REST, good my Muse, and give me leave to rest;
We strive in vain:
Conceal thy skill within thy sacred breast,
Though to thy pain.
The honour great which Poets wont to have,
With worthy deeds is buried deep in grave;
Each man will hide his name,
Thereby to hide his shame;
And silence is the praise their virtues crave.
To praise is flattery, malice to dispraise :
Hard is the choice.
What cause is left for thee, my Muse, to raise
Thy heav'nly voice?
Delight thyself on sweet Parnassus' hill,
And for a better time reserve thy skill;
There let thy silver sound,
From Cyrrha wood rebound;
And all the vale with learned music fill.
Then shall those fools, that now prefer each rhyme Before thy skill,
With hand and foot in vain assay to climb
There shalt thou sit, and scorn them with disdain,
To see their fruitless labour all in vain :
But they shall fret with spite,
To see thy glory bright,
And know themselves thereto cannot attain.
MINE eyes have spent their tears, and now are dry:
My weary hand will guide my pen no more:
My voice is hoarse, and can no longer cry:
My head hath left no new complaints in store.
My heart is overburden'd so with pain,
That sense of grief doth none therein remain.
The tears you see distilling from mine eyes,
My gentle Muse doth shed for this my grief;
The plaints you hear are her incessant cries,
By which she calls in vain for some relief.
She never parted since my grief begun ;
In her I live; she dead, my life were done.
Then, loving Muse, depart, and let me die;
Some braver youth will sue to thee for grace,
That may advance thy glory to the sky,
And make thee scorn blind Fortune's frowning face.
d This title is omitted in the first edition.
e so, in the second edition, but evidently a misprint.
My heart and head, that did thee entertain,
Desire and Fortune with despite have slain.
My lady dares not lodge thee in her breast,
For fear, un'wares she let in love with thee.
For well she thinks some part in thee must rest,
Of that which so possess'd each part of me.
Then, good my Muse, fly back to heav'n again,
And let me die, to end this endless pain.
BREAK, heavy heart, and rid me of this pain,
This pain that still increaseth day by day :
By day with sighs I spend myself in vain;
In vain by night with tears I waste away.
Away I waste with tears, by night in vain :
Tears, sighs, by night, by day, increase this pain.
Mine eyes no eyes, but fountains of my tears;
My tears no tears, but floods to moist my heart;
My heart no heart, but labours of my fears;
My fears no fears, but feelings of my smart.
My smart, my fears, my heart, my tears, mine eyes,
Are blind, dried, spent, past, wasted with my cries.
f This line is omitted in the first edition.
g harbour.-edit, 1608.
And yet mine eyes, though blind, see cause of grief;
And yet my tears, though dried, run down amain;
And yet my heart, though spent, attends relief;
And yet my fears, though past, increase my pain.
And I live, and living feel more smart,
And smarting, cry in vain, 'Break, heavy heart!"
WHERE wit is over-rul'd by will,
And will is led by fond Desire,
There Reason were as good be still,
As speaking, kindle greater fire;
For where Desire doth bear the sway,
The heart must rule, the head obey.
What boots the cunning pilot's skill,
To tell which way to shape their course;
When he that steers will have his will,
And drive them where he list, perforce?
So Reason shews the truth in vain,
Where fond Desire as king doth reign.
h These words are omitted in the first edition.
"TWIXT heat and cold, 'twixt death and life,
I freeze and burn, I live and die;
Which jointly work in me such strife,
I live in death, in cold I fry.
Nor hot, nor cold, nor 'live, nor dead,
Neither, and both, this life I lead.
First, burning heat sets all on fire,
Whereby I seem in flames to fry;
Then cold Despair kills hot Desire,
That drenched deep in death I lie.
Heat drives out cold, and keeps my life;
Cold quencheth heat, no end of strife.
The less I hope to have my will,
The more I feel desire increase;
And as desire increaseth still,
Despair to quench it doth not cease.
So live I, as the lamp, whose light
Oft comes, oft goes, now dim, now bright.
This title is omitted in the first edition.
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