou checked mine oath, and said: these were not mine,And that I had no right by them to swear.Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears,My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love,My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears,My heart is thine, and never shall remove.These are not thine, though sent unto thy view,All else I grant, by right they are thine own;Let these suffice that what I swear is true,And more than this if that it could be known.So shall all these though troubles ease my grief;If that they serve to work in thee belief.
I swear, fair Licia, still for to be thine,By heart, by eyes, by what I held most dear;Thou checked mine oath, and said: these were not mine,And that I had no right by them to swear.Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears,My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love,My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears,My heart is thine, and never shall remove.These are not thine, though sent unto thy view,All else I grant, by right they are thine own;Let these suffice that what I swear is true,And more than this if that it could be known.So shall all these though troubles ease my grief;If that they serve to work in thee belief.
That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss,From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid,I quaked for cold, and found the cause was this:My life which loved, for love behind me staid.I sent my heart my life for to recall,But that was held, not able to return,And both detained as captives were in thrall,And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn.Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold,But let the altar be within thy heart;And I shall live because my life you hold,You that give life, to every living part;A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss;Take you my life, yet can I live with this.
That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss,From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid,I quaked for cold, and found the cause was this:My life which loved, for love behind me staid.I sent my heart my life for to recall,But that was held, not able to return,And both detained as captives were in thrall,And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn.Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold,But let the altar be within thy heart;And I shall live because my life you hold,You that give life, to every living part;A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss;Take you my life, yet can I live with this.
First did I fear, when first my love began;Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy,I sought to keep what I by favour won,And brooked no partner in my love to be.But tyrant sickness fed upon my love,And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white;Then was suspicion glad for to remove,And loving much did fear to lose her quite.Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear;Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content;For now of life, not love, is all my fear,Lest life and love be both together spent.Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease,And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please.
First did I fear, when first my love began;Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy,I sought to keep what I by favour won,And brooked no partner in my love to be.But tyrant sickness fed upon my love,And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white;Then was suspicion glad for to remove,And loving much did fear to lose her quite.Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear;Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content;For now of life, not love, is all my fear,Lest life and love be both together spent.Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease,And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please.
Licia my love was sitting in a grove,Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,But straight she spied where two together strove,Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm;Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far;Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm;Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child,My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took;And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled,And scorned to grace me with a loving look.Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrongThat broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.
Licia my love was sitting in a grove,Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,But straight she spied where two together strove,Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm;Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far;Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm;Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child,My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took;And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled,And scorned to grace me with a loving look.Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrongThat broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.
I might have died before my life begun,Whenas my father for his country's goodThe Persian's favor and the Sophy wonAnd yet with danger of his dearest blood.Thy father, sweet, whom danger did beset,Escapèd all, and for no other endBut only this, that you he might beget,Whom heavens decreed into the world to send.Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life,And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee,To calm the tempest when the storms were rife,And that thy daughter should a Venus be.I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth;Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both.
I might have died before my life begun,Whenas my father for his country's goodThe Persian's favor and the Sophy wonAnd yet with danger of his dearest blood.Thy father, sweet, whom danger did beset,Escapèd all, and for no other endBut only this, that you he might beget,Whom heavens decreed into the world to send.Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life,And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee,To calm the tempest when the storms were rife,And that thy daughter should a Venus be.I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth;Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both.
My love was masked, and armèd with a fan,To see the sun so careless of his light,Which stood and gazed, and gazing waxèd wanTo see a star himself that was more bright.Some did surmize she hid her from the sun,Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed,Or feared the harm by him to others done.But these the reason of this wonder missed,Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bareIn greatest pride, presume to take a kiss.But she more kind did show she had more careThan with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss.Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun;Your light's enough, although that his were done.
My love was masked, and armèd with a fan,To see the sun so careless of his light,Which stood and gazed, and gazing waxèd wanTo see a star himself that was more bright.Some did surmize she hid her from the sun,Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed,Or feared the harm by him to others done.But these the reason of this wonder missed,Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bareIn greatest pride, presume to take a kiss.But she more kind did show she had more careThan with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss.Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun;Your light's enough, although that his were done.
Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed,Pale death did post in hope to have a prey;But she so spotless made him that he fled;"Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay.Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told;"All things that are, are subject unto me,Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold;But her fair Licia still immortal be."The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made,Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change.So now she lives, and never more shall fade;In earth a goddess, what can be more strange?Then will I hope, a goddess and so near,She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear.
Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed,Pale death did post in hope to have a prey;But she so spotless made him that he fled;"Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay.Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told;"All things that are, are subject unto me,Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold;But her fair Licia still immortal be."The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made,Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change.So now she lives, and never more shall fade;In earth a goddess, what can be more strange?Then will I hope, a goddess and so near,She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear.
Seven are the lights that wander in the skies,And at these seven, I wonder in my love.So see the moon, how pale she doth arise,Standing amazed, as though she durst not move;So is my sweet much paler than the snow,Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change.Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know,But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride,And yet my love is far more fair than he.The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide,But yet that god is far more weak than she.The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair,But at her best my love is far more bright.Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air,Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light.Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is;Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this.
Seven are the lights that wander in the skies,And at these seven, I wonder in my love.So see the moon, how pale she doth arise,Standing amazed, as though she durst not move;So is my sweet much paler than the snow,Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change.Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know,But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride,And yet my love is far more fair than he.The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide,But yet that god is far more weak than she.The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair,But at her best my love is far more bright.Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air,Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light.Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is;Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this.