Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 4

See, chaste _Diana_, where my harmles hart, Rouz'd from my breast, his sure and safest layre, Nor chaste by hound, nor forc'd by Hunters arte, Yet see how right he comes vnto my fayre.

See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand, And there stands gazing on those darting eyes, Whilst from theyr rayes, by _Cupids_ skilfull hand, Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes.

See how he lookes vpon his bleeding wound, Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath, And, looking on thee, falls vpon the ground, Smyling, as though he gloried in his death.

And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft; His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.

Amour 36

Sweete, sleepe so arm'd with Beauties arrowes darting, Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth; Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes, darknes cleereth, Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.

Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed, Sleepes aged coldnes with Beauties fire warmed, Sleepe with delight, Beauty with loue rewarding.

Sleepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryuing, Beauty her strength vnto sleepes weaknes lending, Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty with sleepe contending, Yet others force the others force reuiuing, And others foe the others foe imbrace.

Myne eyes beheld thys conflict in thy face.

Amour 37

I euer loue where neuer hope appeares, Yet hope drawes on my neuer-hoping care, And my liues hope would die but for dyspaire; My neuer certaine ioy breeds euer-certaine feares.

Vncertaine dread gyues wings vnto my hope, Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare, As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare, Yet feare gyues them more then a heauenly scope.

Yet this large roome is bounded with dyspaire, So my loue is still fettered with vaine hope, And lyberty depriues him of hys scope, And thus am I imprisond in the ayre: Then, sweet Dispaire, awhile hold vp thy head, Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.

Amour 38

If chaste and pure deuotion of my youth, Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres, Vnfained loue in naked simple truth, A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares; Or if a world of faithful seruice done, Words, thoughts, and deeds deuoted to her honor, Or eyes that haue beheld her as theyr sunne, With admiration euer looking on her: A lyfe that neuer ioyd but in her loue, A soule that euer hath ador'd her name, A fayth that time nor fortune could not moue, A Muse that vnto heauen hath raised her fame.

Though these, nor these deserue to be imbraced, Yet, faire vnkinde, too good to be disgraced.

Amour 39

Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy, If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue; If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy, And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue.

Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong: O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue!

And with the swan record thy dying song, And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.

So in loues death shall loues perfection proue That loue diuine which I haue borne to you, By doome concealed to the heauens aboue, That yet the world vnworthy neuer knew; Whose pure _Idea_ neuer tongue exprest: I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.

Amour 40

O thou vnkindest fayre! most fayrest shee, In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart, Now doe I sweare by heauens, before we part, My halfe-slaine hart shall take reuenge on thee.

Thy mother dyd her lyfe to death resigne, And thou an Angell art, and from aboue; Thy father was a man, that will I proue, Yet thou a G.o.ddesse art, and so diuine.

And thus, if thou be not of humaine kinde, A b.a.s.t.a.r.d on both sides needes must thou be; Our Lawes allow no land to basterdy: By natures Lawes we thee a b.a.s.t.a.r.d finde.

Then hence to heauen, vnkind, for thy childs part: Goe b.a.s.t.a.r.d goe, for sure of thence thou art.

Amour 41

Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my dearest Loue, Begot by fancy on sweet hope exhortiue, In whom all purenes with perfection stroue, Hurt in the Embryon makes my ioyes abhortiue.

And you, my sighes, Symtomas of my woe, The dolefull Anthems of my endelesse care, Lyke idle Ecchoes euer answering; so, The mournfull accents of my loues dispayre.

And thou, Conceite, the shadow of my blisse, Declyning with the setting of my sunne, Springing with that, and fading straight with this, Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun: Now was thy pryme, and loe! is now thy waine; Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slayne.

Amour 42

Plac'd in the forlorne hope of all dispayre Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies, a.s.sayld with death, yet armed with gastly feare, Loe! thus my loue, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.

Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes, My tongue in payne my harts counsels bewraying, My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes, To my lyues foe her Chieftaine still betraying.

Record my loue in Ocean waues (vnkind) Cast my desarts into the open ayre, Commit my words vnto the fleeting wind, Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre; So shall I bee as I had neuer beene, Nor my disgraces to the world be seene.

Amour 43

Why doe I speake of ioy, or write of loue, When my hart is the very Den of horror, And in my soule the paynes of h.e.l.l I proue, With all his torments and infernall terror?

Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe, My brayne is dry with weeping all too long; My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so, And I want words for to expresse my wrong.

But still, distracted in loues lunacy, And Bedlam like thus rauing in my griefe, Now rayle vpon her hayre, now on her eye, Now call her G.o.ddesse, then I call her thiefe; Now I deny her, then I doe confesse her, Now I doe curse her, then againe I blesse her.

Amour 44

My hart the Anuile where my thoughts doe beate, My words the hammers fashioning my desire, My breast the forge, including all the heate, Loue is the fuell which maintaines the fire: My sighes the bellowes which the flame increaseth, Filling mine eares with noise and nightly groning, Toyling with paine my labour neuer ceaseth, In greeuous pa.s.sions my woes styll bemoning.

Myne eyes with teares against the fire stryuing, With scorching gleed my hart to cynders turneth; But with those drops the coles againe reuyuing, Still more and more vnto my torment burneth.

With _Sisiphus_ thus doe I role the stone, And turne the wheele with d.a.m.ned _Ixion_.

Amour 45

Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe, The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow, Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so, Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?

Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre, Portraite of h.e.l.l, the ayres black mourning weed, Recorder of reuenge, remembrancer of care, The shadow and the vaile of euery sinfull deed.

Death like to thee, so lyue thou still in death, The graue of ioy, prison of dayes delight.

Let heauens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath, Nor Moone nor stars lend thee their shining light; For thou alone renew'st that olde desire, Which still torments me in dayes burning fire.

Amour 46

Sweete secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?

What mortall pen sufficiently can prayse thee?

What curious Pensill serues to lim thee forth?

What Muse hath power aboue thy height to raise thee?

Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loues store, Harts Methridate, the soules preseruatiue; O vertue! which all vertues doe adore, Cheefe good, from whom all good things wee deriue.

O rare effect! true bond of friendships measure, Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest; O, richest Casket of all heauenly treasure, In secret silence which such wonders preachest.

O purest mirror! wherein men may see The liuely Image of Diuinitie.

Amour 47

The golden Sunne vpon his fiery wheeles The horned Ram doth in his course awake, And of iust length our night and day doth make, Flinging the Fishes backward with his heeles: Then to the Tropicke takes his full Careere, Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat, Bayting the Lyon in his furious heat, Till Virgins smyles doe sound his sweet reteere.

But my faire Planet, who directs me still, Vnkindly such distemperature doth bring, Makes Summer Winter, Autumne in the Spring, Crossing sweet nature by vnruly will.

Such is the sunne who guides my youthfull season, Whose thwarting course depriues the world of reason.

Amour 48

Who list to praise the dayes delicious lyght, Let him compare it to her heauenly eye, The sun-beames to the l.u.s.tre of her sight; So may the learned like the similie.