Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 3

He framd him wings with feathers of his thought, Which by theyr nature learn'd to mount the skye; And with the same he practised to flye, Till he himself thys Eagles art had taught.

Thus soring still, not looking once below, So neere thyne eyes celesteall sunne aspyred, That with the rayes his wafting pyneons fired: Thus was the wanton cause of his owne woe.

Downe fell he, in thy Beauties Ocean drenched, Yet there he burnes in fire thats neuer quenched.

Amour 23

Wonder of Heauen, gla.s.se of diuinitie, Rare beautie, Natures joy, perfections Mother, The worke of that vnited Trinitie, Wherein each fayrest part excelleth other!

Loues Mithridate, the purest of perfection, Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire, The soules delight, the sences true direction, Sunne of the world, thou hart reuyuing fire!

Why should'st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes, Which scorne the honor that is done to thee, Or make my pen her name immortalize, Who in her pride sdaynes once to look on me?

It is thy heauen within her face to dwell, And in thy heauen, there onely, is my h.e.l.l.

Amour 24

Our floods-Queene, _Thames_, for shyps and Swans is crowned, And stately _Seuerne_ for her sh.o.r.es is praised, The christall _Trent_ for Foords and fishe renowned, And _Auons_ fame to _Albyons_ Cliues is raysed.

_Carlegion Chester_ vaunts her holy _Dee_, _Yorke_ many wonders of her _Ouse_ can tell, The _Peake_ her _Doue_, whose bancks so fertill bee, And _Kent_ will say her _Medway_ doth excell.

Cotswoold commends her _Isis_ and her _Tame_, Our Northern borders boast of _Tweeds_ faire flood; Our Westerne parts extoll theyr Wilys fame, And old _Legea_ brags of _Danish_ blood: _Ardens_ sweet _Ankor_, let thy glory be That fayre _Idea_ shee doth liue by thee.

Amour 25

The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed, When my soules sunne, from her fayre Cabynet, Her golden beames had now discouered, Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.

Some muz'd to see the earth enuy the ayre, Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet, A world to see, yet how he ioyd to heare The dainty gra.s.se make musicke with her feete.

But my most meruaile was when from the skyes, So Comet-like, each starre aduanc'd her lyght, As though the heauen had now awak'd her eyes, And summond Angels to this blessed sight.

No clowde was seene, but christalline the ayre, Laughing for ioy upon my louely fayre.

Amour 26

Cupid, dumbe-Idoll, peeuish Saint of loue, No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idoll be; No G.o.d art thou, a G.o.ddesse shee doth proue, Of all thine honour shee hath robbed thee.

Thy Bowe, halfe broke, is peec'd with old desire; Her Bowe is beauty with ten thousand strings Of purest gold, tempred with vertues fire, The least able to kyll an hoste of Kings.

Thy shafts be spent, and shee (to warre appointed) Hydes in those christall quiuers of her eyes More Arrowes, with hart-piercing mettel poynted, Then there be starres at midnight in the skyes.

With these she steales mens harts for her reliefe, Yet happy he thats robd of such a thiefe!

Amour 27

My Loue makes hote the fire whose heat is spent, The water moisture from my teares deriueth, And my strong sighes the ayres weake force reuiueth: Thus loue, tears, sighes, maintaine each one his element.

The fire, vnto my loue, compare a painted fire, The water, to my teares as drops to Oceans be, The ayre, vnto my sighes as Eagle to the flie, The pa.s.sions of dispaire but ioyes to my desire.

Onely my loue is in the fire ingraued, Onely my teares by Oceans may be gessed, Onely my sighes are by the ayre expressed; Yet fire, water, ayre, of nature not depriued.

Whilst fire, water, ayre, twixt heauen and earth shal be, My loue, my teares, my sighes, extinguisht cannot be.

Amour 28

Some wits there be which lyke my method well, And say my verse runnes in a lofty vayne; Some say, I haue a pa.s.sing pleasing straine, Some say that in my humour I excell.

Some who reach not the height of my conceite, They say, (as Poets doe) I vse to fayne, And in bare words paynt out my pa.s.sions payne: Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeate.

I pa.s.se not I how men affected be, Nor who commend, or discommend my verse; It pleaseth me if I my plaints rehea.r.s.e, And in my lynes if shee my loue may see.

I proue my verse autentique still in thys, Who writes my Mistres praise can neuer write amisse.

Amour 29

O eyes! behold your happy _Hesperus_, That luckie Load-starre of eternall light, Left as that sunne alone to comfort vs, When our worlds sunne is vanisht out of sight.

O starre of starres! fayre Planet mildly moouing, O Lampe of vertue! sun-bright, euer shyning, O mine eyes Comet! so admyr'd by louing, O cleerest day-starre! neuer more declyning.

O our worlds wonder! crowne of heauen aboue, Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee!

Lou'd more then life, yet onely art his loue Whose glorious hand immortal hath enrold thee!

O blessed fayre! now vaile those heauenly eyes, That I may blesse mee at thy sweet arise.

Amour 30

Three sorts of serpents doe resemble thee; That daungerous eye-killing c.o.c.katrice, Th' inchaunting Syren, which doth so entice, The weeping Crocodile; these vile pernicious three.

The Basiliske his nature takes from thee, Who for my life in secret wait do'st lye, And to my heart send'st poyson from thine eye: Thus do I feele the paine, the cause yet cannot see.

Faire-mayd no more, but Mayr-maid be thy name, Who with thy sweet aluring harmony Hast playd the thiefe, and stolne my hart from me, And, like a Tyrant, mak'st my griefe thy game.

The Crocodile, who, when thou hast me slaine, Lament'st my death with teares of thy disdaine.

Amour 31

Sitting alone, loue bids me goe and write; Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay, Boasting that shee doth still direct the way, Els senceles loue could neuer once indite.

Loue, growing angry, vexed at the spleene, And scorning Reasons maymed Argument, Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent Where shee with Loue conuersing hath not beene.

Reason, reproched with this coy disdaine, Dispighteth Loue, and laugheth at her folly, And Loue, contemning Reasons reason wholy, Thought her in weight too light by many a graine.

Reason, put back, doth out of sight remoue, And Loue alone finds reason in my loue.

Amour 32

Those teares, which quench my hope, still kindle my desire, Those sighes, which coole my hart, are coles vnto my loue, Disdayne, Ice to my life, is to my soule a fire: With teares, sighes, and disdaine, this contrary I proue.

Quenchles desire makes hope burne, dryes my teares, Loue heats my hart, my hart-heat my sighes warmeth; With my soules fire my life disdaine out-weares, Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, hart, and life charmeth.

My hope becomes a friend to my desire, My hart imbraceth Loue, Loue doth imbrace my hart; My life a Phoenix is in my soules fire, From thence (they vow) they neuer will depart.

Desire, my loue, my soule, my hope, my hart, my life, With teares, sighes, and disdaine, shall haue immortal strife.

Amour 33

Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight, My wofull hart, imprisond in my breast, Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight, To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest; But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze, Behold! their obiects ouer-soone depart, And treading in this neuer-ending maze, Wish now to be trans-formd into my hart: My hart, surcharg'd with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise, My eyes, made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears; And whilst my hart and eye enuy each others praise, My dying lookes and thoughts are peiz'd in equall feares: And thus, whilst sighes and teares together doe contende, Each one of these doth ayde vnto the other lende.

Amour 34

My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes, Into the Ocean of a troubled minde, Where my poor soule, the Barke of sorrow, lyes, Left to the mercy of the waues and winde.

See where she flotes, laden with purest loue, Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord, Desiring yet a thousand deaths to proue, Then so to cast her Ballase ouerboard.

See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne, Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost: Her Marryners doe leaue her all forlorne, Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast!

Loe! where she drownes in stormes of thy displeasure, Whose worthy prize should haue enricht thy treasure.

Amour 35