Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles | Page 9

wounds to plaster;?Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing.?Farewell, old Demades.
DEMADES
Damon, farewell.?How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel!
[Footnote C: Our?]
AN ELEGY
Ah cruel winds, why call you hence away??Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me??Ye traitorous floods, why nil your floats delay?Until my latest moans discoursèd be??For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain?Of all your floats and gentle winds be still,?While I have wept such tears as might restrain?The rage of tides and winds against their will.?Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes??And must my soul his life and glory leave??Must I forsake the bower where solace lives,?To trust to tickle fates that still deceive??Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change,?That each man tract this labyrinth of life?With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange,?Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife!?Ah joy! No joy because so soon thou fleetest,?Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being!?Oh life! No life, since with such chance thou meetest!?Oh eyes! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing!?Soul, be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers?To crystal tears, and by their pores express?The grief that my distressèd soul devours!?Clothe thou my body all in heaviness;?My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure,?But now the vale of absence overclouds them;?They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure?Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them. Yea, die! Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing, That I may die the death whilst she regardeth!?For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing, If she look on who all my life awardeth.?Oh thou that art the portion of my joy,?Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime;?Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy?That wounds my soul upon this sorry time!?Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses?The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee.?Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses,?Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee.?And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented!?The winds are fair the sails are hoisèd high,?The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented,?Grief so subdues my heart as it should die.?A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender,?And with my tears my papers are distained.?Which closèd up, my heart in them I render,?To tell thee how at parting I complained.?Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell,?And for my sake let him with beauty dwell.
THIRSIS EGLOGA SECUNDA
Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth,?Eyes are fraught with seas of languish;?Heavy hope my solace harmeth,?Mind's repast is bitter anguish.
Eye of day regarded never?Certain trust in world untrusty;?Flattering hope beguileth ever?Weary, old, and wanton lusty.
Dawn of day beholds enthronèd?Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless;?Darksome night doth hear him moanèd,?Who before was rich and needless.
Rob the sphere of lines united,?Make a sudden void in nature;?Force the day to be benighted,?Reave the cause of time and creature;
Ere the world will cease to vary,?This I weep for, this I sorrow.?Muses, if you please to tarry,?Further helps I mean to borrow.
Courted once by fortune's favour,?Compassed now with envy's curses,?All my thoughts of sorrow savour,?Hopes run fleeting like the sources.
Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimèd?All the joy my heart enjoyèd;?Thoughts their thinking have disclaimèd,?Hate my hopes hath quite annoyèd.
Scant regard my weal hath scanted,?Looking coy hath forced my lowering;?Nothing liked where nothing wanted?Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.
Former love was once admirèd,?Present favour is estrangèd,?Loath the pleasure long desirèd;?Thus both men and thoughts are changèd.
Lovely swain with lucky guiding,?Once (but now no more so friended)?Thou my flocks hast had in minding,?From the morn till day was ended.
Drink and fodder, food and folding,?Had my lambs and ewes together;?I with them was still beholding,?Both in warmth and winter weather.
Now they languish since refusèd,?Ewes and lambs are pained with pining;?I with ewes and lambs confusèd,?All unto our deaths declining.
Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd;?Deign a doleful swain to tender;?Though disdains I have endurèd,?Yet I am no deep offender.
Phillis' son can with his finger?Hide his scar, it is so little;?Little sin a day to linger,?Wise men wander in a tittle.
Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd,?Though my sun he never showeth:?Though I weep, I am not mournèd;?Though I want, no pity groweth.
Yet for pity love my muses;?Gentle silence be their cover;?They must leave their wonted uses,?Since I leave to be a lover.
They shall live with thee inclosèd,?I will loathe my pen and paper?Art shall never be supposèd,?Sloth shall quench the watching taper.
Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly?Though I leave them, yet I love them;?Though my wit have led them blindly,?Yet my swain did once approve them.
I will travel soils removèd,?Night and morrow never merry;?Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd,?I will love that makes me weary.
If perchance the sheep estrayeth,?In thy walks and shades unhaunted,?Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,?How neglect my joys hath daunted.
XXI
Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,?O tears which