And think how ill becometh him to slide

Who seeketh heav'n and comes of heav'nly breath.
Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see:

Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me!

Before 1586.

1598.

SIR FULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE

CHORUS SACERDOTUM

O wearisome condition of humanity!
Born under one law, to another bound;
Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity;

Created sick, commanded to be sound:

What meaneth Nature by these diverse laws?
Passion and reason self-division cause.
Is it the mark or majesty of power
To make offences, that it may forgive?
Nature herself doth her own self deflower,
To hate those errors she herself doth give.

For how should man think that he may not do,
If Nature did not fail and punish too?
Tyrant to others, to herself unjust,
Only commands things difficult and hard;
Forbids us all things which it knows we lust;
Makes easy pains, impossible reward.
If Nature did not take delight in blood,
She would have made more easy ways to good.
We that are bound by vows and by promotion,
With pomp of holy sacrifice and rites,
To preach belief in God and stir devotion,
To preach of heaven's wonders and delights,
Yet when each of us in his own heart looks
He finds the God there far unlike his books.

MYRA

1609.

I, with whose colors Myra dressed her head,
I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,
I, that mine own name in the chimneys read

By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking,

5

ΙΟ

15

20

Must I look on, in hope time coming may
With change bring back my turn again to play?

I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found

A garland sweet with true-love knots in flowers, Which I to wear about mine arm was bound,

5

That each of us might know that all was ours, Must I lead now an idle life in wishes,

ΙΟ

And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?

I, that did wear the ring her mother left,

I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,

I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,

I, who did make her blush when I was named, Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?

I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep,

Like Jealousy o'erwatchèd with Desire,

Was ever warnèd modesty to keep

While her breath, speaking, kindled Nature's fire,
Must I look on a-cold while others warm them?
Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?

Was it for this that I might Myra see

Washing the water with her beauties white? Yet would she never write her love to me: Thinks wit of change when thoughts are in delight? Mad girls may safely love, as they may leave: No man can print a kiss; lines may deceive.

15

20

25

30

1633.

LOVE BEYOND CHANGE

Fie, foolish Earth! think you the heaven wants glory
Because your shadows do yourself benight?

All's dark unto the blind; let them be sorry:

The heavens in themselves are ever bright.

Fie, fond Desire! think you that Love wants glory
Because your shadows do yourself benight?

The hopes and fears of lust may make men sorry,
But Love still in herself finds her delight.

5

Then, Earth, stand fast! The sky that you benight
Will turn again, and so restore your glory.
Desire, be steady! Hope is your delight,

An orb wherein no creature can be sorry,
Love being placed above these middle regions,
Where every passion wars itself with legions.

1633.

POMP A FUTILE MASK FOR TYRANNY

I saw those glorious styles of government—
God, laws, religion-wherein tyrants hide
The wrongs they do, and all the woes we bide,
Wounded, profaned, destroyed. Power is unwise
That thinks in pomp to mask her tyrannies.

ΙΟ

5

1633.

TRUE MONARCHY

For that indeed is no true monarchy

Which makes kings more than men, men less than beasts, But that which works a perfect unity,

Where kings as heads, and men as members, rest,

With mutual ends like twins, each helping other, 5
In service of the Commonwealth, their mother.

A shepeheards boye (no better doe him call),
When winters wastful spight was almost spent,
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall,

Led forth his flock, that had bene long ypent:
So faynt they woxe, and feeble in the folde,
That now unnethes their feete could them uphold,

5

All as the sheepe, such was the shepeheards looke,
For pale and wanne he was (alas the while!):
May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke.
Well couth he tune his pipe and frame his stile:

Tho to a hill his faynting flocke he ledde,

And thus him playnd, the while his shepe there fedde.

"Ye gods of love, that pitie lovers payne

(If any gods the paine of lovers pitie),

ΙΟ

Looke from above, where you in joyes remaine,

15

And bow your eares unto my dolefull dittie;

And Pan, thou shepheard's god, that once didst love,
Pitie the paines that thou thy selfe didst prove.

"Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath wasted,
Art made a myrrhow to behold my plight:
Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted
Thy sommer prowde, with daffadillies dight;
And now is come thy wynters stormy state,

20

Thy mantle mard wherein thou maskedst late.

“Such rage as winters reigneth in my heart,

25

My life-bloud friesing with unkindly cold;

Such stormy stoures do breede my balefull smart

As if my yeare were waste and woxen old:

And yet, alas, but now my spring begonne,
And yet, alas, yt is already donne!

30

"You naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost,

Wherein the byrds were wont to build their bowre,
And now are clothd with mosse and hoary frost,
Instede of bloosmes wherwith your buds did flowre;
I see your teares that from your boughes doe raine,
Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine.

35

"All so my lustfull leafe is drye and sere,

My timely buds with wayling all are wasted;

The blossome which my braunch of youth did beare
With breathed sighes is blowne away and blasted;

40

And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend,
As on your boughes the ysicles depend.

"Thou feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough and rent,
Whose knees are weake through fast and evill fare,
Mayst witnesse well, by thy ill governement,
Thy maysters mind is overcome with care:

45

Thou weake, I wanne; thou leane, I quite forlorne;
With mourning pyne I, you with pyning mourne.

"A thousand sithes I curse that carefull hower
Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see;
And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure
Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight as shee:

50

Yet all for naught; such sight hath bred my bane.
Ah, God! that love should breede both joy and payne!

"It is not Hobbinol wherefore I plaine,
Albee my love he seeke with dayly suit;

His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine,

His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit.

Ah, foolish Hobbinol! thy gyfts bene vayne;
Colin them gives to Rosalind againe.

60

"I love thilke lasse (alas! why doe I love?), And am forlorne (alas! why am I lorne?):

Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reprove,
And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne.
Shepheards devise she hateth as the snake,

65

And laughes the songes that Colin Clout doth make.

"Wherefore, my pype, albee rude Pan thou please,
Yet for thou pleasest not where most I would;
And thou, unlucky Muse, that wontst to ease
My musing mynd, yet canst not when thou should;
Both pype and Muse shall sore the while abye."
So broke his oaten pype, and downe did lye.

70

By that, the welkèd Phoebus gan availe

His weary waine; and nowe the frosty Night

Her mantle black through heaven gan overhaile:

75

Which seene, the pensife boy, halfe in despight,

Arose, and homeward drove his sonnèd sheepe,

Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull case to weepe.