And that I have deserved

With true and faithful heart,
Is to his hands reserved

That never felt the smart,

3 But happy is that man

That 'scaped hath the grief,
That love will teach him can,
By wanting his relief.
A scourge to quiet minds

It is, who taketh heed;
A common plage1 that binds
A travail without meed.

4 This gift it hath also:
Whoso enjoys it most,
A thousand troubles grow,
To vex his wearied ghost.2
And last it may not long,
The truest thing of all:
And sure the greatest wrong,
That is within this thrall.

5 But since thou, desert place, Canst give me no account

Of my desired grace,

That I to have was wont;
Farewell! thou hast me taught,
To think me not the first

That love hath set aloft,

And casten in the dust.

'Plage: a toil or net.-2 Ghost:' spirit, mind.

R

THE LOVER DESCRIBETH HIS RESTLESS STATE.

1 As oft as I behold and see

The sovereign beauty that me bound,
The nigher my comfort is to me,
Alas! the fresher is my wound.

2 As flame doth quench by rage of fire, And running streams consume by rain, So doth the sight that I desire

Appease my grief and deadly pain.

3 Like as the fly that see'th the flame,
And thinks to play her in the fire,
That found her woe, and sought her game
Where grief did grow by her desire;

4 First when I saw those crystal streams,
Whose beauty made my mortal wound,
I little thought within their beams
So sweet a venom to have found.

5 But wilful will did prick me forth,

Blind Cupid did me whip and guide;
Force made me take my grief in worth;1
My fruitless hope my harm did hide;

6 Wherein is hid the cruel bit,

Whose sharp repulse none can resist
And eke the spur that strains each wit
To run the race against his list.2

''In worth :' patiently.—2 His list:' his pleasure.

7 As cruel waves full oft be found

Against the rocks to roar and cry;
So doth my heart full oft rebound
Against my breast full bitterly.

8 And as the spider draws her line,

With labour lost I frame my suit; The fault is hers, the loss is mine : Of ill-sown seed such is the fruit.

9 I fall, and see mine own decay;

As he that bears flame in his breast, Forgets for pain to cast away

The thing that breedeth his unrest.

THE LOVER EXCUSETH HIMSELF OF

SUSPECTED CHANGE.

1 THOUGH I regarded not

The promise made by me;
Or passed not to spot
My faith and honesty :
Yet were my fancy strange,
And wilful will to wite,1
If I sought now to change
A falcon for a kite.

2 All men might well dispraise My wit and enterprise,

If I esteemed a pese2

Above a pearl in price:

Or judged the owl in sight
The sparhawk to excel,

เ

Wite:' blame.-2 Pese:' a pea.

Which flieth but in the night,

As all men know right well.

3 Or if I sought to sail Into the brittle port,

Where anchor hold doth fail

To such as do resort;
And leave the haven sure,

Where blows no blustering wind;

Nor fickleness in ure,1

So far forth as I find.

4 No! think me not so light,
Nor of so churlish kind,
Though it lay in my might
My bondage to unbind,
That I would leave the hind

To hunt the gander's foe:
No, no! I have no mind
To make exchanges so.

5 Nor yet to change at all;
For think, it may not be
That I should seek to fall
From my felicity.
Desirous for to win,

And loath for to forego;
Or new change to begin ;
How may all this be so?

6 The fire it cannot freeze,
For it is not his kind;
Nor true love cannot lese2

The constance of the mind.

''Ure :' see note, page 245.—2 'Lese:' lose.

Yet as soon shall the fire

Want heat to blaze and burn,
As I, in such desire,

Have once a thought to turn.

A CARELESS MAN

SCORNING AND DESCRIBING THE SUBTLE USAGE OF WOMEN TOWARDS THEIR LOVERS.

WRAPT in my careless cloak, as I walk to and fro, I see how love can show what force there reigneth in his bow:

And how he shooteth eke a hardy heart to wound; And where he glanceth by again, that little hurt is found.

For seldom is it seen he woundeth hearts alike;

The one may rage, when t'other's love is often far to seek.

All this I see, with more; and wonder thinketh me How he can strike the one so sore, and leave the other free.

I see that wounded wight that suff'reth all this wrong,
How he is fed with yeas and nays, and liveth all too long.
In silence though I keep such secrets to myself,
Yet do I see how she sometime doth yield a look by

stealth,

11

As though it seem'd, 'I wis, I will not lose thee so;’ When in her heart so sweet a thought did never truly

Then

grow.

say I thus: Alas! that man is far from bliss, That doth receive for his relief none other gain but this.' And she that feeds him so, I feel and find it plain, Is but to glory in her power, that over such can reign :