A Defence of Poesie and Poems [33]
cause of this my causeless woe? Tell, how ill thought disgraced my doing well? Tell, how my joys and hopes thus foully fell To so low ebb that wonted were to flow?
O this it is, the knotted straw is found; In tender hearts, small things engender hate: A horse's worth laid waste the Trojan ground; A three-foot stool in Greece made trumpets sound; An ass's shade e'er now hath bred debate.
If Greeks themselves were moved with so small cause, To twist those broils, which hardly would untwine: Should ladies fair be tied to such hard laws, As in their moods to take a ling'ring pause? I would it not, their metal is too fine.
My hand doth not bear witness with my heart, She saith, because I make no woeful lays, To paint my living death and endless smart: And so, for one that felt god Cupid's dart, She thinks I lead and live too merry days.
Are poets then the only lovers true, Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse? Who think themselves well blest, if they renew Some good old dump that Chaucer's mistress knew; And use but you for matters to rehearse.
Then, good Apollo, do away thy bow: Take harp and sing in this our versing time, And in my brain some sacred humour flow, That all the earth my woes, sighs, tears may know; And see you not that I fall low to rhyme.
As for my mirth, how could I but be glad, Whilst that methought I justly made my boast That only I the only mistress had? But now, if e'er my face with joy be clad, Think Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.
Sweet lady, as for those whose sullen cheer, Compared to me, made me in lightness sound; Who, stoic-like, in cloudy hue appear; Who silence force to make their words more dear; Whose eyes seem chaste, because they look on ground:
Believe them not, for physic true doth find, Choler adust is joyed in woman-kind.
POEM: A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS
Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton.
WILL. Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.
DICK. Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee, With sight made dim with daily tears another's sport to see. Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play, To play when that their loved dams are stolen or gone astray? If this in them be true, as true in men think I, A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.
WILL. A time there is for all, my mother often says, When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room: Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.
DICK. What joy the joyful sun gives unto bleared eyes; That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort tries.
WILL. What? Is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent; Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?
DICK. I would it were but thus, for thus it were too well.
WILL. Thou see'st my ears do itch at it: good Dick thy sorrow tell.
DICK. Hear then, and learn to sigh: a mistress I do serve, Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve; Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most, And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.
WILL. What? These are riddles sure: art thou then bound to her?
DICK. Bound as I neither power have, nor would have power, to stir.
WILL. Who bound thee?
DICK. Love, my lord.
WILL. What witnesses thereto?
DICK. Faith in myself, and Worth in her, which no proof can undo.
WILL. What seal?
DICK. My heart deep graven.
WILL. Who made the band so fast?
DICK. Wonder that, by two so black eyes the glitt'ring stars be past.
WILL. What keepeth safe thy band?
DICK. Remembrance is the chest Lock'd fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.
WILL. Thou late of wages plain'dst: what wages may'sh thou have?
DICK. Her heavenly looks, which more and more do give me cause to crave.
WILL. If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?
DICK. Tear's drink, sorrow's meat,
O this it is, the knotted straw is found; In tender hearts, small things engender hate: A horse's worth laid waste the Trojan ground; A three-foot stool in Greece made trumpets sound; An ass's shade e'er now hath bred debate.
If Greeks themselves were moved with so small cause, To twist those broils, which hardly would untwine: Should ladies fair be tied to such hard laws, As in their moods to take a ling'ring pause? I would it not, their metal is too fine.
My hand doth not bear witness with my heart, She saith, because I make no woeful lays, To paint my living death and endless smart: And so, for one that felt god Cupid's dart, She thinks I lead and live too merry days.
Are poets then the only lovers true, Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse? Who think themselves well blest, if they renew Some good old dump that Chaucer's mistress knew; And use but you for matters to rehearse.
Then, good Apollo, do away thy bow: Take harp and sing in this our versing time, And in my brain some sacred humour flow, That all the earth my woes, sighs, tears may know; And see you not that I fall low to rhyme.
As for my mirth, how could I but be glad, Whilst that methought I justly made my boast That only I the only mistress had? But now, if e'er my face with joy be clad, Think Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.
Sweet lady, as for those whose sullen cheer, Compared to me, made me in lightness sound; Who, stoic-like, in cloudy hue appear; Who silence force to make their words more dear; Whose eyes seem chaste, because they look on ground:
Believe them not, for physic true doth find, Choler adust is joyed in woman-kind.
POEM: A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS
Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton.
WILL. Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.
DICK. Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee, With sight made dim with daily tears another's sport to see. Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play, To play when that their loved dams are stolen or gone astray? If this in them be true, as true in men think I, A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.
WILL. A time there is for all, my mother often says, When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room: Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.
DICK. What joy the joyful sun gives unto bleared eyes; That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort tries.
WILL. What? Is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent; Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?
DICK. I would it were but thus, for thus it were too well.
WILL. Thou see'st my ears do itch at it: good Dick thy sorrow tell.
DICK. Hear then, and learn to sigh: a mistress I do serve, Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve; Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most, And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.
WILL. What? These are riddles sure: art thou then bound to her?
DICK. Bound as I neither power have, nor would have power, to stir.
WILL. Who bound thee?
DICK. Love, my lord.
WILL. What witnesses thereto?
DICK. Faith in myself, and Worth in her, which no proof can undo.
WILL. What seal?
DICK. My heart deep graven.
WILL. Who made the band so fast?
DICK. Wonder that, by two so black eyes the glitt'ring stars be past.
WILL. What keepeth safe thy band?
DICK. Remembrance is the chest Lock'd fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.
WILL. Thou late of wages plain'dst: what wages may'sh thou have?
DICK. Her heavenly looks, which more and more do give me cause to crave.
WILL. If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?
DICK. Tear's drink, sorrow's meat,