| |
| SO feeble is the thread, that doth the burden stay | |
| Of my poor life; in heavy plight, that falleth in decay; | |
| That, but it have elsewhere some aid or some succours, | |
| The running spindle of my fate anon shall end his course. | |
| For since the unhappy hour, that did me to depart, | 5 |
| From my sweet weal, one only hope hath stayed my life apart: | |
| Which doth persuade such words unto my sored mind, | |
| ‘Maintain thyself, O woful wight, some better luck to find: | |
| For though thou be deprived from thy desired sight, | |
| Who can thee tell, if thy return be for thy more delight? | 10 |
| Or, who can tell, thy loss if thou mayst once recover, | |
| Some pleasant hour thy woe may wrap, and thee defend and cover.’ | |
| Thus in distrust as yet it hath my life sustained; | |
| But now, alas, I see it faint, and I by trust am trained. | |
| The time doth fleet, and I see how the hours do bend | 15 |
| So fast, that I have scant the space to mark my coming end. | |
| Westward the sun from out the east scant shews his light, | |
| When in the west he hides him straight, within the dark of night; | |
| And comes as fast, where he began his path awry, | |
| From east to west, from west to east, so doth his journey lie. | 20 |
| The life so short, so frail, that mortal men live here; | |
| So great a weight, so heavy charge the bodies that we bear; | |
| That when I think upon the distance and the space, | |
| That doth so far divide me from my dear desired face, | |
| I know not how t’ attain the wings that I require, | 25 |
| To lift me up, that I might fly, to follow my desire. | |
| Thus of that hope, that doth my life something sustain, | |
| Alas, I fear, and partly feel, full little doth remain. | |
| Each place doth bring me grief, where I do not behold | |
| Those lively eyes, which of my thoughts were wont the keys to hold. | 30 |
| Those thoughts were pleasant sweet, whilst I enjoy’d that grace; | |
| My pleasure past, my present pain when I might well embrace. | |
| And for because my want should more my woe increase; | |
| In watch, in sleep, both day and night, my will doth never cease. | |
| That thing to wish, whereof since I did lose the sight, | 35 |
| Was never thing that might in ought my woful heart delight. | |
| Th’ uneasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete | |
| The floods, the seas, the lands, the hills, that doth them intermete | |
| ’Tween me, and those shene lights that wonted for to clear | |
| My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Phœbus’ sphere. | 40 |
| It teacheth me also what was my pleasant state, | |
| The more to feel, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate. | |
| If such record, alas, provoke the inflamed mind, | |
| Which sprang that day that I did leave the best of me behind: | |
| If love forget himself by length of absence let, | 45 |
| Who doth me guide, O woful wretch, unto this baited net | |
| Where doth increase my care, much better were for me, | |
| As dumb as stone, all things forgot, still absent for to be. | |
| Alas, the clear crystal, the bright transplendent glass | |
| Doth not bewray the colours hid, which underneath it has; | 50 |
| As doth th’ accumbred sprite the thoughtful throes discover, | |
| Of fierce delight, of fervent love, that in our hearts we cover: | |
| Out by these eyes it sheweth that evermore delight, | |
| In plaint and tears to seek redress; and eke both day and night, | |
| Those kinds of pleasures most wherein men so rejoice, | 55 |
| To me they do redouble still of stormy sighs the voice. | |
| For I am one of them whom plaint doth well content, | |
| It fits me well mine absent wealth me seems for to lament; | |
| And with my tears to assay to charge mine eyes twain, | |
| Like as my heart above the brink is fraughted full of pain: | 60 |
| And for because thereto, that those fair eyes to treat | |
| Do me provoke; I will return, my plaint thus to repeat: | |
| For, there is nothing else so toucheth me within; | |
| Where they rule all, and I alone nought but the case, or skin: | |
| Wherefore I shall return to them, as well, or spring | 65 |
| From whom descends my mortal woe, above all other thing. | |
| So shall mine eyes in pain accompany my heart, | |
| That were the guides, that did it lead of love to feel the smart. | |
| The crisped gold that doth surmount Apollo’s pride; | |
| The lively streams of pleasant stars that under it doth glide; | 70 |
| Wherein the beams of love do still increase their heat, | |
| Which yet so far touch me so near, in cold to make me sweat: | |
| The wise and pleasant talk, so rare, or else alone, | |
| That gave to me the courteous gift, that erst had never none; | |
| Be far from me, alas, and every other thing | 75 |
| I might forbear with better will, than this that did me bring | |
| With pleasant word and cheer, redress of linger’d pain, | |
| And wonted oft in kindled will to virtue me to train. | |
| Thus am I forced to hear, and hearken after news: | |
| My comfort scant, my large desire in doubtful trust renews. | 80 |
| And yet with more delight to moan my woful case, | |
| I must complain those hands, these arms that firmly do embrace | |
| Me from myself, and rule the stern of my poor life; | |
| The sweet disdains the pleasant wraths and eke the lovely strife, | |
| That wonted well to tune in temper just, and meet, | 85 |
| The rage, that oft did make me err, by furor undiscreet. | |
| All this is hid fro me, with sharp and ragged hills, | |
| At others’ will my long abode my deep despair fulfils; | |
| And if my hope sometime rise up by some redress, | |
| It stumbleth straight, for feeble faint, my fear hath such excess. | 90 |
| Such is the sort of hope, the less for more desire, | |
| And yet I trust ere that I die to see that I require: | |
| The resting-place of love, where virtue dwells and grows, | |
| There I desire my weary life sometime may take repose. | |
| My Song, thou shalt attain to find that pleasant place, | 95 |
| Where she doth live, by whom I live: may chance to have this grace, | |
| When she hath read, and seen the grief wherein I serve, | |
| Between her breasts she shall thee put, there shall she thee reserve: | |
| Then tell her that I come, she shall me shortly see, | |
| And if for weight the body fail, the soul shall to her flee. | 100 |
| |
