Fair Dog, Which So My Heart

FAIR dog, which so my heart dost tear asunder,

That my life's-blood, my bowels, overfloweth,

Alas, what wicked rage conceal'st thou under

These sweet enticing joys, thy forehead showeth?

Me, whom the light-wing'd god of long hath chas'd,

Thou hast attain'd, thou gav'st that fatal wound,

Which my soul's peaceful innocence hath raz'd,

And reason to her servant humor bound.

Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,

Give me my death, methinks even time upbraideth

A fullness of the woes, wherein I languish;

Or if thou wilt I live, then pity pleadeth

Help out of thee, since nature hath reveal'd,

That with thy tongue thy bitings may be heal'd.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

You Little Stars

YOU little stars that live in skies

And glory in Apollo's glory,

In whose aspects conjoined lies

The heaven's will and nature's story,

Joy to be liken'd to those eyes,

Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry;

For when you force thoughts from above,

These overrule your force by love.

And thou, O Love, which in these eyes

Hast marri'd reason with affection,

And made them saints of beauty's skies,

Where joys are shadows of perfection,

Lend my thy wings that I may rise

Up not by worth, but thy election;

For I have vow'd in strangest fashion,

To love, and never seek compassion.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

The World That All Contains

THE world, that all contains, is ever moving;

The stars within their spheres forever turn'd;

Nature, the queen of change, to change is loving,

And form to matter new is still adjourn'd.

Fortune, our fancy-god, to vary liketh;

Place is not bound to things within it plac'd;

The present time upon time pass'd striketh;

With Phoebus' wand'ring course the earth is grac'd.

The air still moves, and by its moving cleareth;

The fire up ascends and planets feedeth;

The water passeth on and all lets* weareth;          [*obstructions]

The earth stands still, yet change of changes breedeth.

Her plants, which summer ripes, in winter fade;

Each creature in unconstant mother lieth;

Man made of earth, and for whom earth is made,

Still dying lives and living ever dieth;

Only, like fate, sweet Myra never varies,

Yet in her eyes the doom of all change carries.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

Fie, Foolish Earth

FIE, foolish earth, think you the heaven wants glory

Because your shadows do yourself benight?

All's dark unto the blind, let them be sorry;

The heavens in themselves are ever bright.

Fie, fond* desire, think you that love wants glory          [*foolish]

Because your shadows do yourself benight?

The hopes and fears of lust may make men sorry,

But love still in herself finds her delight.

Then earth, stand fast, the sky that you benight

Will turn again and so restore your glory;

Desire be steady, hope is your delight,

An orb wherein no creature can be sorry,

Love being plac'd above these middle regions

Where every passion wars itself with legions.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

The Nurse-life Wheat

THE nurse-life wheat, within his green husk growing,

Flatters our hope and tickles our desire,

Nature's true riches in sweet beauties showing,

Which set all hearts with lobor's love on fire.

No less fair is the wheat when golden ear

Shows unto hope the joys of near enjoying;

Fair and sweet is the bud, more sweet and fair

The rose, which proves that Time is not destroying.

Caelica, your youth, the morning of delight,

Enamel'd o'er with beauty's white and red,

All sense and thoughts did to belief invite,

That love and glory there are brought to bed;

And your ripe years' love-noon, he goes no higher,

Turns all the spirits of man into desire.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

Absence, The Noble Truce

ABSENCE, the noble truce

Of Cupid's war,

Where though desires want use,

They honor'd are,

Thou art the just protection

Of prodigal affection;

Have thou the praise.

When bankrupt Cupid braveth

Thy mines, his credit saveth

With sweet delays.

Of wounds which presence makes

With beauty's shot,

Absence the anguish slakes,

But healeth not;

Absence records the stories

Wherein desire glories;

Although she burn,

She cherisheth the spirits

Where constancy inherits

And passions mourn.

Absence, like dainty clouds

On glorious-bright*,          [*the sun]

Nature's weak senses shrouds

From harming light.

Absence maintains the treasure

Of pleasure unto pleasure,

Sparing with praise;

Absence doth nurse the fir

Which starves and feeds desire

With sweet delays.

Presence to every part

Of beauty ties;

Where wonder rules the heart

There pleasure dies.

Presence plagues the mind and senses

With modesty's defenses;

Absence is free.

Thoughts do in absence venter*          [*"venter" = escape]

On Cupid's shadow'd center;

They wink and see.

But thoughts be not so brave

With absent joy;

For you, with that you have,

Your self destroy.

The absence which you glory

Is that which makes you sorry

And burn in vain,

For thought is not the weapon,

Wherewith thoughts'-ease men cheapen;

Absence is pain.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

Cynthia, Because Your Horns

CYNTHIA*, because your horns look diverse ways,          [*the moon]

Now darken'd to the east, now to the west,

Then at full-glory once in thirty days,

Sense doth believe that change is nature's rest.

Poor earth, that dare presume to judge the sky,

Cynthia is ever round and never varies,

Shadows and distance do abuse the eye,

And in abused sense truth oft miscarries,

Yet who this language to the people speaks,

Opinion's empire, sense's idol breaks.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

The Earth with Thunder Torn

THE earth with thunder torn, with fire blasted,

With waters dron'd, with windy palsy shaken,

Cannot for this with heaven be distast'd,

Since thunder, rain, and winds from earth are taken;

Man torn with love, with inward furies blasted,

Drown'd with despair, with fleshly lustings shaken,

Cannot for this with heaven be distast'd;

Love, fury, lustings out of man are taken.

Then, man, endure thyself, those clouds will vanish;

Life is a top which whipping sorrow driveth;

Wisdom must bear what our flesh cannot banish.

The humble lead, the stubborn bootless striveth.

Or, man, forsake thyself, to heaven turn thee,

Her flames enlighten nature, never burn thee.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke

Rewards of Earth

REWARDS of earth, Nobility and Fame,

To senses glory and to conscience woe,

How little be you for so great a name?

Yet less is he with men what thinks you so.

For earthly power, that stands by fleshly wit,

Hath banished that truth which should govern it.

Nobility, power's golden fetter is,

Wherewith wise kings subjection do adorn,

To make man think her heavy yoke a bliss

Because it makes him more than he was born.

Yet still a slave, dimm'd by mists of a crown,

Let he should see what riseth, what pulls down.

Fame, that is but good words of evil deeds,

Begotten by the harm we have, or do,

Greatest far off, least ever where it breeds,

We both with dangers and disquiet woo;

And in our flesh, the vanities' false glass,

We thus deceiv'd adore these calves of brass.

Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke