Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  With scorching gleed my hart to cynders turneth;

  But with those drops the coles againe reuyuing,

  Still more and more vnto my torment burneth.

  With Sisiphus thus doe I role the stone,

  And turne the wheele with damned Ixion.

  Amour 45

  Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe,

  The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow,

  Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so,

  Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?

  Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre,

  Portraite of hell, the ayres black mourning weed,

  Recorder of reuenge, remembrancer of care,

  The shadow and the vaile of euery sinfull deed.

  Death like to thee, so lyue thou still in death,

  The graue of ioy, prison of dayes delight.

  Let heauens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,

  Nor Moone nor stars lend thee their shining light;

  For thou alone renew’st that olde desire,

  Which still torments me in dayes burning fire.

  Amour 46

  Sweete secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?

  What mortall pen sufficiently can prayse thee?

  What curious Pensill serues to lim thee forth?

  What Muse hath power aboue thy height to raise thee?

  Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loues store,

  Harts Methridate, the soules preseruatiue;

  O vertue! which all vertues doe adore,

  Cheefe good, from whom all good things wee deriue.

  O rare effect! true bond of friendships measure,

  Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest;

  O, richest Casket of all heauenly treasure,

  In secret silence which such wonders preachest.

  O purest mirror! wherein men may see

  The liuely Image of Diuinitie.

  Amour 47

  The golden Sunne vpon his fiery wheeles

  The horned Ram doth in his course awake,

  And of iust length our night and day doth make,

  Flinging the Fishes backward with his heeles:

  Then to the Tropicke takes his full Careere,

  Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat,

  Bayting the Lyon in his furious heat,

  Till Virgins smyles doe sound his sweet reteere.

  But my faire Planet, who directs me still,

  Vnkindly such distemperature doth bring,

  Makes Summer Winter, Autumne in the Spring,

  Crossing sweet nature by vnruly will.

  Such is the sunne who guides my youthfull season,

  Whose thwarting course depriues the world of reason.

  Amour 48

  Who list to praise the dayes delicious lyght,

  Let him compare it to her heauenly eye,

  The sun-beames to the lustre of her sight;

  So may the learned like the similie.

  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 Phœnix 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 hell;

  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 hell 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, Embassadours 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 compasse 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 Gods, 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.

  SONNETS, 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 passion 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 fashion 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,
<
br />   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 lust, 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

  Phæbe 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 God 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.

  Sonet 14

  To the Soule

  That learned Father which so firmly proues

  The soule of man immortall and diuine,

  And doth the seuerall offices define,

  Anima. Giues her that name as shee the body moues,

  Amor. Then is she loue imbracing Charitie,

  Animus. Mouing a will in vs, it is the mind,

  Mens. Retayning knowledge, still the same in kind;

  Memoria. As intelectuall it is the memorie,

  Ratio. In judging, Reason onely is her name,

  Sensus. In speedy apprehension it is sence,

  Conscientia. In right or wrong, they call her conscience.

  Spiritus. The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame.

  These of the soule the seuerall functions bee,

  Which my hart lightned by thy loue doth see.

  Sonet 21

  You cannot loue my pretty hart, and why?

  There was a time, you told me that you would,

  But now againe you will the same deny,

  If it might please you, would to God you could;

  What will you hate? nay, that you will not neither,

  Nor loue, nor hate, how then? what will you do,

  What will you keepe a meane then betwixt eyther?

  Or will you loue me, and yet hate me to?

  Yet serues not this, what next, what other shift?

  You will, and will not, what a coyle is heere,

  I see your craft, now I perceaue your drift,

  And all this while, I was mistaken there.

  Your loue and hate is this, I now doe proue you,

  You loue in hate, by hate to make me loue you.

  Sonet 22

  An euill spirit your beauty haunts me still,

  Where-with (alas) I haue been long possest,

  Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill,

  Nor giues me once but one pore minutes rest.

  In me it speakes, whethe
r I sleepe or wake,

  And when by meanes to driue it out I try,

  With greater torments then it me doth take,

  And tortures me in most extreamity.

  Before my face, it layes all my dispaires,

  And hasts me on vnto a suddaine death;

  Now tempting me, to drown my selfe in teares,

  And then in sighing to giue vp my breath:

  Thus am I still prouok’d to euery euill,

  By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel deuill.

  Sonet 23

  To the Spheares

  Thou which do’st guide this little world of loue,

  Thy planets mansions heere thou mayst behold,

  My brow the spheare where Saturne still doth moue,

  Wrinkled with cares: and withered, dry, and cold;

  Mine eyes the Orbe where Iupiter doth trace,

  Which gently smile because they looke on thee,

  Mars in my swarty visage takes his place,

  Made leane with loue, where furious conflicts bee.

  Sol in my breast with his hote scorching flame,

  And in my hart alone doth Venus raigne:

  Mercury my hands the Organs of thy fame,

  And Luna glides in my fantastick braine;

  The starry heauen thy prayse by me exprest,

  Thou the first moouer, guiding all the rest.

  Sonet 24

  Love banish’d heauen, in earth was held in scorne,

  Wandring abroad in neede and beggery,

  And wanting friends though of a Goddesse borne,

  Yet crau’d the almes of such as passed by.

  I like a man, deuout and charitable;

  Clothed the naked, lodg’d this wandring guest,

  With sighs and teares still furnishing his table,

  With what might make the miserable blest;

  But this vngratefull for my good desart,

  Entic’d my thoughts against me to conspire,

  Who gaue consent to steale away my hart,

  And set my breast his lodging on a fire:

  Well, well, my friends, when beggers grow thus bold,

  No meruaile then though charity grow cold.