The Penguin Book of English Verse

by Paul Keegan

  My true love hath my hart and I have his.

  His hart in me, keepes me and him in one,

  My hart in him, his thoughtes and senses guides:

  He loves my hart, for once it was his owne:

  I cherish his, because in me it bides.

  My true love hath my hart and I have his.

  SIR WALTER RALEGH 1590

  As you came from the holy land

  of Walsinghame

  Mett you not with my true love

  by the way as you came

  How shall I know your trew love

  That have mett many one

  As I went to the holy lande

  That have come that have gone

  She is neyther whyte nor browne

  Butt as the heavens fayre

  There is none hathe a form so divine

  In the earth or the ayre

  Such an one did I meet good Sir

  Suche an Angelyke face

  Who lyke a queene lyke a nymph did appere

  by her gate by her grace:

  She hath lefte me here all alone

  All allone as unknowne

  Who somtymes did me lead with her selfe

  And me lovde as her owne:

  Whats the cause that she leaves you alone

  And a new waye doth take:

  Who loved you once as her owne

  And her joye did you make:

  I have lovde her all my youth

  butt now ould as you see

  Love lykes not the fallyng frute

  From the wythered tree:

  Know that love is a careless chylld

  And forgets promysse paste:

  He is blynd, he is deaff when he lyste

  And in faythe never faste:

  His desyre is a dureless contente

  And a trustless joye

  He is wonn with a world of despayre

  And is lost with a toye:

  Of women kynde suche indeed is the love

  Or the word Love abused

  Under which many chyldysh desyres

  And conceytes are excusde:

  Butt trwe Love is a durable fyre

  In the mynde ever burnynge:

  Never sycke never ould never dead

  from itt selfe never turnynge.

  (1628)

  MARK ALEXANDER BOYD Sonet

  Fra banc to banc fra wod to wod I rin

  Ourhailit with my feble fantasie

  Lyc til a leif that fallis from a trie

  Or til a reid ourblawin with the wind.

  5

  Twa gods gyds me the ane of tham is blind,

  Ye and a bairn brocht up in vanitie.

  The nixt a wyf ingenrit of the se,

  And lichter nor a dauphin with hir fin.

  Unhappie is the man for evirmaire

  10

  That teils the sand and sawis in the aire,

  Bot twyse unhappier is he I lairn

  That feidis in his hairt a mad desyre,

  And follows on a woman throw the fyre

  Led be a blind and teichit be a bairn

  SIR HENRY LEE

  His Golden lockes, Time hath to Silver turn’d,

  O Time too swift, ô Swiftnesse never ceasing:

  His Youth gainst Time and Age hath ever spurn’d

  But spurn’d in vain, Youth waineth by increasing.

  Beauty Strength, Youth, are flowers, but fading seen,

  Dutie, Faith, Love are roots, and ever greene.

  His Helmet now, shall make a hive for Bees,

  And Lovers Sonets, turn’d to holy Psalmes:

  A man at Armes must now serve on his knees,

  And feede on praiers, which are Age his almes.

  But though from Court to Cottage he depart,

  His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

  And when he saddest sits in homely Cell,

  Heele teach his Swaines this Carroll for a Song,

  Blest be the heartes that wish my Soveraigne well,

  Curst be the soules that thinke her any wrong.

  Goddesse, allow this agèd man his right,

  To be your Beads-man now, that was your Knight.

  EDMUND SPENSER from The Faerie Queene

  from Book II, Canto XII [The Bower of Blisse Destroyed]

  Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound,

  Of all that mote delight a daintie eare,

  Such as attonce might not on living ground,

  Save in this Paradise, be heard elswhere:

  Right hard it was, for wight, which did it heare,

  To read, what manner musicke that mote bee:

  For all that pleasing is to living care,

  Was there consorted in one harmonee,

  Birdes, voyces, instruments, windes, waters, all agree.

  The joyous birdes shrouded in chearefull shade,

  Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet;

  Th’Angelicall soft trembling voyces made

  To th’instruments divine respondence meet:

  The silver sounding instruments did meet

  With the base murmure of the waters fall:

  The waters fall with difference discreet,

  Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call:

  The gentle warbling wind low answered to all.

  There, whence that Musick seemed heard to bee,

  Was the faire Witch her selfe now solacing,

  With a new Lover, whom through sorceree

  And witchcraft, she from farre did thither bring:

  There she had him now layd a slombering,

  In secret shade, after long wanton joyes:

  Whilst round about them pleasauntly did sing

  Many faire Ladies, and lascivious boyes,

  That ever mixt their song with light licentious toyes.

  And all that while, right over him she hong,

  With her false eyes fast fixed in his sight,

  As seeking medicine, whence she was strong,

  Or greedily depasturing delight:

  And oft inclining downe with kisses light,

  For feare of waking him, his lips bedewd,

  And through his humid eyes did sucke his spright,

  Quite molten into lust and pleasure lewd;

  Wherewith she sighed soft, as if his case she rewd.

  The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay;

  Ah see, who so faire thing doest faine to see,

  In springing flowre the image of thy day;

  Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee

  Doth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee,

  That fairer seemes, the lesse ye see her may;

  Lo see soone after, how more bold and free

  Her bared bosome she doth broad display;

  Loe see soone after, how she fades, and falles away.

  So passeth, in the passing of a day,

  Of mortall life the leafe, the bud, the flowre,

  Ne more doth flourish after first decay,

  That earst was sought to decke both bed and bowre,

  Of many a Ladie, and many a Paramowre:

  Gather therefore the Rose, whilest yet is prime,

  For soone comes age, that will her pride deflowre:

  Gather the Rose of love, whilest yet is time,

  Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equall crime.

  He ceast, and then gan all the quire of birdes

  Their diverse notes t’attune unto his lay,

  As in approvance of his pleasing words.

  The constant paire heard all, that he did say,

  Yet swarved not, but kept their forward way,

  Through many covert groves, and thickets close,

  In which they creeping did at last display

  That wanton Ladie, with her lover lose,

  Whose sleepie head she in her lap did soft dispose.

  Upon a bed of Roses she was layd,

  As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin,

  And was ara
yd, or rather disarayd,

  All in a vele of silke and silver thin,

  That hid no whit her alablaster skin,

  But rather shewd more white, if more might bee:

  More subtle web Arachne can not spin,

  Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see

  Of scorched deaw, do not in th’aire more lightly flee.

  Her snowy brest was bare to readie spoyle

  Of hungry eies, which n’ote therewith be fild,

  And yet through languour of her late sweet toyle,

  Few drops, more cleare then Nectar, forth distild,

  That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild,

  And her faire eyes sweet smyling in delight,

  Moystened their fierie beames, with which she thrild

  Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like starry light

  Which sparckling on the silent waves, does seeme more bright.

  The young man sleeping by her, seemd to bee

  Some goodly swayne of honorable place,

  That certes it great pittie was to see

  Him his nobilitie so foule deface;

  A sweet regard, and amiable grace,

  Mixed with manly sternnesse did appeare

  Yet sleeping, in his well proportiond face,

  And on his tender lips the downy heare

  Did now but freshly spring, and silken blossomes beare.

  His warlike armes, the idle instruments

  Of sleeping praise, were hong upon a tree,

  And his brave shield, full of old moniments,

  Was fowly ra’st, that none the signes might see;

  Ne for them, ne for honour cared hee,

  Ne ought, that did to his advauncement tend,

  But in lewd loves, and wastfull luxuree,

  His dayes, his goods, his bodie he did spend:

  O horrible enchantment, that him so did blend.

  The noble Elfe, and carefull Palmer drew

  So nigh them, minding nought, but lustfull game,

  That suddein forth they on them rusht, and threw

  A subtile net, which onely for the same

  The skilfull Palmer formally did frame.

  So held them under fast, the whiles the rest

  Fled all away for feare of fowler shame.

  The faire Enchauntresse, so unwares opprest,

  Tryde all her arts, and all her sleights, thence out to wrest.

  And eke her lover strove: but all in vaine;

  For that same net so cunningly was wound,

  That neither guile, nor force might it distraine.

  They tooke them both, and both them strongly bound

  In captive bandes, which there they readie found:

  But her in chaines of adamant he tyde;

  For nothing else might keepe her safe and sound;

  But Verdant (so he hight) he soone untyde,

  And counsell sage in steed thereof to him applyde.

  But all those pleasant bowres and Pallace brave,

  Guyon broke downe, with rigour pittilesse;

  Ne ought their goodly workmanship might save

  Them from the tempest of his wrathfulnesse,

  But that their blisse he turn’d to balefulnesse:

  Their groves he feld, their gardins did deface,

  Their arbers spoyle, their Cabinets suppresse,

  Their banket houses burne, their buildings race,

  And of the fairest late, now made the fowlest place.

  from Book III, Canto VI [The Gardin of Adonis]

  In that same Gardin all the goodly flowres,

  Wherewith dame Nature doth her beautifie,

  And decks the girlonds of her paramoures,

  Are fetcht: there is the first seminarie

  Of all things, that are borne to live and die,

  According to their kindes. Long worke it were,

  Here to account the endlesse progenie

  Of all the weedes, that bud and blossome there;

  But so much as doth need, must needs be counted here.

  It sited was in fruitfull soyle of old,

  And girt in with two walles on either side;

  The one of yron, the other of bright gold,

  That none might thorough breake, nor over-stride:

  And double gates it had, which opened wide,

  By which both in and out men moten pas;

  Th’one faire and fresh, the other old and dride:

  Old Genius the porter of them was,

  Old Genius, the which a double nature has.

  He letteth in, he letteth out to wend,

  All that to come into the world desire;

  A thousand thousand naked babes attend

  About him day and night, which doe require,

  That he with fleshly weedes would them attire:

  Such as him list, such as eternall fate

  Ordained hath, he clothes with sinfull mire,

  And sendeth forth to live in mortall state,

  Till they againe returne backe by the hinder gate.

  After that they againe returned beene,

  They in that Gardin planted be againe;

  And grow afresh, as they had never seene

  Fleshly corruption, nor mortall paine.

  Some thousand yeares so doen they there remaine;

  And then of him are clad with other hew,

  Or sent into the chaungefull world againe,

  Till thither they returne, where first they grew:

  So like a wheele around they runne from old to new.

  Ne needs there Gardiner to set, or sow,

  To plant or prune: for of their owne accord

  All things, as they created were, doe grow,

  And yet remember well the mightie word,

  Which first was spoken by th’Almightie lord,

  That bad them to increase and multiply:

  Ne doe they need with water of the ford,

  Or of the clouds to moysten their roots dry;

  For in themselves eternall moisture they imply.

  Infinite shapes of creatures there are bred,

  And uncouth formes, which none yet ever knew,

  And every sort is in a sundry bed

  Set by it selfe, and ranckt in comely rew:

  Some fit for reasonable soules t’indew,

  Some made for beasts, some made for birds to weare,

  And all the fruitfull spawne of fishes hew

  In endlesse rancks along enraunged were,

  That seem’d the Ocean could not containe them there.