Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Wil soone conceive, and learne to construe well.

  Amoretti XLIV

  When those renoumed noble peres of Greece

  Thrugh stubborn pride amongst themselves did jar,

  Forgetfull of the famous golden fleece, 605

  Then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar.

  But this continuall cruell civill warre,

  The which my selfe against my selfe doe make,

  Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre,

  No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. 610

  But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take,

  Then doe I more augment my foes despight,

  And griefe renew, and passions doe awake

  To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight.

  Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace, 615

  The more I fynd their malice to increace.

  Amoretti XLV

  Leave, lady, in your glasse of christall clene

  Your goodly selfe for evermore to vew,

  And in my selfe, my inward selfe I meane,

  Most lively lyke behold your semblant trew. 620

  Within my hart, though hardly it can shew

  Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye,

  The fayre idea of your celestiall hew

  And every part remaines immortally:

  And were it not that through your cruelty 625

  With sorrow dimmed and deformd it were,

  The goodly ymage of your visnomy

  Clearer then christall would therein appere.

  But if your selfe in me ye playne will see,

  Remove the cause by which your fayre beames darkned be. 630

  Amoretti XLVI

  When my abodes prefixed time is spent,

  My cruell fayre streight bids me wend my way:

  But then from heaven most hideous stormes are sent,

  As willing me against her will to stay.

  Whom then shall I, or heaven or her, obay? 635

  The heavens know best what is the best for me:

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

  My lower heaven, so it perforce must bee.

  But ye high hevens, that all this sorowe see,

  Sith all your tempests cannot hold me backe, 640

  Aswage your stormes, or else both you and she

  Will both together me too sorely wrack.

  Enough it is for one man to sustaine

  The stormes which she alone on me doth raine.

  Amoretti XLVII

  Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes, 645

  Untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde:

  For they are lyke but unto golden hookes,

  That from the foolish fish theyr bayts do hyde:

  So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde

  Unto her love, and tempte to theyr decay; 650

  Whome being caught, she kills with cruell pryde,

  And feeds at pleasure on the wretched pray.

  Yet even whylst her bloody hands them slay,

  Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smyle,

  That they take pleasure in her cruell play: 655

  And, dying, doe them selves of payne be guyle.

  O mighty charm! which makes men love theyr bane,

  And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne.

  Amoretti XLVIII

  Innocent paper, whom too cruell hand

  Did make the matter to avenge her yre, 660

  And ere she could thy cause wel understand,

  Did sacrifize unto the greedy fyre:

  Well worthy thou to have found better hyre

  Then so bad end, for hereticks ordayned:

  Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire, 665

  But plead thy maisters cause, unjustly payned:

  Whom she, all carelesse of his griefe, constrayned

  To utter forth the anguish of his hart:

  And would not heare, when he to her complayned

  The piteous passion of his dying smart. 670

  Yet live for ever, though against her will,

  And speake her good, though she requite it ill.

  Amoretti XLIX

  Fayre cruell, why are ye so fierce and cruell?

  Is it because your eyes have powre to kill?

  Then know, that mercy is the Mighties jewell, 675

  And greater glory thinke to save then spill.

  But if it be your pleasure and proud will

  To shew the powre of your imperious eyes,

  Then not on him that never thought you ill,

  But bend your force against your enemyes. 680

  Let them feele th’ utmost of your crueltyes,

  And kill with looks, as cockatrices doo:

  But him that at your footstoole humbled lies,

  With mercifull regard, give mercy too.

  Such mercy shal you make admyred to be; 685

  So shall you live by giving life to me.

  Amoretti L

  Long languishing in double malady,

  Of my harts wound and of my bodies greife,

  There came to me a leach, that would apply

  Fit medicines for my bodies best reliefe. 690

  Vayne man! (quod I) that hast but little priefe

  In deep discovery of the mynds disease,

  Is not the hart of all the body chiefe,

  And rules the members as it selfe doth please?

  Then with some cordialls seeke first to appease 695

  The inward languour of my wounded hart,

  And then my body shall have shortly ease:

  But such sweet cordialls passe physitions art.

  Then, my lyfes leach, doe you your skill reveale,

  And with one salve both hart and body heale. 700

  Amoretti LI

  Doe I not see that fayrest ymages

  Of hardest marble are of purpose made,

  For that they should endure through many ages,

  Ne let theyr famous moniments to fade?

  Why then doe I, untrainde in lovers trade, 705

  Her hardnes blame, which I should more commend?

  Sith never ought was excellent assayde,

  Which was not hard t’ atchive and bring to end:

  Ne ought so hard, but he that would attend

  Mote soften it and to his will allure: 710

  So doe I hope her stubborne hart to bend,

  And that it then more stedfast will endure.

  Onely my paines wil be the more to get her:

  But having her, my joy wil be the greater.

  Amoretti LII

  So oft as homeward I from her depart, 715

  I go lyke one that, having lost the field,

  Is prisoner led away with heavy hart,

  Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.

  So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld

  To sorrow and to solitary paine: 720

  From presence of my dearest deare exylde,

  Longwhile alone in languor to remaine.

  There let no thought of joy, or pleasure vaine,

  Dare to approch, that may my solace breed;

  But sudden dumps, and drery sad disdayne 725

  Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed.

  So I her absens will my penaunce make,

  That of her presens I my meed may take.

  Amoretti LIII

  The panther, knowing that his spotted hyde

  Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them fray, 730

  Within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide,

  To let them gaze, whylest he on them may pray.

  Right so my cruell fayre with me doth play:

  For with the goodly semblant of her hew

  She doth allure me to mine owne decay, 735

  And then no mercy will unto me shew.

  Great shame it is, thing so divine in view,

  Made for to be the worlds most ornament,

  To
make the bayte her gazers to embrew:

  Good shames to be to ill an instrument: 740

  But mercy doth with beautie best agree,

  As in theyr Maker ye them best may see.

  Amoretti LIV

  Of this worlds theatre in which we stay,

  My love, lyke the spectator, ydly sits,

  Beholding me, that all the pageants play, 745

  Disguysing diversly my troubled wits.

  Sometimes I joy, when glad occasion fits,

  And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy:

  Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits,

  I waile, and make my woes a tragedy. 750

  Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,

  Delights not in my merth, nor rues my smart:

  But when I laugh, she mocks, and when I cry,

  She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart.

  What then can move her? If nor merth nor mone, 755

  She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.

  Amoretti LV

  So oft as I her beauty doe behold,

  And therewith doe her cruelty compare,

  I marvaile of what substance was the mould

  The which her made attonce so cruell faire. 760

  Not earth; for her high thoghts more heavenly are:

  Not water; for her love doth burne like fyre:

  Not ayre; for she is not so light or rare:

  Not fyre; for she doth friese with faint desire.

  Then needs another element inquire, 765

  Whereof she mote be made; that is the skye.

  For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire,

  And eke her mind is pure immortall hye.

  Then sith to heaven ye lykened are the best,

  Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest. 770

  Amoretti LVI

  Fayre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind,

  As is a tygre, that with greedinesse

  Hunts after bloud, when he by chance doth find

  A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse.

  Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pittilesse, 775

  As is a storme, that all things doth prostrate,

  Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse,

  Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate.

  Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate,

  As is a rocke amidst the raging floods, 780

  Gaynst which a ship, of succour desolate,

  Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods.

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

  Whom ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and destroy.

  Amoretti LVII

  Sweet warriour, when shall I have peace with you? 785

  High time it is this warre now ended were:

  Which I no lenger can endure to sue,

  Ne your incessant battry more to beare.

  So weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare,

  That wonder is how I should live a jot, 790

  Seeing my hart through launched every where

  With thousand arrowes which your eies have shot:

  Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,

  But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures.

  Ye cruell one! what glory can be got, 795

  In slaying him that would live gladly yours?

  Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace,

  That al my wounds wil heale in little space.

  Amoretti LVIII

  By her that is most assured to her selfe

  Weake is th’ assurance that weake flesh reposeth 800

  In her owne powre, and scorneth others ayde;

  That soonest fals, when as she most supposeth

  Her selfe assurd, and is of nought affrayd.

  All flesh is frayle, and all her strength unstayd,

  Like a vaine bubble blowen up with ayre: 805

  Devouring tyme and changeful chance have prayd

  Her glories pride, that none may it repayre.

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

  But fayleth, trusting on his owne assurance:

  And he that standeth on the hyghest stayre 810

  Fals lowest: for on earth nought hath enduraunce.

  Why then doe ye, proud fayre, misdeeme so farre,

  That to your selfe ye most assured arre?

  Amoretti LIX

  Thrise happie she that is so well assured

  Unto her selfe, and setled so in hart, 815

  That nether will for better be allured,

  Ne feard with worse to any chaunce to start:

  But, like a steddy ship, doth strongly part

  The raging waves, and keepes her course aright,

  Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, 820

  Ne ought for fayrer weathers false delight.

  Such selfe assurance need not feare the spight

  Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends:

  But in the stay of her owne stedfast might,

  Nether to one her selfe nor other bends. 825

  Most happy she that most assured doth rest;

  But he most happy who such one loves best.

  Amoretti LX

  They that in course of heavenly spheares are skild

  To every planet point his sundry yeare,

  In which her circles voyage is fulfild: 830

  As Mars in three score yeares doth run his spheare.

  So since the winged god his planet cleare

  Began in me to move, one yeare is spent:

  The which doth longer unto me appeare,

  Then al those fourty which my life outwent. 835

  Then, by that count which lovers books invent,

  The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes:

  Which I have wasted in long languishment,

  That seemd the longer for my greater paines.

  But let my loves fayre planet short her wayes 840

  This yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes.

  Amoretti LXI

  The glorious image of the Makers beautie,

  My soverayne saynt, the idoll of my thought,

  Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of dewtie,

  T’ accuse of pride, or rashly blame for ought. 845

  For being, as she is, divinely wrought,

  And of the brood of angels hevenly borne,

  And with the crew of blessed saynts upbrought,

  Each of which did her with theyr guifts adorne,

  The bud of joy, the blossome of the morne, 850

  The beame of light, whom mortal eyes admyre,

  What reason is it then but she should scorne

  Base things, that to her love too bold aspire?

  Such heavenly formes ought rather worshipt be,

  Then dare be lov’d by men of meane degree. 855

  Amoretti LXII

  The weary yeare his race now having run,

  The new begins his compast course anew:

  With shew of morning mylde he hath begun,

  Betokening peace and plenty to ensew.

  So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, 860

  Chaunge eeke our mynds, and former lives amend;

  The old yeares sinnes forepast let us eschew,

  And fly the faults with which we did offend.

  Then shall the new yeares joy forth freshly send

  Into the glooming world his gladsome ray; 865

  And all these stormes, which now his beauty blend,

  Shall turne to caulmes, and tymely cleare away.

  So likewise, love, cheare you your heavy spright,

  And chaunge old yeares annoy to new delight.

  Amoretti LXIII

  After long stormes and tempests sad assay, 870

  Which hardly I endured heretofore,

  In dread of death, and daungerous dismay,

  With which my silly barke was tossed sore,

  I doe at length descry the happy shore,

  In which I hope ere long for to arryve: 875

/>   Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught with store

  Of all that deare and daynty is alyve.

  Most happy he that can at last atchyve

  The joyous safety of so sweet a rest;

  Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 880

  Remembrance of all paines which him opprest.

  All paines are nothing in respect of this,

  All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse.

  Amoretti LXIV

  Comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found)

  Me seemd I smelt a gardin of sweet flowres, 885

  That dainty odours from them threw around,

  For damzels fit to decke their lovers bowres.

  Her lips did smell lyke unto gillyflowers;

  Her ruddy cheekes lyke unto roses red;

  Her snowy browes lyke budded bellamoures; 890

  Her lovely eyes lyke pincks but newly spred;

  Her goodly bosome lyke a strawberry bed;

  Her neck lyke to a bounch of cullambynes;

  Her brest lyke lillyes, ere theyr leaves be shed;

  Her nipples lyke yong blossomd jessemynes. 895

  Such fragrant flowres doe give most odorous smell,

  But her sweet odour did them all excell.

  Amoretti LXV

  The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre love, is vaine,

  That fondly feare to loose your liberty,

  When loosing one, two liberties ye gayne, 900

  And make him bond that bondage earst dyd fly.

  Sweet be the bands the which true love doth tye,

  Without constraynt or dread of any ill:

  The gentle birde feeles no captivity

  Within her cage, but singes and feeds her fill. 905

  There Pride dare not approch, nor Discord spill

  The league twixt them that loyal love hath bound:

  But simple Truth and mutuall Good Will

  Seekes with sweet peace to salve each others wound:

  There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen towre, 910

  And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.

  Amoretti LXVI