s the thonder cleaves the cloudes,
ey ho, the thonder!
erein the lightsome levin shroudes,
So cleaves thy soule asonder:
as Dame Cynthias silver raye
Hey ho, the moonelight!
pon the glyttering wave doth playe:
Such play is a pitteous plight!
he glaunce into my heart did glide, Hey ho, the glyder!
Therewith my soule was sharply gryde;
Such woundes soone wexen wider. Hasting to raunch the arrow out,
Hey ho, Perigot!
I left the head in my hart roote:
It was a desperate shot.
There it ranckleth ay more and more,
Hey ho, the arrowe!
Ne can I find salve for my sore:
Love is a cureless sorrowe.
And though my bale with death I brought,
Hey ho, heavie cheere!
Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought: So you may buye gold to deare.
But whether in paynefull love I pyne,
Hey ho, pinching payne!
Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine.
But if thou can her obteine.
And if for gracelesse griefe I dye,
Hey ho, graceless griefe!
Witnesse, shee slewe me with her eye:
Let thy follye be the priefe.
And you that sawe it, simple shepe,
Hey ho, the fayre flocke!
For priefe thereof my death shall weepe,
And mone with many a mocke.
So learnd I love on a hollye eve,—
Hey ho, holidaye!
That ever since my hart did greve:
Now endeth our roundelay.
Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!
And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!
So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought,
-Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
WHAT guile is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attire under a net of gold;
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or hair may scarce be told?
Is it that men's frail eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?
Take heed, therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,
In which, if ever ye entrappèd are,
Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.
Fondness it were for any, being free,
To cover fetters, though they golden be.
FAIR is my love, when her fair golden hairs
With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark;
Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears;
Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark.
Fair, when her breast, like a rich-laden bark,
With precious merchandise she forth doth lay;
Fair, when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fairest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight;
Through which her words so wise do make their way
To bear the message of her gentle sprite.
The rest be works of nature's wonderment:
But this the work of heart's astonishment.
SO OFT AS I HER BEAUTY DO BEHOLD
So oft as I her beauty do behold,
And therewith do her cruelty compare,
I marvel of what substance was the mould,
The which her made at once so cruel fair,
Not earth, for her high thoughts more heavenly are;
Not water, for her love doth burn like fire;
Not air, for she is not so light or rare;
Not fire, for she doth freeze with faint desire.
Then needs another element inquire
Whereof she mote be made—that is, the sky;
For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire,
And eke her mind is pure immortal high.
Then, sith to heaven ye likened are the best,
Be like in mercy as in all the rest.
RUDELY THOU WRONGEST My Dear
HEART'S DESIRE
RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,
In finding fault with her too portly pride:
The thing which I do most in her admire,
Is of the world unworthy most envied;
For in those lofty looks is close implied
Scorn of base things, and 'sdain of foul dishonour,
Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour,
That boldened innocence bears in her eyes;
And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,
Spreads in defiance of all enemies.
Was never in this world aught worthy tried,
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.
ONE DAY I WROTE HER NAME UPON
THE STRAND
ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and made my pains his prey.
Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalise;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wipèd out likewise.
Not so (quod I); let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name:
Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.
LIKE AS THE Culver, on the Bared Bough
LIKE as the Culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate;
And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow
For his return that seems to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself the absence of my love;
And, wandering here and there all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove
Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove,
Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,
In her unspotted pleasance to delight.
Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life that wants such lively bliss.
TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA
YE blushing virgins happy are
In the chaste nunnery of her breasts
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.
Transplanted thus how bright ye grow!
How rich a perfume do ye yield!
In some close garden cowslips so
Are sweeter than i' th' open field.
In those white cloisters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath !—
Each hour more innocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.
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