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  Importune Me No More

WHEN I was fair and young, and favor graced me,

Of many I was sought, their mistress for to be:

But I did scorn them all, and answer'd them therefore,

     "Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere!

          Importune* me no more!"          {beg or solicit persistently}



How many weeping eyes I made to pine with woe,

How many sighing hearts, I have no skill to show:

Yet I the prouder grew, and answer'd them therefore,

     "Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere!

          Importune me no more!"



Then spake fair Venus' son, that proud victorious boy,

And said, "Fine Dame, since that you be so coy,

I will so pluck your plumes that you shall say no more,

     'Go, go, go,seek some otherwhere!

          Importune me no more!'"



When he had spake these words, such change grew in my breast

That neither night nor day since that, I could take any rest.

Then, lo! I did repent that I had said before,

     "Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere!

          Importune me no more!"

Elizabeth Tudor, Queen Elizabeth I

  The Doubt of Future Foes

THE doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,

And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy;

For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb,

Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.

But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds,

Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.

The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,

And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see.

The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,

Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds.

The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow

Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know.

No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port;

Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.

My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ

To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.

Elizabeth Tudor, Queen Elizabeth I

  On Monsieur's Departure, 1582

I GRIEVE and dare not show my discontent;

I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;

I do, yet dare not say I ever meant;

I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate.

I am, and not; I freeze and yet am burned,

Since from myself another self I turned.



My care is like my shadow in the sun—

Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,

Stands, and lies by me, doth what I have done;

His too familiar care doth make me rue it.

No means I find to rid him from my breast,

Till by the end of things it be supprest.



Some gentler passion slide into my mind,

For I am soft, and made of melting snow;

Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind.

Let me or float or sink, be high or low;

Or let me live with some more sweet content,

Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.

Elizabeth Tudor, Queen Elizabeth I

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