Classic Poem

DORUS .

Lady, reserued by the heau'ns to doe pastors' companie honor,
Ioyning your sweete voyce to the rurall Muse of a desert,
Here you fully doe finde this strange operation of loue,
How to the woods Loue runnes, as well as rides to the pallace,
Neither he beares reuerence to a prince nor pittie to begger,
But (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a neerenesse,
All to a lesson he draws, neither hills nor caues can auoide him.

ZEIMANE .

Worthy sheepheard, by my song, to my selfe all fauour is hapned,
That to the sacred Muse my annoyes somewhat be reuealed, —
Sacred Muse, who in one containes what nine doe in all them.
But, O happy be you, which safe from firy reflection
Of Phaebus' violence, in shade of sweet Cyparissus,
Or pleasant myrtell, may teach th' vnfortunate Eccho
In these woods to resound the renowmed name of a goddesse.
Happy be you that may to the saint, your onely Idea,
Although simply attyrde, your manly affection vtter.
Happy be those mishapps which iustly proportion holding,
Giue right sound to the eares, and enter aright to the iudgement;
But wretched be the soules, which vaild in a contrarie subiect:
How much more we doe loue, so the lesse our loues be beleeued.
What skill salveth a sore of a wrong infirmitie iudged?
What can iustice auaile to a man that tells not his owne case?
You though feares do abash, in you still possible hopes be:
Nature against we doe seeme to rebell, seeme fooles in a vaine sute.
But so, vnheard, condemn'd, kept thence we doe seeke to abide in,
Selfe-lost in wandring, banished that place we doe come from,
What meane is there, alas, we can hope our losse to recouer?
What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Vnto the heau'ns? our wings be too short: earth thinkes vs a burden:
Aire we doe still with sighes encrease: to the fire? we doe want none.
And yet his outward heat our teares would quench, but an inward
Fire no liquor can coole: Neptune's realme would not availe vs,
Happy shepheard, with thanks to the Gods, still thinke to be thankfull,
That to thy aduancement their wisedomes haue thee abased.

DORUS .

Vnto the Gods with a thankfull heart all thankes I doe render,
That to my aduancement their wisedomes haue me abased.
But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our haps be but hard haps,
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honor.
Well may a pastor plaine; but, alas, his plaints be not esteem'd:
Silly shepheard's poore pipe, when his harsh sound testifies anguish,
Into the faire looker-on, pastime, not passion, enters
And to the woods or brookes, who doe make such dreerie recital?
What be the panges they beare, and whence those pangs be deriued,
Pleased to receiue that name by rebounding answer of Eccho,
May hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,
When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streames stay by the musicke,
Or when an Eccho begins vnmou'd to sing them a louesong;
Say then, what vantage do we get by the trade of a pastor? —
Since no estates be so base, but Loue vouchsafeth his arrow,
Since no refuge doth serue from wounds we do carrie about with vs,
Since outward pleasures be but halting helps to decayed soules; —
Saue that dayly we may discerne what fire we do burne in.
Farre more happy be you, whose greatnesse gets a free accesse;
Whose faire bodily gifts are fram'd most louelie to each eye;
Vertue you haue, of vertue you haue left proofe to the whole world,
And vertue is gratefull, with beautie and richnesse adorned:
Neither doubt you a whit, time will your passion vtter.
Hardly remaines fire hid, where skill is bent to the hiding,
But in a minde that would his flames should not be repressed,
Nature worketh enough with a small helpe for the reuealing:
Giue therefore to the Muse great praise, in whose verie likenesse
You doe approch to the fruit your only desires be to gather.

ZELMANE .

First shall fertill grounds not yeeld increase of a good seed:
First the riuers shall cease to repay their fludds to the Ocean:
First may a trustie greyhound transforme himselfe to a tigre:
First shall vertue be vice, and beautie be counted a blemish,
Ere that I leaue with song of praise her praise to solemnize, —
Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:
But yet well I do finde each man most wise in his owne case.
None can speake of a wound with skill, if he haue not a wound felt.
Great to thee my state seemes, thy state is blest by my iudgement:
And yet neither of vs great or blest deemeth his owne selfe.
For yet (weigh this, alas!) great is not great to the greater.
What, iudge you, doth a hillocke shew by the lofty Olympus?
Such my minute greatnes doth seeme compar'd to the greatest
When cedars to the ground fall downe by the waight of an emmot,
Or when a rich rubie's iust price be the worth of a walnut,
Or to the sunne for wonders seeme small sparkes of a candle:
Then by my high cedar, rich rubie, and only-shining sunne,
Vertue, richesse, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
Oh, no, no, worthie shepheard, worth can neuer enter a title,
Where proofes iustlie do teach, thus matcht, such worth to be nought worth,
Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite, kings' crownes doe not helpe them
From the cruell head-ache, nor shooes of gold doe the gowte heale:
And precious couches full oft are shak't with a feauer.
If then a bodily euill in a bodily gloze be not hidden,
Shall such morning deawes be an ease to the heat of a loue's fire?

DORUS .

O glittring miseries of man, if this be the fortune
Of those fortune's lulls, so small rests rests in a kingdome!
What maruaile tho' a prince transforme himselfe to a pastor,
Come from marble bowres, manie times the gay harbor of anguish,
Vnto a silly caban, thought weake, yet stronger against woes.
Now by thy words I begin, most famous ladie, to gather
Comfort into my soule; I do find, I do find what a blessing
Is chaunced to my life, that from such muddie abundance
Of carking agonies (to states which still be adherent)
Destinie keepes me aloofe; for if all this state, to thy vertue
Ioyn'd, by thy beautie adorn'd, be no meanes these griefes to abolish:
If neyther by that helpe thou canst clime vp to thy fancie,
Nor yet fancie so drest do receiue more plausible hearing:
Then doe I thinke, indeed, that better it is to be priuate
In sorrowe's torments, then, tied to the pompes of a pallace,
Nurse inward maladies, which haue not scope to be breath'd out,
But perforce digest all bitter ioyces of horror
In silence, from a man's owne selfe with companie robbed.
Better yet doe I liue, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my liue's bondage, yet may I disburden a passion,
Opprest with ruinous conceits, by the helpe of an outcrye.
Not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier,
But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heau'n do decyphire
With bold clamor vnheard, vnmarkt, what I seeke, what I suffer;
And when I meete these trees, in the earth's faire liuery clothed,
Ease I do feele (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
For that I finde in them part of my state represented.
Lawrell shews what I seeke, by the mirre is show'd how I seeke it;
Oliue paints me the peace that I must aspire to by the conquest;
Mirtel makes my request, — my request is crown'd with a willowe;
Cyprus promiseth helpe, but a helpe where comes no recomfort;
Swet iuniper saith this, though I burne, yet I burne in a sweet fire;
Ewe doth make me thinke what kinde of bowe the boy holdeth
Which shootes strongly without any noyse, and deadly without smart;
Firre trees great and greene, fixt on a hye hill but a barrein,
Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well plac'd, to me frutelesse;
Figge that yeeldes most pleasant fruite, his shadow is hurtfull;
Thus be her giftes most sweete, thus more danger to be neere her.
Now in a palme when I marke how he doth rise vnder a burden,
And may I not, say I then, get up, though griefe be so weightie?
Pine is a mast to a shippe, to my shippe shall hope for a mast serue;
Pine is hye, hope is as hye; sharp-leau'd, sharp yet be my hope's buddes.
Elme embraste by a vine, embracing fancy reuiueth:
Popler changeth his hew from a rising sunne to a setting;
Thus to my sunne do I yeeld, such lookes her beames do aforde me.
Olde aged oke cut downe, of new worke serues to the building;
So my desires, by my feare cutt downe, be the frames of her honour.
Ashe makes speares which shields do resist; her force no repulse takes
Palmes doe reioyce to be ioynd by the match of a male to a female;
And shall sensiue things be so sencelesse as to resist sence?
Thus be my thoughts disperst, thus thinking nurseth a thinking,
Thus both trees and each thing else be the bookes of a fancy.
But to the cedar, Queene of woods, when I lift my beteard eyes,
Then do I shape to my selfe that forme which raigns so within me,
And think, there she doth dwell, and heare what plaints I do vtter:
When that noble toppe doth nodde, I beleeue she salutes me;
When by the winde it maketh a noyse, I do thinke she doth answer;
Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speake to that image, —
Onely iuell, O only iuell, which only deseruest
That men's harts be thy seate, and endlesse fame be thy seruant,
O descend for a while from this great height to behould me.
But nought els do behold (else is nought worth the beholding)
Saue what a worke by thy selfe is wrought: and since I am altred
Thus by thy worke, disdaine not that which is by thy selfe done.
In meane caues oft treasure abides, to an hostrie a king comes;
And so behind foule clowds full oft faire starres do lie hidden.

ZELMANE .

Hardy shepheard, such as thy merits, such may be her insight
Iustly to graunt thee reward, such enuie I beare to thy fortune.
But to my selfe what wish can I make for a salue to my sorrowes,
Whom both Nature seemes to debarre from meanes to be helped,
And if a meane were found, Fortune th' whole course of it hinders:
Thus plagu'd, how can I frame to my sore anie hope of amendment?
Whence may I shew to my minde any light of possible escape?
Bound, and bound by so noble bands as loth to be vnbound,
Iaylor I am to my selfe, prison and prisoner to mine owne selfe.
Yet be my hopes thus plact, here fixt liues all my recomfort,
That that deare Dyamond, where wisedome holdeth a sure seate,
Whose force had such force so to transforme, nay to reforme me,
Will at length perceiue these flames by her beames to be kindled,
And will pitty the wound festred so strangely within me.
O be it so, graunt such an euent, O Gods, that euent giue,
And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer
Of mine owne hart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an aultar.
But cease, worthie shepheard, now cease we to wearie the hearers
With monefull melodies; for enough our griefes be reuealed,
If the parties meant our meanings rightly be-marked:
And sorrowes do require some respit vnto the sences.