Classic Poem

THE ARGUMENT

Since that the passing panges of looue,
Which many Loouers ofte doo prooue:
I fynde the cause, from time to time,
That made men shew their mindes in rime
I doo intend, in verses few
A dolorous discourse to shew,
Of one that was bewitcht in looue:
What passing pangues he ofte did prooue
In which God wot the more his paine
Euen till his death he did remaine.

I F I had skill to frame a cunning Vearse
Wherein I mought my loathsome life lament
Or able were in rimes for to rehearse
The gryping greefes, that now my heart haue hent:
Such priuie panges of looue I could descrie
As neuer any Louer felt but I.

Some say they freeze, they flame, they flie alofte,
And yet they fall, they hope, and yet they feare:
The feeld once wonne, yet ielousie full ofte
With vile suspect, theyr yrkesome hearts dooth teare.
They liue and lacke, they lack and yet they haue
And hauing yet they lack the thing they craue.

They bide in blisse, amid their weary bale,
With heauie hearts, they show a smiling face:
In figures thus, they tell a mournefull tale,
And set their sorrow out with such a grace,
That who so reades the same, and markes it well,
Would thinke a Louer's torments worse then Hell.

Then thinke you, what vyle torments doo I feele,
When all these pangues are but Flea-bytes to mine:
I neuer came to top of Fortune's wheele,
But vnnerneath, in dolours still doo pine:
I neuer flew whereby to haue a fall,
Yet stoope I ofte although my gate be small.

Am I not then in case much worse then they
That flye sometimes, although they fall as fast?
Oh yes, my case let any Louer way,
And they shall see. I neuer yet did taste
One sugred ioye that they haue swallowed ofte
That flye and fall, although they fall not softe.

For they that flie, although they catch a fall
Yet while they flie, the time so ioyfull is:
The harme they take by falling is but small,
For when vnto themselues they thinke on this
What a fyne flight, but euen ere while they had:
For ioye thereof they cannot long be sad.

But Fortune neuer yet so fauoured mee,
To lend me winges to take on little flight,
Whereby the harme by falling I mought see
Or yet in flying fynde the deepe delight.
I cannot call to minde one ioyefull day,
Which for a time my sorrowes may allay.

But lye along all weryed with this woe
And know not how to prooue to make a flight:
With chilling colde, my ioyntes are frozen so,
That when I striue but euen to stande vpright
I feele my feebled limbes to faint so fast,
That staggering still downe flat I fall at last.

My harte it selfe, is bitten so with frost.
That all my sences now are waxed nome:
My tongue his taste of pleasaunt ioyes hath lost
My minde with cruell care is ouercome:
My dazeled eyes are waxed dimme with teares,
Which shew the state wherein my life it weares.

Mine cares waxe deafe, no pleasaunt tunes they heare
That may reuiue with dole, my dulled braine:
Where I was wonte with Musicke for to cheare
My heauy heart, now seemes a deadly paine.
For each sweete note I heere men play or sing,
Thorough mine eare like thunder clappes dooth ring.

But thus to liue, oh what a lyfe is this?
To liue (alas) my sences all bestraught:
Though straunge it seeme, yet trust me true it is,
Such chilling cold my sences all hath caught,
That I can neither heare nor feele, nor see
Nor smell nor taste and yet aliue must bee.

And shall I tell how fyrst I caught this colde?
By looking long vpon thy louely face:
For when I did thy heauenly hew behold,
And markt therewith thy braue and coruly grace:
Good Lord, thought I what worthy wight is this?
Some heauenly Dame then Venus sure it is.

Venus, quoth I? with that I winckte for feare.
And shut the windowes of my seeing shoppe:
For greefe whereof my heart did swelte, I sweare:
Then gan I striue against the hill to hoppe.
With gazing eyes to stare on thee againe,
Whose only lookes haue wrought me all this paine.

But when I heard a name to thee assignde
And sawe thou werte an earthly Creature:
Then gan I thus imagine, in my minde,
Which waye mought I this Ladyes Loue procure,
To me poore Page that thus sore wounded lye
At point of death: yet dying cannot die.

But when I sawe mine owne vnworthinesse,
And could not call to minde a due desarte:
Whereon I mought presume, in this distresse,
To craue of thee some salue for this my smarte:
With greefe thereof, I caught this chilling colde,
Which quaking yet my quiuering corps dooth holde.

Yet lookte I, loe, and stared still on thee,
Thinking thereby to finde some ease of paine:
But straight, me thought I sawe thee looke awrye
As who should say, thou didst my lookes disdaine
Which lowryng looke droue me into this fytte,
Which God he knowes how it torments me yet.

But yet I must confesse at fyrst, deare dame,
That whot desyre my greefe hath caused so:
But, by and by, my fierce and fierie flame;
Was quicklye quenchte with waues of wearie wo:
In which wet waues, I too and fro am tost
Secking in vaine to finde some quiet cost.

Now (noble Dame) since that thou seest plaine,
How fyrst I caught this greefe that gripes my harte
And makes me thus to pine in pangues of paine:
Since that in thee it lyes to ease my smarte,
And only thee: (deare Dame) doe not denye
To helpe me now for if thou doest. I dye.

But thinke vpon my bitter passion,
And eke the passing pangues wherein I pyne:
And how fast bound, without redemption,
I lynger foorth this loathsome lyfe of mine;
And how thou mayest with speede, if thee it please
Both set me free and cure my straunge disease.

Which if thou wilte, I know for certaynty
Thou canst not choose, but lend me some releefe:
Thou wilt, beholding my calamity,
Lend some one graine of comfort to my greefe:
Which when thou doest, for a Phisitions fee
A noble name thy greatest gayne shall bee.

And so, deare Dame, when thou doest thinke vpon
The lothsome lyues that Louers oft rehearse:
Among the rest, let this of mine be one,
Which here to thee dooth shewe itselfe in vearse:
Then shalt thou see how farre my passyon
In pangues of loue, hath paste them euery one.