Seuenth Song
Whose senses in so euill consort their stepdame Nature laies,
That rauishing delight in them most sweete tunes do not raise;
Or if they do delight therein, yet are so closde with wit,
As with ententious lips to set a title vaine on it;
O let them heare these sacred tunes, and learne in Wonders scholes,
To be, in things past bounds of wit, fooles: if they be not fooles.
Who haue so leaden eyes, as not to see sweet Beauties show,
Or, seeing, haue so wooden wits, as not that worth to know,
Or, knowing, haue so muddy minds, as not to be in loue,
Or, louing, haue so frothy thoughts, as eas'ly thence to moue; O let them see these heau'nly beames, and in faire letters reede A lesson fit, both sight and skill, loue and firme loue to breede. Heare then, but then with wonder heare, see, but adoring, see, No mortall gifts, no earthly fruites, now here descended be: See, doo you see this face? a face, nay, image of the skies, Of which the two life-giuing lights are figur'd in her eyes:
Heare you this soule-inuading voice, and count it but a voice?
The very essence of their tunes, when angels do reioyce.
Eight Song
In a groue most rich of shade,
Where birds wanton musicke made, Maie, then yong, his pide weedes showing, New-perfum'd with flowers fresh growing:
Astrophel with Stella sweet
Did for mutual comfort meete,
Both within themselues oppressed, But each in the other blessed.
Him great harmes had taught much care,
Her faire necke a foule yoke bare; But her sight his cares did banish, In his sight her yoke did vanish:
Wept they had, alas, the while,
But now teares themselues did smile, While their eyes, by Loue directed, Enterchangeably reflected.
Sigh they did; but now betwixt
Sighes of woe were glad sighes mixt; With arms crost, yet testifying restlesse rest, and liuing dying. Their eares hungrie of each word
Which the deare tongue would afford; But their tongues restrain'd from walking, Till their harts had ended talking.
But when their tongues could not speake,
Loue it selfe did silence breake; Loue did set his lips asunder, Thus to speake in loue and wonder.
Stella, Soueraigne of my ioy,
Faire triumpher of annoy;
Stella, Starre of heauenly fier,
Stella, loadstar of desier;
Stella, in whose shining eyes
Are the lights of Cupids skies,
Whose beames, where they once are darted,
Loue therewith is streight imparted;
Stella, whose voice when it speakes
Senses all asunder breakes;
Stella, whose voice, when it singeth,
Angels to acquaintance bringeth;
Stella, in whose body is
Writ each caracter of blisse; Whose face all, all beauty passeth, Saue thy mind, which it surpasseth. Graunt, O graunt; but speach, alas, Failes me, fearing on to passe:
Graunt, O me: what am I saying? But no fault there is in praying.
Graunt (O Deere) on knees I pray,
(Knees on ground he then did stay) That, not I, but since I loue you,
Time and place for me may moue you.
Neuer season was more fit;
Never roome more apt for it; Smiling ayre allowes my reason; These birds sing, Now vse the season.
This small wind, which so sweete is,
See how it the leaues doth kisse; Each tree in his best attiring, Sense of Loue to Loue inspiring.
Loue makes earth the water drink,
Loue to earth makes water sinke; And, if dumbe things be so witty, Shall a heauenly Grace want pitty?
There his hands, in their speech, faine
Would haue made tongues language plaine; But her hands, his hands repelling, Gaue repulse all grace expelling. Then she spake; her speech was such, So not eares, but hart did tuch: While such-wise she loue denied, And yet loue she signified.
Astrophel, sayd she, my loue,
Cease, in these effects, to proue;
Now be still, yet still beleeue me,
Thy griefe more then death would grieue me.
If that any thought in me
Can tast comfort but of thee, Let me, fed with hellish anguish, Ioylesse, hopelesse, endlesse languish.
If those eyes you praised be
Halfe so deare as you to me,
Let me home returne, starke blinded
Of those eyes, and blinder minded;
If to secret of my hart,
I do any wish impart, Where thou art not formost placed, Be both wish and I defaced.
If more may be sayd, I say,
All my blisse in thee I lay; If thou loue, my loue, content thee, For all loue, all faith is meant thee.
Trust me, while I thee deny,
In my selfe the smart I try;
Tyran Honour doth thus vse thee, Stellas selfe might not refuse thee.
Therefore, deare, this no more moue,
Least, though I leaue not thy loue, Which too deep in me is framed, I should blush when thou art named.
Therewithall away she went,
Leauing him to passion rent, With what she had done and spoken, That therewith my song is broken.
Ninth Song
Go, my Flocke, go, get you hence,
Seeke a better place of feeding,
Where you may haue some defence
Fro the stormes in my breast breeding, And showers from mine eyes proceeding.
Leaue a wretch, in whom all wo
Can abide to keepe no measure;
Merry Flocke, such one forego,
Vnto whom mirth is displeasure, Onely rich in mischiefs treasure. Yet, alas, before you go, Heare your wofull Maisters story, Which to stones I els would show: Sorrow only then hath glory When 'tis excellently sorry.
Stella, fiercest shepherdesse,
Fiercest, but yet fairest euer;
Stella, whom, O heauens still blesse, Though against me she perseuer, Though I blisse enherit neuer:
Stella hath refused me!
Stella, who more loue hath proued,
In this caitife heart to be, Then can in good eawes be moued Toward Lambkins best beloued.
Stella hath refused me!
Astrophell, that so well served
In this pleasant Spring must see,
While in pride flowers be preserued, Himselfe onely Winter-sterued.
Why (alas) doth she then sweare
That she loueth me so dearely,
Seeing me so long to beare
Coles of loue that burne so cleerly, And yet leaue me helplesse meerely? Is that loue? forsooth, I trow,
If I saw my good dog grieued,
And a helpe for him did know,
My loue should not be beleeued, But he were by me releeued.
No, she hates me, well-away, Faining loue, somewhat to please me:
For she knows, if she display All her hate, death soone would seaze me, And of hideous torments ease me.
Then adieu, deare Flocke, adieu;
But, alas, if in your straying
Heauenly Stella meete with you,
Tell her, in your pitious blaying,
Her poore Slaues vniust decaying.