Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 5

The mornings Crimson to her lyps alike, The sweet of _Eden_ to her breathes perfume, The fayre _Elizia_ to her fayrer cheeke, Vnto her veynes the onely Phnix plume.

The Angels tresses to her tressed hayre, The _Galixia_ to her more then white.

Praysing the fayrest, compare it to my faire, Still naming her in naming all delight.

So may he grace all these in her alone, Superlatiue in all comparison.

Amour 49

Define my loue, and tell the ioyes of heauen, Expresse my woes, and shew the paynes of h.e.l.l; Declare what fate vnlucky starres haue giuen, And aske a world vpon my life to dwell.

Make knowne that fayth vnkindnes could not moue; Compare my worth with others base desert: Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my loue, So may the heauens reade wonders in my hart.

Behold the Clowdes which haue eclips'd my sunne, And view the crosses which my course doth let; Tell mee, if euer since the world begunne, So faire a Morning had so foule a set?

And, by all meanes, let black vnkindnes proue The patience of so rare, diuine a loue.

Amour 50

When I first ended, then I first began; The more I trauell, further from my rest; Where most I lost, there most of all I wan; Pyned with hunger, rysing from a feast.

Mee thinks I flee, yet want I legs to goe, Wise in conceite, in acte a very sot; Rauisht with ioy amidst a h.e.l.l of woe, What most I seeme, that surest I am not.

I build my hopes a world aboue the skye, Yet with a Mole I creepe into the earth: In plenty am I staru'd with penury, And yet I serfet in the greatest dearth.

I haue, I want, dispayre, and yet desire, Burn'd in a Sea of Ice, and drown'd amidst a fire.

Amour 51

Goe you, my lynes, Emba.s.sadours of loue, With my harts tribute to her conquering eyes, From whence, if you one tear of pitty moue For all my woes, that onely shall suffise.

When you _Minerua_ in the sunne behold, At her perfections stand you then and gaze, Where in the compa.s.se of a Marygold, _Meridianis_ sits within a maze.

And let Inuention of her beauty vaunt When _Dorus_ sings his sweet Pamelas loue, And tell the G.o.ds, _Mars_ is predominant, Seated with _Sol_, and weares Mineruas gloue: And tell the world, that in the world there is A heauen on earth, on earth no heauen but this.

FINIS.

[from the Edition of 1599]

Sonet 1

The worlds faire Rose, and _Henries_ frosty fire, Iohns tyrannie; and chast _Matilda's_ wrong, Th'inraged Queene, and furious _Mortimer_, The scourge of Fraunce, and his chast loue I song; Deposed _Richard_, _Isabell_ exil'd, The gallant _Tudor_, and fayre _Katherine_, Duke _Humfrey_, and old _Cobhams_ haplesse child, Couragious _Pole_, and that braue spiritfull Queene; _Edward_, and that delicious London Dame, _Brandon_, and that rich dowager of Fraunce, _Surrey_, with his fayre paragon of fame, _Dudleys_ mishap, and vertuous _Grays_ mischance; Their seuerall loues since I before haue showne, Now giue me leaue at last to sing mine owne.

Sonet 2

_To the Reader of his Poems_

Into these loues who but for pa.s.sion lookes, At this first sight, here let him lay them by, And seeke elsewhere in turning other bookes, Which better may his labour satisfie.

No far-fetch'd sigh shall euer wound my brest, Loue from mine eye, a teare shall neuer wring, Nor in ah-mees my whyning Sonets drest, (A Libertine) fantasticklie I sing; My verse is the true image of my mind, Euer in motion, still desiring change, To choyce of all varietie inclin'd, And in all humors sportiuely I range; My actiue Muse is of the worlds right straine, That cannot long one fas.h.i.+on entertaine.

Sonet 3

Many there be excelling in this kind, Whose well trick'd rimes with all inuention swell, Let each commend as best shall like his minde, Some _Sidney_, _Constable_, some _Daniell_.

That thus theyr names familiarly I sing, Let none think them disparaged to be, Poore men with reuerence may speake of a King, And so may these be spoken of by mee; My wanton verse nere keepes one certaine stay, But now, at hand; then, seekes inuention far, And with each little motion runnes astray, Wilde, madding, iocond, and irreguler; Like me that l.u.s.t, my honest merry rimes, Nor care for Criticke, nor regard the times.

Sonet 5

My hart was slaine, and none but you and I, Who should I thinke the murder should commit?

Since but your selfe, there was no creature by But onely I, guiltlesse of murth'ring it.

It slew it selfe; the verdict on the view Doe quit the dead and me not accessarie; Well, well, I feare it will be prou'd by you, The euidence so great a proofe doth carry.

But O, see, see, we need enquire no further, Vpon your lips the scarlet drops are found, And in your eye, the boy that did the murther, Your cheekes yet pale since first they gaue the wound.

By this, I see, how euer things be past, Yet heauen will still haue murther out at last.

Sonet 8

Nothing but no and I, and I and no, How falls it out so strangely you reply?

I tell yee (Faire) Ile not be aunswered so, With this affirming no, denying I, I say I loue, you slightly aunswer I?

I say you loue, you pule me out a no; I say I die, you eccho me with I, Saue me I cry, you sigh me out a no: Must woe and I, haue naught but no and I?

No, I am I, If I no more can haue, Aunswer no more, with silence make reply, And let me take my selfe what I doe craue; Let no and I, with I and you be so, Then aunswer no, and I, and I, and no.

Sonet 9

Loue once would daunce within my Mistres eye, And wanting musique fitting for the place, Swore that I should the Instrument supply, And sodainly presents me with her face: Straightwayes my pulse playes liuely in my vaines, My panting breath doth keepe a meaner time, My quau'ring artiers be the Tenours Straynes, My trembling sinewes serue the Counterchime, My hollow sighs the deepest base doe beare, True diapazon in distincted sound: My panting hart the treble makes the ayre, And descants finely on the musiques ground; Thus like a Lute or Violl did I lye, Whilst the proud slaue daunc'd galliards in her eye.

Sonet 10

Loue in an humor played the prodigall, And bids my sences to a solemne feast, Yet more to grace the company withall, Inuites my heart to be the chiefest guest; No other drinke would serue this gluttons turne, But precious teares distilling from mine eyne, Which with my sighs this Epicure doth burne, Quaffing carouses in this costly wine, Where, in his cups or'come with foule excesse, Begins to play a swaggering Ruffins part, And at the banquet, in his drunkennes, Slew my deare friend, his kind and truest hart; A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see What 'tis to keepe a drunkard company.

Sonet 11

_To the Moone_

Phaebe looke downe, and here behold in mee, The elements within thy sphere inclosed, How kindly Nature plac'd them vnder thee, And in my world, see how they are disposed; My hope is earth, the lowest, cold and dry, The grosser mother of deepe melancholie, Water my teares, coold with humidity, Wan, flegmatick, inclind by nature wholie; My sighs, the ayre, hote, moyst, ascending hier, Subtile of sanguine, dy'de in my harts dolor, My thoughts, they be the element of fire, Hote, dry, and piercing, still inclind to choller, Thine eye the Orbe vnto all these, from whence, Proceeds th' effects of powerfull influence.

Sonet 12

To nothing fitter can I thee compare, Then to the sonne of some rich penyfather, Who hauing now brought on his end with care, Leaues to his son all he had heap'd together; This newe rich nouice, lauish of his chest, To one man giues, and on another spends, Then here he ryots, yet amongst the rest, Haps to lend some to one true honest friend.

Thy gifts thou in obscuritie doost wast, False friends thy kindnes, borne but to deceiue thee, Thy loue, that is on the unworthy plac'd, Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leaue thee; Onely that little which to me was lent, I giue thee back, when all the rest is spent.

Sonet 13

You not alone, when you are still alone, O G.o.d from you that I could priuate be, Since you one were, I neuer since was one, Since you in me, my selfe since out of me Transported from my selfe into your beeing Though either distant, present yet to eyther, Senceles with too much ioy, each other seeing, And onely absent when we are together.

Giue me my selfe, and take your selfe againe, Deuise some means but how I may forsake you, So much is mine that doth with you remaine, That taking what is mine, with me I take you, You doe bewitch me, O that I could flie From my selfe you, or from your owne selfe I.