An English Garner (4 of 8)

Come, my Muse! If thou disdain!

All my comforts are bereft me!

No delight doth now remain;

I, nor friend, nor flock have left me.

They are scattered on the plain.

Men, alas, are too severe,

And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes.

Women, hearted like the bear;

That regards not who importunes,

But doth all in pieces tear.

If I should my sorrows shew

Unto rivers, springs, or fountains;

They are senseless to my woe:

So are groves, and rocks, and mountains.

Then, O, whither shall I go?

Means of harbour, me to shield

From despair; ah, know you any?

For no city, grange, nor field,

Though they lend content to many,

Unto me, can comfort yield.

I have kept, and sighèd too,

For Compassion to make trial;

Yea, done all that words can do,

Yet have nothing but denial.

What way is there, then, to woo?

Shall I swear, protest, and vow?

So have I done, most extremely!

Should I die? I know not how!

For from all attempts unseemly,

Love and Virtue keep me now.

I have heard that Time prevails;

But I fear me, 'tis a fable.

Time, and all Endeavour fails!

To bear more, my heart's unable;

Yet none careth what it ails!

Lines to some, have op'ed the door

And got entrance for Affection.

Words well spoken, much implore,

By the Gestures' good direction:

But a Look doth ten times more!

'Tis the Eye that only reads

To the heart, Love's deepest Lectures!

By a moving Look, it pleads

More than common Sense conjectures,

And a way to Pity leads.

This I knowing, did observe;

Both by Words and Looks complaining:

Yet, for Pity I may starve!

There's no hope of my obtaining,

Till I better can deserve.

Yea, and he that thinks to win

By Desert, may be deceivèd!

For they who have worthiest bin,

Of their right, have been bereavèd;

And a groom admitted in.

Wherefore, Muse! to thee I call!

Thou, since nothing else avails me,

Must redeem me from my thrall!

If thy sweet enchantment fails me;

Then, adieu Love, Life, and all!

* * *

Tell me, my heart! What thoughts, these pantings move?

My thoughts of Love!

What flames are these, that set thee so on fire?

Flames of Desire!

What means hast thou, contentment's flower to crop?

No means but Hope!

Yet let us feed on Hope, and hope the best!

For they, amid their griefs, are something blest,

Whose thoughts, and flames, and means have such free scope,

They may, at once, both Love, Desire, and Hope.

But say! What fruit will love at last obtain?

Fruitless Disdain!

What will those hopes prove, which yet seem so fair?

Hopeless Despair!

What end shall run those Passions, out of breath?

An endless Death!

O can there be such cruelty in love?

And doth my fortune so ungentle prove,

She will no fruit, nor hope, nor end bequeath,

But cruelest Disdain, Despair, and Death?

Then what new study shall I now apply?

Study to Die!

How might I end my care, and die content?

Care to Repent!

And what good thoughts may make my end more holy?

Think on thy Folly!

Yes, so I will! and since my fate can give

No hope, but ever without hope to live,

My studies, cares, and thoughts, I'll all apply

To weigh my Folly well! Repent! and Die!

* * *

A lad, whose faith will constant prove,

And never know an end;

Late, by an oversight in love,

Displeased his dearest Friend:

For which incensed, she did retake

The favours which he wore;

And said, "He never, for her sake,

Should wear, or see them more!"

The grief whereof, how near it went,

And how unkindly took,

Was figured by the discontent

Appearing in his look.

At first, he could not silence break,

So heavy sorrow lay;

But when his sighs gave way to speak,

Thus, sadly, did he say.

"My only Dear!" and with that speech,

Not able to sustain

The floods of grief at sorrow's breach,

He paused awhile again.

At length, nigh fainting, did express

These words, with much ado,

"O Dear! Let not my love's excess,

Me, and my love undo!"

She, little movèd with his pain,

His much distraction eyed;

And changing love into disdain,

Thus, still unkind, replied.

"Forbear to urge one kindness more!

Unless you long to see

The good respect you had before,

At once, all lost in me!"

With that dismayed, his suit he ceased,

And down his head he hung;

And as his Reason's strength decreased,

His Passion grew more strong.

But seeing she did slight his moan;

With willow garlands wreathed,

He sate him down, and all alone,

This sad complaint he breathed.

"O Heavens!" quoth he, "Why do we spend

Endeavours thus in vain?

Since what the Fates do fore-intend

They never change again.

Nor Faith, nor Love, nor true Desert,

Nor all that man can do,

Can win him place within her heart,

That is not born thereto!"

"Why do I fondly waste my youth

In secret sighs and tears?

Why to preserve a spotless truth,

Taste I, so many cares?

For women that no worth respect,

Do so ungentle prove;

That some shall win by their neglect,

What others lose with love."

"Those that have set the best at naught,

And no man could enjoy;

At last, by some base gull are caught,

And gotten with a toy.

Yea, they that spend an Age's light,

Their favours to obtain;

For one unwilling oversight,

May lose them all again!"

"How glad, and fain, alas, would I,

For her, have underwent

The greatest care, ere she should try

The smallest discontent?

Yet She, that may my life command,

And doth those Passions know!

Denieth me a poor demand,

In height of all my woe."

"O, if the Noblest of her time,

And best beloved of me:

Could for so poor, so slight a crime

So void of pity be!

Sure, had it been some common one,

Whose patience I had tried;

No wonder I had been undone,

Or unforgiven, died!"

"A thousand lives I would have laid!

(So well I once believed)

She would have deigned to lend me aid

If she had seen me grieved.

But now, I live to see the day,

When I presumèd so,

I neither dare for pity pray,

Nor tell her of my woe!"

"Yet, let not, poor despised heart!

Her worth ought questioned be!

Hadst thou not failèd in desert

She had not failèd thee!

But lest, perhaps, they flout thy moan,

That should esteem thee dear;

Go, make it by thyself alone,

Where none may come to hear!

"Still keep thy forehead crowned with smiles!

What Passion e'er thou try;

That none may laugh at thee, the whiles

Thou discontented lie!

And let no wrong, by change distain

A love so truly fair;

But rather, never hope again!

And thou shall ne'er despair!"

* * *