Amoretti

XXXI

Ah why hath nature to so hard a heart

Given so goodly gifts of beauty's grace?

Whose pride depraves each other better part,

And all those pretty ornaments deface.

Sith to all other beasts of bloody race,

A dreadful countenance she given hath,

That with their terror all the rest may chase,

And warn to shun the danger of their wrath.

But my proud one doth work the greater scath,

Through sweet allurement of her lovely hue:

That she the better may in bloody bath

Of such poor thralls her cruel hands embrew.

But did she know how ill these two accord,

Such cruelty she would have soon abhored.

XXXII

The painful smith with force of fervent heat,

The hardest iron soon doth mollify:

That with his heavy sledge he can it beat,

And fashion to what he it list apply.

Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry,

Her heart more hard than iron soft a whit:

Ne all the plaints and prayers with which I

Do beat on th'anvil of her stubborn wit;

But still the more she fervent sees my fit,

The more she frieseth in her willful pride:

And harder grows the harder she is smit,

With all the plaints which to her be applied.

What then remains but I to ashes burn,

And she to stones at length all frozen turn?

XXXIII

Great wrong I do, I can it not deny,

To that most sacred empress my dear dread,

Not finishing her Queen of Fa&ed.ry,

That mote enlarge her living praises dead;

But lodwick, this of grace to me aread:

Do ye not think the'accomplishment of it,

Sufficient work for one man's simple head,

All were it as the rest but rudely writ.

How then should I without another wit,

Think ever to endure so tedious toil,

Sins that this one is tossed with troublous fit,

Of a proud love, that both my spirit spoil.

Cease then, till she vouchsafe to grant me rest,

Or lend you me another loving breast.

XXXIV

Like a ship that through the Ocean wide,

By conduct of some star doth make her way,

Whenas a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide,

Out of her course doth wander far astray.

So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,

Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

Do wander now in darkness and dismay,

Through hidden perils round about me plast.

Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past

My Helice the lodestar of my life

Will shine again, and look on me at last,

With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.

Till then I wander carefull comfortless,

In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

XXXV

My hungry eyes through greedy covetize,

Still to behold the object of their pain,

With no contentment can themselves suffice:

But having pine and having not complain.

For lacking it they cannot life sustain,

And having it they gaze on it the more:

In their amazement like Narcissus vain

Whose eyes him starv'd: so plenty makes me poor.

Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store

Of that fair sight, that nothing else they brook,

But loath the things which they did like before,

And can no more endure on them to look.

All this world's glory seemeth vain to me,

And all their shows but shadows, saving she.

XXXVI

Tell me when shall these weary woes have end,

Or shall their ruthless torment never cease:

But all my days in pining langor spend,

Without hope of aswagement or release.

Is there no means for me to purchase peace,

Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes:

But that their cruelty doth still increase,

And daily more augment my miseries.

But when ye have shewed all extermities,

Then think how little glory ye have gained:

By slaying him, whose life though ye dispise,

Mote have your life in honour long maintained.

But by his death which some perhaps will moan,

Ye shall condemned be of many a one.

XXXVII

What guile is this, that those her golden tresses,

She doth attire under a net of gold:

And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,

That which is gold or hair, may scarce be told?

Is it that men's frail eyes, which gaze too bold,

She may entangle in that golden snare:

And being caught may craftily enfold,

Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?

Take heed therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare

Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,

In which if ever ye entrapped are,

Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.

Fondness it were for any being free,

To covet fetters, though they golden be.

XXXVIII

Arion, when through tempests' cruel wrack,

He forth was thrown into the greedy seas:

Through the sweet music which his harp did make

Allured a dolphin him from death to ease.

But my rude music, which was wont to please

Some dainty ears, cannot with any skill,

The dreadful tempest of her wrath appease,

Nor move the dolphin from her stubborn will.

But in her pride she doth persever still,

All careless how my life for her decays:

Yet with one word she can in save or spill,

To spill were pitty, but to save were praise.

Choose rather to be praised for doing good,

Than to be blam'd for spilling guiltless blood.

XXXIX

Sweet smile, the daughter of the queen of love,

Expressing all thy mother's powerful art:

With which she wonts to temper angry Jove,

When all the gods he threats with thund'ring dart.

Sweet is thy virtue as thy self sweet art,

For when on me thou shinedst late in sadness,

A melting pleasance ran through every part,

And me revived with heart robbing gladness.

Whylest rapt with joy resembling heavenly madness,

My soul was ravished quite as in a trance:

And feeling thence no more her sorrow's sadness,

Fed on the fullness of that cheerful glance,

More sweet than nectar or ambrosial meat,

Seemed every bit, which thenceforth I did eat.

XL

Mark when she smiles with amiable cheer,

And tell me whereto can ye liken it:

When on each eyelid sweetly do appear

An hundred Graces as in shade to sit.

Likest it seemeth in my simple wit

Unto the fair sunshine in summer's day:

That when a dreadful storm away is flit,

Through the broad world doth spread his goodly ray:

At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,

And every beast that to his den was fled

Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,

And to the light lift up their drooping head.

So my storm-beaten heart likewise is cheered,

With that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.

XLI

Is it her nature or is it her will,

To be so cruel to an humbled foe?

If nature, then she may it mend with skill,

If will, then she at will may will forgo.

But if her nature and her will be so,

that she will plague the man that loves her most:

And take delight t'increase a wretch's woe,

Then all her nature's goodly gifts are lost.

And that same glorious beauty's idle boast,

Is but a bait such wretches to beguile:

As being long in her love's tempest tossed,

She means at last to make her piteous spoil.

Of fairest fair let never it be named,

That so fair beauty was so foully shamed.

XLII

The love which me so cruelly tormenteth,

So pleasing is in my extremest pain:

That all the more my sorrow it augmenteth,

The more I love and do embrace my bane.

Ne do I wish (for wishing were but vain)

To be acquit from my continual smart:

But joy her thrall for ever to remain,

And yield for pledge my poor captived heart;

The which that it from her may never start,

Let her, if please her, bind with adamant chain:

And from all wandering loves which mote pervert,

His safe assurance strongly it restrain.

Only let her abstain from cruelty,

And do me not before my time to die.

XLIII

Shall I then silent be or shall I speak?

And if I speak, her wrath renew I shall:

And if I silent be, my heart will break,

Or choked be with overflowing gall.

What tyranny is this both my heart to thrall,

And eke my tongue with proud restraint to tie?

That neither I may speak nor think at all,

But like a stupid stock in silence die.

Yet I my heart with silence secretly

Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead:

And eke mine eyes with meek humility,

Love-learned letters to her eyes to read.

Which her deep wit, that true hearts' thought can spell,

Will soon conceive, and learn to construe well.

XLIV

When those renowned noble peers of Greece,

Through stubborn pride amongst themselves did war,

Forgetful of the famous golden fleece,

Then Orpheus with his harp their strife did bar.

But this continual cruel civil war

The which myself against myself do make:

Whilest my weak powers of passions warried are,

No skill can stint nor reason can aslake.

But when in hand my tuneless harp I take,

Then do I more augment my foes' despight:

And grief renew, and passions do awake

To battle, fresh against myself to fight.

'Mongst whom the more I seek to settle peace,

The more I find their malice to increase.

XLV

Leave, lady, in your glass of crystal clean,

Your goodly self for evermore to view:

And in myself, my inward self I mean,

Most lively like behold your semblance true.

Within my heart, though hardly it can shew

Thing so divine to view of earthly eye,

The fair Idea of your celestial hue,

And every part remains immortally:

And were it not that through your cruelty,

With sorrow dimmed and deformed it were:

The goodly image of your visnomy,

Dearer than crystal would therein appear.

But if yourself in me ye plain will see,

Remove the cause by which your fair beams darkened be.

XLVI

When my abode's prefixed time is spent,

My cruel fair straight bids me wend my way:

But then from heaven most hideous storms are sent

As willing me against her will to stay.

Whom then shall I or heaven or her obey?

The heavens know best what is the best form:

But as she will, whose will my life doth sway,

My lower heaven, so it perforce must be.

But ye high heavens, that all this sorrow see,

Sith all your tempests cannot hold me back:

Aswage your storms, or else both you and she,

Will both together me too sorely wrack.

Enough it is for one man to sustain

The storms, which she alone on me doth rain.

XLVII

Trust not the treason of those smiling looks,

Until ye have their guilefull trains well tried;

For they are like but unto golden hooks,

That from the foolish fish their baits do hide:

So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide

Unto her love, and tempt to their decay,

Whom being caught she kills with cruel pride,

And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray:

Yet even whilst her bloody hands them slay,

Her eyes look lovely and upon them smile:

That they take pleasure in her cruel play,

And dying do themselves of pain beguile.

O mighty charm which makes men love their bane,

And think they die with pleasure, live with pain.

XLVIII

Innocent paper, whom too cruel hand

Did make the matter to avenge her ire:

And ere she could thy cause well understand,

Did sacrifice unto the greedy fire.

Well worthy thou to have found better hire,

Then so bad end for heretics ordained;

Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire,

But plead thy master's cause unjustly pained.

Whom she all careless of his grief contrained

To utter forth the anguish of his heart;

And would not hear, when he to her complained,

The piteous passion of his dying smart.

Yet live for ever, though against her will,

And speak her good, though she requite it ill.

XLIX

Fair cruel, why are you so fierce and cruel?

Is it because your eyes have power to kill?

Then know, that mercy is the mightiest jewel,

And greater glory think to save, than spill.

But if it be your pleasure and proud will,

To show the power of your imperious eyes:

Then not on him that never thought you ill,

But bend your force against your enemies.

Let them feel th'utmost of your cruelties,

And kill with looks, as Cockatrices do:

But him that at your footstool humbled lies,

With merciful regard, give mercy to.

Such mercy shall you make admired to be,

So shall you live by giving life to me.

L

Long languishing in double malady,

Of my heart's wound and of my body's grief,

There came to me a leach that would apply

Fit medicines for my body's best relief.

Vain man (quoth I) that hast but little priefe

In deep discovery of the mind's disease,

Is not the heart of all the body chief?

And rules the members as itself doth please.

Then with some cordials seek first to appease

The inward langour of my wounded heart,

And then my body shall have shortly ease:

But such sweet cordials pass physicians' art,

Then my life's Leach do you your skill reveal,

And with one salve both heart and body heal.

LI

Do I not see that fairest images

Of hardest marble are of purpose made?

For that they should endure through many ages,

Ne let their famous monuments to fade.

Why then do I, untrained in lovers' trade,

Her hardness blame which I should more commend?

Sith never aught was excellect assayed,

Which was not hard t'achieve and bring to end.

Ne aught so hard, but he that would attend,

Mote soften it and to his will allure:

So do I hope her stubborn heart to bend,

And that it then more steadfast will endure.

Only my pains will be the more to get her,

But having her, my joy will be the greater.

LII

So oft as homeward I from her depart,

I go like one that having lost the field,

Is prisoner led away with heavy heart,

Despoiled of warlike arms and knowen shield.

So do I now myself a prisoner yield,

To sorrow and to solitary pain:

From presence of my dearest dear exiled,

Longwhile alone in languor to remain.

There let no thought of joy or pleasure vain,

Dare to approach, that may my solace breed:

But sudden dumps and dreary sad disdain,

Of all worlds gladness more my torment feed.

So I her absence will my penance make,

That of her presence I my mead may take.

LIII

The panther knowing that his spotted hide

Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them fray,

Within a bush his dreadful head doth hide,

To let thm gaze whilst he on them may prey.

Right so my cruel fair with me doth play,

For with the goodly semblance of her hue

She doth allure me to mine own decay,

And then no mercy will unto me shew.

Great shame it is, thing so divine in view,

Made for to be the world's most ornament,

To make the bait her gazers to enbrew,

Good shames to be too ill an instrument.

But mercy doth with beauty best agree,

As in their maker ye them best may see.

LIV

Of this world's theatre in which we stay,

My love like the spectator idly sits

Beholding me that all the pageants play,

Disguising diversely my troubled wits.

Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,

And mask in mirth like to a comedy:

Soon after when my joy to sorrow flits,

I wail and make my woes a tragedy.

Yet she beholding me with constant eye,

Delights not in my mirth nor rues my smart:

But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry

She laughs, and hardens evermore her heart.

What then can move her? if not mirth nor moan,

She is no woman, but senseless stone.

LV

So oft as I her beauty do behold,

And therewith do her cruelty compare,

I marvel of what substance was the mould

The which her made at once so cruel fair.

Not earth; for her high thoughts more heavenly are,

Not water; for her love doth burn like fire:

Not air; for she is not so light or rare,

Not fire; for she doth freeze with faint desire.

Then needs another element inquire

Whereof she mote be made; that is the sky.

For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire:

And eke her mind is pure immortal high.

Then sith to heaven ye likened are the best,

Be like in mercy as in all the rest.

LVI

Fair ye be sure, but cruel and unkind,

As is the tiger that with greediness

Hunts after blood, when he by chance doth find

A feeble beast, doth felly him oppress.

Fair be ye sure, but proud and pityless,

As is a storm, that all things doth prostrate:

Finding a tree alone all comfortless,

Beats on it strongly it to ruinate.

Fair be ye sure, but hard and obstinate,

As is a rock amidst the raging floods:

'Gainst which a ship of succour desolate,

Doth suffer wreck both of herself and goods.

That ship, that tree, and that same beast am I,

Whom ye do wreck, do ruin, and destroy.

LVII

Sweet warrior, when shall I have peace with you?

High time it is, this war now ended were:

Which I no longer can endure to sue,

Ne your incessant battery more to bear:

So weak my powers, so sore my wounds appear

That wonder is how I should live a jot,

Seeing my heart through launched everywhere

With thousand arrows, which your eyes have shot:

Yet shoot ye sharply still, and spare me not,

But glory think to make these cruel stoures.

Ye cruel one, what glory can be got,

In slaying him that would live gladly yours?

Make peace therefore, and grant me timely grace,

That all my wouds will heal in little space.

LVIII. By her that is most assured to herself.

Weak is th'assurance that weak flesh reposeth

In her own power, and scorneth others' aid:

That soonest falls when as she most supposeth

Herself assured, and is of nought afraid.

All flesh is frail, and all her strength unstayed,

Like a vain bubble blown up with air:

Devouring time and changeful chance have preyed

Her glory's pride that none may it repair.

Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fair,

But faileth trusting on his own assurance:

And he that standeth on the highest stair

Falls lowest: for on earth nought hath endurence.

Why then do ye proud fair, misdeem so far,

That to yourself ye most assured are.

LIX

Thrice happy she, that is so well assured

Unto herself and settled so in heart:

That neither will for better be allured,

Ne feared with worse to any chance start:

But like a steady ship doth strongly part

The raging waves and keeps her course aright:

Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart,

Ne aught for fairer weather false delight.

Such self assurance need not fear the spite

Of grudging foes, ne favor seek of friends:

But in the stay of her own steadfast might,

Neither to one herself nor another bends.

Most happy she that most assured doth rest,

But he most happy who such one loves best.

LX

They that in course of heavenly spheres are skilled,

To every planet point his sundry year:

In which her circle's voyage is fulfilled,

As Mars in three-score years doth run his sphere.

So since the winged God his planet clear,

Began in me to move, one year is spent:

The which doth longer unto me appear,

Than all those forty which my life outwent.

Then by that count, which lovers' books invent,

The sphere of Cupid forty years contains:

Which I have wasted in long languishment,

That seemed the longer for my greater pains.

But let my love's fair planet short her ways

This year ensuing, or else short my days.