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With scalding sighs, for lack of gale,
, Toward me, the sweet port of his availe.1
3 Alas! how oft in dreams I see
Those eyes that were my food; Which sometime so delighted me
That yet they do me good : Wherewith I wake with his return, Whose absent flame did make me burn : But when I find the lack, Lord ! how I mourn.
4 When other lovers in arms across,
Rejoice their chief delight;
I stand the bitter night
5 And in green waves when the salt flood
Doth rise by rage of wind,
Assail my restless mind.
6 And when the seas wax calm again,
To chase from me annoy,
So dread cuts off my joy.
' • Port of his availe : ' port where he intends to lower his sails.--* • Drencheth :' drowneth.
Thus is my wealth mingled with woe:
COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER
REFUSED UPON HIS LADY'S UNJUST MISTAKING OF HIS
In winter's just return, when Boreas 'gan his reign,
A just reward, a happy end, if it may chance thee so. 10 Thy pleasures past have wrought thy woe without redress; If thou hadst never felt no joy, thy smart had been the
less.' And, reckless of his life, he 'gan both sigh and groan : A rueful thing methought it was, to hear him make such
'Thou cursed pen,' said he, 'woe-worth the bird thee
The man, the knife, and all that made thee, woe be to
their share : Woe-worth the time and place where I so could indite ; And woe be it yet once again, the pen that so can write.
1 • Wealth : ' well-being.
Unhappy hand! it had been happy time for me, 19
there to rid; Had been my heart of flint, it must have melted tho, 2 For in
life I never saw a man so full of woe. With tears for his redress I rashly to him ran, And in my arms I caught him fast, and thus I spake
him than : • What woful wight art thou, that in such heavy case Torments thyself with such despite, here in this desert
30 Wherewith, as all aghast, fulfill’d with ire and dread, He cast on me a staring look, with colour pale and dead: 'Nay, what art thou,'quoth he,' that in this heavy plight Dost find me here, most woful wretch, that life hath in
despite ? 'I am,' quoth I, “but poor, and simple in degree, A shepherd's charge I have in hand, unworthy though
I be.' With that he gave a sigh, as though the sky should fall, And loud, alas ! he shriekèd oft, and, ‘Shepherd,' 'gan
Come, bie thee fast at once, and print it in thy heart, So thou shalt know, and I shall tell thee, guiltless how I smart.'
40 His back against the tree, sore feebled all with faint, With weary sprite he stretch'd him up, and thus he told his plaint:
1. For-did : ' destroyed.—. Tho :' then.
"Once in my heart,' quoth he, ‘it chancèd me to love 43 Such one, in whom hath Nature wrought, her cunning
for to prove;
And sure I cannot say, but many years were spent,
forego. Who joyed then but I ? who had this worldès bliss ? Who might compare a life to mine, that never thought on this?
60 But dwelling in this truth, amid my greatest joy, Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy. She is reversed clean, and beareth me in hand, That my deserts have given cause to break this faithful
And for my just excuse availeth no defence.
hie thee hence,
death! Welcome, a thousandfold now dearer unto me Than should, without her love to live, an emperor to be.' Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost; And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath lost. Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right For pity through my heart did bleed, to see so piteous
My blood from heat to cold oft changèd wonders sore; 60 A thousand troubles there I found I never knew before ; 'Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought in
fear, That long it was ere I could call to mind what I did
there. But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of mine: The furies pass’d, and I my wits restored by length of
time. Then as I could devise, to seek I thought it best Where I might find some worthy place for such a corse
to rest; And in my mind it came, from thence not far away, Where Cressid's love, King Priam's son, the worthy
Troilus lay: By him I made his tomb, in token he was true, And as to him belongèd well, I cover'd it with blue. 80 Whose soul by angels' power departed not so soon, But to the heavens, lo! it fled, for to receive his doom.
COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER,
BEING UPON THE SEA.
Good ladies ! ye that have your pleasure in exile,
me awhile : And such as by their lords do set but little price, Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance comes
on the dice.
1. Blue: 'the colour of constancy. Burns says, “The hyacinth for constancy, as the unchanging blue.' Each colour was held significant of character.