Shores Wife

Sigh, sad musde accents, of my funerall verse,
In lamentable grones, (wrought from true pietie)
Sing you the wept song, on her wronged hearce,
Is gratefull obsequie to her mortall deitie
Sighe ô, sing Actuallie the bewtie pained,
With bewties wonder honorablie stained.
Bleed pen in blacke teares, dombe, yet pittie mouing
The weeping Elegies to the worthiest faire
Weepe pen in warme bloud, to the world approuing
How faire, how good, how deare, old age did way her.
Bleed tearès weepe bloud, pen, sing, sighe on her hearce
Her gratefull obsequies in a funerall verse.
Carelesse, so sleepe our Lœthe drincking eyes,
In present bewties, deemd deuinely rare
Neglecting th' Ancient wonder time did pryse
For such a trophie as had no compare,
That now she seems as if she had bin neuer,
Whom euen eternitie said should liue for euer.
The high-musde period of the storie reader,
(Wondring or warre, or matter causing terror)
Omits her fortune, to her fates arreader,
(Precisly censuring bewtie by her error)
So she that euen the fairest she surmounted,
Now of the fairest, is the fowlest counted.

So variablie diuers in her willing,
When vulgar rumor feedes on base suspect,
Impeaching ielousie the best worthylling
Augments the matter of the least defect
And bad suggestions secretly inuected
Giue vild dishonour to the thing suspected.
For whilst not priuiledgd from monster fame,
The bewtie (of the not so faire inuyed)
Lyes subiect to dishonorable name,
With hate, and emulous surmises eyed,
We finde it dayly true amongst the best
He's most inuyed most exceeds the rest.
Hence haps her fortune to be yld so much,
Whom fourth king Edward, excellently prised,
And hence it haps, because there was none such,
Shores wife, most faire, the most fowle is surmised
And hence it haps, that dead to all disdaine her
Her wronged ghost suruyueth to complaine her
Who whilst she liud the subiect of impietie,
Ground of a thousand voyces disagreeing,
The matter of vnhollowed fames varietie,
(Which from her good hap had vnworthie being)
Euen on her dying bed deuinely sorrie,
Pensiue in hart she weepes forth thus her storie.

But when backe flying from her paled cheeke,
Bash full Aurora did recall her red
And white-lockte Hyems, on her face did seeke,
His Iuorie mantle, doubting she were dead
When red fled white, white red, and both had left her
And wan apparance of her faire had rest her.
When sincking downe, weaknesse dissolud her eyes,
From vitall spirites Actuallie mouing,
To waterish heauinesse dimd in drooping wise,
In slow neglecting lookes their end approuing,
And with their often opening toward heauen
Seemd of their vertue and their powre bereauen.
When through her oft and soft, expyring breath,
(That still reentring mou'd her panting breast)
She seem'd with euery sigh to draw in death,
That willing gaspes held her eternall rest,
Then when her head heauie did leane awry
Seeming euen then she could not doe but dye,
First teares, deuining speech, denouncing passion,
That meete in greatnesse of their seuerall motions
Fall from her eyes in that vnwilling fashion,
Argued her hartes greefe, and her greefes commotions,
Teares, the harts dombe pleas (words with greefe restrained)
Like loath departing pearles her eyes downe rayned.

Then through transparance of the while was left her.
Freshly peeres secret glorie of her bloud,
When euen that death, of life that would haue rest her
With feare and reuerence amazed stood,
Doubting, though at the last gaspe she did lye,
A bewtie so deuine could neuer dye,
When teares the mother issue of greefes restraint
(Bound in the greatnesse of their owne condition)
Passiue in Action, had performd complaint,
In seene, not heard plea of her harts contrition,
When eyes were dim, when panting she lay wan,
Teares hauing playd their part, her toung began.
Ah whence shall I quoth she, (she wept agayne
Opening her eyes, opening her handes to heauen)
Produce the storie of my liues remayne
My life of hap I of my life bereauen.
Or why should I vnto the world complaine me
If all the world for my mishap disdayne me?
Then where from siluer streamed Isis lying,
Sylent in Swans and quyet in her brookes,
Forsaken Thames, into her selfe backe flying,
With muddie countnance, and vnwilling lookes,
As discontent, doth make her sad resorte
As farre as now decayeng Cæsars forte

There recordes witnesse of mine education,
And vulgar Parentes, of a meane degree,
To whom my dying day hath iust relation
Yet was this meane a happie meane to me
That liuing fayrest farre aboue the best,
Haplesse in life, in death I might be blest.
But madding thoughtes, ambitious of promotions,
Nurst in suspect of ages alteration,
As swolne with furie of the mindes commotions,
Deemes all things doubtfull, breedes not contentation,
And this did discontent their mindes did guide me,
That being young, there were too many eyde me
For looke how matter, admirably rare,
Drawes musing thoughts, to studdying contemplation
And time not hable to produce compare,
Confermes the wonder with more admiration
So, and such was my bewties quaint compare
Wonder it selfe did make me more then rare
Yet humble, honorable, chast, and deuine,
True looking, pure, and bashfully reflecting,
Were all the honors of my mayden eyne
In perfect Act true modestie affecting
And this Decorum I did euer seeke
To grace my bewtie with a blushing cheeke.

Myne eye no looke, no wanton wincke affected,
(The false fayre notes of Syren incantations)
No rash gase of immodestie detected,
My chast minde, bent to wandering alterations,
And yet, nor quoy, nor prowd my lookes were wayd
But purely such, as might befit a mayd.
Straunge gestures vsde not I, nor quaint behauing
Such as the seeming loath-to-looke, do practise
With fainte denyall absolutely crauing
(The outward fault wherein dishonest lacke lyes)
To these I left the light behauiours leaning
As moderne subtleties of immodest meaning.
But in my lookes, ciuilitie, and cheare,
Bashfull, and decent, did import a purenesse
And where my bewtie brightest did appeare,
A low regard argued a perfect surenesse
That euen the graces seem'd to say with mee,
If I were not, them selues could neuer bee.
Angell aspects, of gazing window wonders,
Angling at eyes, with bewtie in the ayre
Bewties that nature from apparance sunders,
With stolne shame of imaginarie fayre
These like to monsters euer I esteemed,
VVorship their owne selues, for a bewtie deemed.

I lookt and in my decensie precise
(Yet women looke, one, to enuie an other)
I found that euen the ancient wholy wise,
Their young conceipts yet in their age did smother
And euen the crooked old should now dispaire
At least do hold them selues pure aged faire.
And infant younglings, sucking from their mother,
Selfe-like-dregs, of vnwomanly surmises,
Add boldnesse to the mallice enuies other,
For euen the young begins as bewtie rises
And this peculier to their sexe did see.
Both old, and young and all would fairest bee
VVhich when my selfe in more iuditiall measure,
(Growne to conceipt vpon mine owne perfection)
Saw held of all men, yearthes eternall treasure,
And of the most n'er worse then sweet subiection
Disposd to vertue, chastitie did will me,
Leaue selfe conceipt, for selfe conceipt did ill me
VVhen intertaining to my bewties honor,
The true instructions chastitie did teach me
Noting what hap, what heauen did wayt vpon her,
VVhilst no dishonoring blemish did impeach me,
By nature and desire to this disposed
Soone had my will my thoughtes thereto imposed.

I saw my selfe was absolutely faire,
Yet alterd not that vertue to a sin,
I knew a small fault quickly would impaire
The purest bewtie that should fall therein.
I saw the sin, and saw that most had done it,
And yet I had the grace to know and shunne it.
My thoughts that then were bashfull, pure, and true
Cleane from impieties from ill from stayne
Of nature wise, had reason to eschew
The thing my nature did so much disdaine
I saw both bewtie and the good that blist it.
Yet by seducing errour I haue mist it
For loe, those eyes, whom ielousie had fram'd,
To false suggestions of mine vnstain'd youth
VVhat they misdeem'd, deuiningly they blam'd,
Fearing suspect might after turne to truth
VVhen seing my selfe (cleane in thought and deede)
Vnworthy blam'd my hart begun to bleede
Then waxt I wanton as I grew to see,
Doting suspect dishonour me so much,
My selfe, yet chast, and pure, defam'd to bee,
And to be deem'd false, though I were not such.
And this was euen the first cause that I wrought false
That though I were yet true, yet I was thought false.

Such hap they haue, haue such attending eyes,
Needlesly carefull of the not transgressing
But carefull parents do the worst surmise
In doubted errour secretly redressing
Yet oft we see, so carefull some do proue
They kill their car'de for with their too much loue.
Which proofe confirm'd in me was lou'd too much
Whose bewtie then, when in her Aprill grace,
It stood vnequal'd, fellowed with none such,
As might the excellencie of my fayre abace
Loe then began my bewtie first to weame
When first my bewtie gan to be extreame.
My fathers house obscure, and I not knowne,
But cloisterd vp to secresie, and sadnesse,
My frendes misdoubting that as I was growne,
Tempting desire might win my will to badnesse
Wise-indiscrete, perforce they me constrained
To wed my selfe to one that I disdained.
Then holy rites of matrimonie vowed,
I sold my bewtie, and my selfe vnwilling,
To him, to whom I, and my bewtie bowed,
Not for his loue, but for his mindes fulfilling
For though in byrth my match did equall me
My bewtie was vnfit for such as he.

And I that scorning tributarie loue
Should haue enioyn'd me to an after duetie,
Fearing his vnrespect of me might proue,
Th' incapable tyrant of my subiect bewtie.
Before our contract came vnto conclusion
I knew his loue would be my liues confusion.
Yet miser auarice (doting ayme of promotions)
Gaping at rich showres of a golden age,
As feed prowd vultors by the windes commotions,
Act monster wonders in a wealth rage
Carelesse to what accompt the faire be wed
Nor forcing discord of a loathed bed
Who sees the secrets of that widow thought
The silent musings, and the discontent
Mouing impatience in her minde hath wrought.
Whose bewtie's subiect to inforst content?
Or how may we thincke she her passion brookes
That dares not speake but plead her greefe in lookes.
Discenting vnitie of a discord bed,
Burning in vapours of suggestions quyet,
Strain'd concord of th' infortunatly wed,
Dissembling loue; and framing wonders by it
Who seeth this, may quickly iudge the ill
That minde indures is wed against her will.

In her raynes ielousie full of a selfe suspect,
Deeming all eyes as doubting as her owne,
Fearing her selfe, her owne selfe might detect
(For she thincke, what to her to all is knowne)
And this is still peculier to her vayne
To hate the thing she feares may doubt agayne.
Which haps from hence, that she suspecteth euer,
That aduerse ielousie will come and see,
The close wrought Act her secresies indeuor,
And Acte againe, gainst her as close as shee,
And though no fault nor any deed detectes her
Yet will she hate the thing she feares suspectes her.
Thus waking to her selfe and watching all
Discentious vnion in her selfe discording
Fearing the fortune worthie may be fall.
Onel' in a diuers Sympathie according
By feare and doubt vnto her worst hap led
Thus doth she worke still in th' vnwilling bed.
She shrynes her greefe vp in a secret fashion,
(Which musing silence Agonies increase,)
And euer dombe, in discontented passion,
She shakes her head, and sighes, and holdes her peace
Her greefe and feare is such she cannot say it
Till her complayning eyes in teares bewray it.

Looke how discountnanst in her eyes slow mouing
(The wakefull residence of a discontent,)
Heauely sighted, sad quyer sits approuing,
The awd condition of enforst content
And how her drooping, notes her myndes disquyet
To be so great she seemes downe wayed by it.
Marke how the down cast lookes her eyes reflect,
Argues her life, sequestred from her mindes ease
And euery gesture, secretly detect,
The note of silent passion neuer findes ease
And though she seemes vnwilling to bewray it,
Yet in that seeming so she seemes to say it.
She sits and heares, euen passionatly attentiue,
How better fortunes ioy the happie wed.
When in a sodaine thought hartely pensiue
She castes her eyes vp, and she shakes her head
VVhilst many thoughtes concurring all in one
Makes her greeu'd soule yeeld forth a deadly groane.
Loe so vnited to a discontent,
Departed from my selfe, to liue t'vnkindnesse,
Too soone my ill-bestow'd youth did repent,
My parentes auarice, and desaster blindnesse,
That could not see the loathing that is bred,
In discord iarring of an vnkind bed

And what is worse ô this is interdicting,
The fellow ioyings of a true met loue,
More then her owne ill, this is still inflicting,
Which neuer did the willing bridgroome proue,
That loues but one, and gaynes such good thereby
He's lou'd againe and so doth liue and dye.
But soone had Sutor eyes, with priuie looke,
Noted the loathing that I bare vnto him,
And mou'd by this, they quickly vndertooke,
Or shame, or some dishonorable Acte to doe him
And that this might better performed be,
They seem'd to mallice him, and pittie me.
As song the Syrens to the wandring knight,
Th' illusiue stanzaes of their charming song
Pleasing th' Attentiue eare with sweet delight,
But hatefull Actors of intended wrong
So sweetly song they songs of loue to me,
They seem'd, or Syrens, or more sweet to be.
For looke how in a solitarie guise
The virgine querester of the listning night,
Chantes her sweet descant, in a flattering wise,
To gayne her litle freedome if she might.
And sings the sweeter by how much the more
She mindes the libertie she had before.

So when imprison'd in precise constrainte,
Myne eye kept watch and my brow tyrannised
Those that their free enlargement did awayte,
In arguing pratle sweetly subtelised
And as their passion did increase in feare,
It pleasd so much the more my straunger eare.
And so much more as doth the churlish riche,
Keepe gold the safer, as the culler's pure
So much the more my bewtie did bewich,
Them to continuance as they were more sure
And these I knew so well to entertaine.
They would not leaue loue, to be free agayne.
For liueth that Philosophie precise
Whom documentes haue quyte restrain'd from this?
Liueth that ancient old, and aged wise,
Whom yeares haue knowne to make to hate their blisse?
Then blame not yeouth if want only he wooes
Since doting old and bookewise cannot choese.
Nor let my bewtie be impeacht with this,
That I was woman like, though Angell fayre,
For him doth puretie fortunately blisse,
That is not blemisht with some blacke impayre
For this we see almost in things deuine
T'is quickly stayned is the purest fine.

Neuer did flocke to old Vlisses Queene,
In wearie absence of her straying knight,
Neuer more woers in her court were seene,
(Although perhaps more worthie persons might)
Then there were Sutors still importun'd me
For I presume I was as fayre as she
Nor could my seeming true to him I chose,
Giue answere to their often suites renuing
My fained loue to this, fayn'd hate to those,
Could be no obstacle to their euer suing
And I not knowing quaintly to disdaine them
Through want of Arte was forst to intertaine them.
When oft intreaties breeding emulation
In the corriuall thoughts of fellow louers,
Wrought quyte chang'd being, and straunge alteration,
As oftner vowes their constancie discouers
For that will issue to her full perfection
Hath grounded being by the mindes affection.
Then equall in my thoughtes making compare,
T'wixte old forlorne, and personally young
I quickly saw th' Abuse my bewtie bare,
And my harts greefe sat fresh vpon my toung
When noting this, my hart began to cry
And I exclaim'd against a doting eye

What Sympathie of loue (quoth I) can be
Twixte crooked old, and excellently fayre
Discording yeares will euer disagree,
As different age to graue doth make repayre
And this to old men proper still doth proue,
To sigh they are so old they cannot loue.
Such one was he rest my youth of her blisse,
He could no more of loue, his dayes were don
Crookt old, and cold, his yeares deny'd him this,
And therefore greeu'd he had so soone begun
ô ist not greefe that age should so defame
The reuerent title of so graue a name.
But how can I, how can all woemen brooke this,
Decrepit yeares from pleasure should restrayne them?
Ner liu'd they happie day that vndertooke this
But of their fortune after did complaine them
For what is dotage that we should affect it
Or moody age that women should respect it.
Old quyte forlorne and ouerworne with yeares,
He makes an infant humour of his age,
And in his lined browes dotage appeares,
A witlesse babie in a louing rage
And such a humour in his sences rayne,
And being old he's made a child agayne,

He calls his Kate, and she must come and kisse him,
Doting his madded loue vpon her face
Hee thinckes her smile hath where withall to blisse him,
Thus franticques his loue to the fayres disgrace
Which not withstood she dares not say him no
ô ist not pittie bewtie's vsed so.
But do not therefore blame the tripping fayre
For euen the fayrest hath her imperfection
Let not precise respect the lighter way her,
For euen the mayden seeming hath affection
And now a dayes the chast deuout will show loue,
That hauing learn'd they may the better know loue.
Let th' ancient doting therefore be precise
The quicke ey'd young will haue a time to wincke it,
Outward apparance can deceaue his eyes,
And she play wanton when he doth not thincke it,
For this as sure as selfe truth shall insue
If age be ielious youth must be vntrue.
Suggesting feare shall make the newly wed,
Be false, because she feares she is suspected,
And feare by Arte, to fayning shalbe led,
To double closly with the false affected
For what is their arm'de fortune better noting
Then double Act t'expresse their priuie doting?

So may his mariage bed a loue bewray,
Is fayning true and fearefully rebellious,
Whom after age in time to come shall say,
Is doting old, and cold, and foolish ielious
And let this title from his name n'er sunder
He's loues head monster and his armed wonder.
But leauing this an ordinarie shame,
To that graue being of a reuerent age,
Whose ag'de graue decensie it doth defame,
With madding matter of an idle rage
As made her monster by her childish follie
Is reuerent old, and honorable whollie,
Of oft intreating sutors I will say,
Whose often vowes tempt me to further sin,
And hoping time my frayltie might bewray,
They vse all art to teach me to begin
Yet though I lou'de not him that I had chose,
I knew not how to condescend to those
But hence grew hate, for now I grew admired,
And by degrees begun to learne to sin,
Then when I saw I was so much desired,
I seem'd transform'd as I had neuer bin.
And selfe opinion wrought so strong effect
As now I grew to leaue all chast respect.

For chastitie by wyles grew to be cold,
My modest bewtie gan to alter wanton,
I that from me, my selfe, my selfe had sold,
Found this hard fortune for my hart to panton
I now began to exercise myne eye
And gase on all would gase as well as I.
My speech from humble, decent, pure, and true,
That hid no secresie in a plainly meaning,
To Courtlike, wanton, pleasant did insue
I left my nature to my follies weaning
And I by practise learn'd the worst so well
In wanton arte the best I could excell
Thus I both wild and absolutely fayre,
Charm'd with my bewtie, with my wyles allured;
My want of shame, myne honor did impayre,
As long as I my selfe to sin inured,
Which if I sin'd or did with sin dispence,
My life must say, (to whom I was offence)
Yet not defam'd for other fault then those,
The wanton Cittie-dwelling counte their grace,
But euery toung vpon suspect did glose,
And being apt new made reports t'imbrace
I now was fam'd the fayrest she was euer,
(Which fame in that age was extinguisht neuer.)

For sooner had no motiues of desire,
Taught me to exercise my wits, and bewtie;
But my conceipt could set delight on fire
And wanton lookes impriuiledge all dewtie
And I grew fayrer and the oftner named
As quainte conceipt me for delightfull famed.
When loe (for who liues so hid so obscure
So secret from the world, remote from eyeng,
As holdes him selfe of doubtfull talke so sure,
But fame into his fortunes will be pryeng?)
Euen then when we of obscure life doe boast
It proues at last that then w'are knowne the most.
For then pronouncing from incertaine thought,
Th' vngrounded storie of a lyer muse
What secresie from subtle eyes had wrought,
Incertaine fame with falshood will abuse
Fame secret witnesse to the guilt conceal'd
Mads all in furie till it be reveal'd.
Mindfull remembrer of a secret will,
(If secret may import worthie dishonor)
The periur'd counsailor of the close wrought ill,
False testimonie of a hope, relyeng on her,
Both truth, and falshood, in one period bounding,
Contrarie to her selfe, her selfe confounding

False glosing toung, credulities relye,
Error of nature, bad seede of base sedition,
Suspectes false daughter, neuer borne to dye,
Nurst of Erinnis, and of false suspition
Prou'd all the worldes plague and inur'd to sin
Happie had I liu'd, hadst thou neuer bin
For till thou first with thine vnhappie storie,
Ecchoing relations of my worth and me
Intitul'dst my name to my bewties glorie,
Vnworthie knowne, of such a worth to be
Though not performed in so royall measure
Yet then I ioy'd a life of quyet pleasure
So fares th' infortunate whom monster fame,
Glosing, ambitious, false mus'd, makes her subiect,
Enioyn'd by prayse, to bide eternall shame
And rest the worldes dishonorable obiect
Such fate had I, that was so highlie famed
First to be held fayre, after euer shamed.
For now ambitious in her fabling humor,
Vnto my king, my bewtie she dispences,
To whom sh'impartes a wonder working rumor,
In speech Authenticall, to charme his sences
With Acte his eyes his eares, with wordes she won,
His hart, his loue, his soule, ere she had don.

She seemed sober hartie and precise,
Framing her false lookes to a pleading fitnesse
T'vnthought-on truth sh'adaps her humbled eyes
And euery Acte seem'd her tales truth to witnesse
And what she thought could win the king she wrought-on.
In Acte, and speech she let not passe vnthought-on.
So as when at his oracles disclosing,
Deuining Proteus, prophesying small thinges
His selfe from culler from his shape disposing,
Deludes the sutor hold by seeming all thinges
Making him selfe a monster to the vew
Before deceite can bring him to tell trew
Monster fame so, deuining on supposes
Suspitious of her selfe, (her selfe a lyer)
In altering tales her flatterie discloses
VVrought to report ill by her owne desire
Whilst that the king credits her tale for truth
Which after turn'd a shame vnto his youth.
For had she bin more ready to report-it
His apt beleefe had sooner giuen it credit
His willing harkning eare did well import-it,
Was so attentiue to the tale that spread it
For this fault euen is incident to kinges
Too much to credit ouer pleasing thinges

She told him now my bewties Aprill bud,
Fresh bloom'd in honor of my flowring prime
In high degrees of excellencie stood,
Ages admire, and wonderment of time,
Amongst the best, so farre exceeding many
As it was neuer seconded by any?
(Quoth she) behold how in her wanton fayre,
Rosie Pallantias (new stolne from her bed)
Blusheth her glorie on the morning ayre,
In bashfull decensie of vermillion red
And from his stand the Northerne watchman frayes
With brighter comming of her sommer rayes
Or as whilst Thetis in her eu'ning greeting,
Smileth her purple on the suns decline,
And with her Tytan in the West seaes meeting,
Appeares a wonder, bashfully deuine,
Such is her face (quoth she) her selfe so fayre,
She seemes as bewtious as the eu'ning ayre.
Hast thou not seene how in her hemispheare
The morninges henchman, and the starre of loue
Vales in her bewtie at the suns appeare
And seemeth dim'd his glorie to approue?
Euen so her eyes (quoth she) exceedes so farre
As doth the sonne the sitting morning starre.

More bewtie, more deuine doth her adorne,
Then all Diana's, mesken virgins graces
Those froes that in the dewy of the morne
Trip on the flowres in those silent places,
To which the feathered queresters resort
And chante them many a musicall report.
Oft haue I seene, when to the strond of Po,
The floating swans did make their last repayre,
And siluer plum'd, as white as any snow
Blemisht Indimions Scynthia in her faire
Yet n'er did she, neuer did they excell
The Iuorie white vpon her brow doth dwell.
As when before old sleepie Tython dawnes
(Dew'd in the wept teares of Auroraes eyes,)
Sweet sauoring flowers of the meddow lawnes,
With sweet perfumes, vp into heauen arise
So breathes her brethes perfume, so sweetly smelling
It seem's her breath the flowers are excelling.
Sung neuer at Euridices redeeming
The Thracian Harper to the god of hell
A song more honor worth, worth more esteeming
Yet Orpheus touch pleased deuinly well
Nor yet Arion euer so behau'd him
Although he song so sweet the Dolphin sau'd him.

Nor that old man, whose musicall recordes
The following walls of ancient Theb's did reare
Nor Pœan, pleasing in her sweet accordes
The curious iudgement of the nycest eare
Did euer sound were euer song so well.
But her sweet wordes her voyce doth farre excell.
N'er did her Nymphes, at bold Acteons gase,
Nor combly Phœbe (seene with priuie eye)
Mans sence, mans thought, with sweeter smiles amase
With richer glorie, of a wealthier dye,
Then would this bewtie naked as was shee,
Were you your selfe but priuie too't as hee
To this she ads (ô straunge impietie)
Vitious intycements of alluring sin,
And with licentious wordes, altering varietie,
She drownes his sences, and him selfe therein
So well the Syren knew her song to sing,
She soone had luld a sleepe the willing king
And that she might the better bring to passe,
Shame to my Lord, her selfe, and shame to mee,
She ads how wanton, bucksome, young I was
Fit consorte with his yonger yeares to bee
And when at length she had discourst her fill,
Away she flyes abhominable ill.

But he that standes inchanted with the wonders,
Be secret stealth dishonorable sin,
Him from his sence, his sence from vertue sunders
And now in madding loue lust doth begin,
And that fowle stayne his furie is incenst with
By maiestie (saith he) shall be dispenst with
Then to myne eares (diuyning my misfortune,)
Secret reportes came whispering straunger wonders,
And with their oratorie pleas myne eares importune.
Whilst blind conceipt me from my good hap sunders
With charming profers still my king salutes me
As one for absolutest fayre reputes me.
And those, to whom he secretly commended,
The inquisition of my bewties being
Those my attract, my chaunge of fortune tended
My bewties worth and excellencie seing
Reporte my bewtie to be so diuine;
As now he prysed none so much as myne
And soone had giftes, soone had my Lordes desire,
My soule from chastitie, my selfe from me,
With often presents taught how to retire
Tasting the profers of a high degree
And then me thought though I ner prou'd before
A kings imbrace was euen a heauen or more

Loe then to Court, vnto my king I came,
Monarke aspect of my recusant eye
Myne eye, the matter of my bodies shame,
As long as shame, or sinne were nurst thereby,
With niggard fauor, at the first did seeme,
As one that held his crowne scarce worth esteeme.
For now my scholler eyes had learn'd to fashion
Their lookes authenticall, and quainte precise
My quoynesse argued a straunger passion,
To make him so, more plyant to myne eyes
And I, whom he esteemed easie won
Made him my subiect, ere myne eyes had don
For now I saw when equallie precise,
He saw the honor was due worth my bewtie
My browes recusancie gan tyrannise,
And of my king exact a tribute dutie
And if he profered loue, I would forsake it
For woemen first say no, and then they take it.
I wrought so well, my face did seeme to say,
I prysed chastitie, but euen too much
My apt fram'd countenance seem'd to bewray,
A purposd fermnesse to my seeming such
And my pretext by working so before
Was but to make him loue me so much more

For now in me varietie of loue,
Had wrought such knowledge, by my seeming prone
As whom I knew quickly sedu'st did proue,
I knew was quickly got, and quickly gone
And therefore now oppos'd I seem'd the stronger,
That late ere won, I might be lou'd the longer.
For when I saw, him fawningly respect me,
I playd vpon him with a straunger No
And so much more I saw he did affect me,
As I seem'd further of in saying so,
Yet then I knew my quoynesse so might proue
A king would hardly bow too low to loue.
In equall meane, therefore did I containe
Th' impatience of my seeming loath to sin,
No beggar humblenesse my face did staine,
With apt desire to throw my selfe therein
And if my quoynesse made him loath to wooe
Then would I lend him smiles, and kisses too,
Nor did I in denying faintly so
But secretly seeme to desire agayne,
The hoped profers my consenting No,
In secret wish already did containe
But long alasse could not persist therein
For ere I left I sold my selfe to sinne.

Who sees the chast liu'd Turtle on a tree,
In vnfrequented groues sit and complaine her?
Whether alone all desolate poore shee,
And for her lost loue seemeth to restraine her?
And there sad thoughted howleth to the ayre
The excellencie of her lost-mates fayre?
So I when sinne had drown'd my soule in badnesse,
To solitarie muse my selfe retired
Where wrought by greefe to discontented sadnesse,
Repentant thoughtes, my new won shame admired,
And I the monster of myne owne misfortune
My hart with grones, and sorrow did importune.
Behold (quoth I) how in her Iuie hidden
The eu'nings shame, Pallas adulterate fowle,
The sitting sonnes sight, and the day forbidden,
With a sherle scritch her former sinne doth howle
And peering in the day but from her tree
Is wonderd at of all the byrdes she see
So haps to thee, whom so thy sinne hath shamed
And made the night-eyes wonder of thy tyme
So haps to thee, that hath thy selfe defamed,
In tender springing of thine Aprill pryme
But now too late t'haue sin'd thou doest repent thee,
When thou hast lost the good that nature lent thee.

A wonderment, and monster of her age,
Following posteritie will account thy fall;
And this which euen no passion can asswage,
Nor mittigate thy payned soule with all
When death in graue shall low haue layne thy head
Thou shalt be yet defam'd when thou art dead.
Thus in thy life, thus in thy death, and boath,
Dishonored by thy fact, what mayst thou doe?
Though now thy soule the touch of sinne doth loath,
And thou abhorst thy life, and thy selfe too
Yet cannot this redeeme thy spotted name,
Nor interdict thy body of her shame
But he that could command thee, made thee sin
Yet that is no priuiledge, no sheeld to thee
Now thou thy selfe, hast drownd thy selfe therein.
Thou art defam'd thy selfe, and so is hee
And though that kings commands haue wonders wrought
Yet kings commands could neuer hinder thought.
Say that a Monarke may dispence with sin,
The vulgar toung proueth impartiall still,
And when mislike all froward shall begin,
The worst of bad, and best of worst to ill,
A secret shame in euery thought will smother
For sinne is sinne in kinges, as well as other

And yet agayne, when to suspition wrought,
I saw the holly sinne, and sullen game,
Whilst secret acte disclos'd no hidden thought,
To preiudice an honorable name
And those to be such saints that best could seeme such
As one would thincke suspition would not deeme such.
Loe, too secure of variable rumor
I gaue my selfe to pleasing disposition
Loue charming wantonesse and delightfull humor,
Forst now no longer peeuish eyed suspition,
And I thought none could testifie my fault
Because I thought there was not any saw't.
And though my life had staine, yet this did mend-it,
That I was sorrie such an one to be,
My pittie my respect did still commend it,
And this was commendably praysd in me,
That Sutor wrongs my selfe to right would bring
If right might be procured from the king.
And now so deem'd so highly was I prysed,
No honor was too good, too great for mee,
I could commaund what euer thought deuised,
Delight to sence, or ioyes to mynde to bee
And whilst I sat seated alone so highe,
The king could but command and so could I.

But long my fortune had not traded so,
In doubtfull highnesse of prosperitie
Ere murder death had fram'd a worser woe,
A true example vnto all posteritie
That those that mount so high so farre and fast,
In tract of tyme come headlong downe at last.
For now, the doomes day of my fortune's neere,
The day, the dome, peculier vnto all,
Now in a death vnthought-on doth appeere,
My bewties ruine and myne honors fall
Such sightes are these vnto the pleased eye
As are not sooner seene then they doe dye.
So as when for his drown'd-sonne pensiuly sorrie,
Three times in blacke, three times his golden vrne,
The sadder eye of heauens restrained glorie,
In blacke, and heauie secresie did burne;
And moodie, by restraining so his light,
In three dayes absence brought a triple night.
Or as, when from some high clift sadly looking,
A mistie tempest from the South ariseth,
And disagreeing blastes no sayles stop brooking,
The merrie sea-mans wandering barke surpriseth
We sorrow at the sight vpon the shore
But in the barke would sorrow ten times more.

So now, eternall night, now desolation,
Deuining horror to the nighted land
Insues to all by sodaine alteration,
That of a tyrant ill suspected stand
But I whom this imported most of any
Where all had but one feare I one, had many.
Ah death old father of our common end,
Nurst of the mother night, and discontent
Inuying hatreds neuer pleased frend,
Incertaine accedent, and vnknowne euent,
In what so much haue I offensed thee,
That by my kinges death thou shouldst murther mee?
Thou art the father cause I am forlorne,
It was thy too much pittie that procur'd this,
Why didst not make me dye ere I was borne?
That being dead I might not haue indur'd this?
Cruell in what may harme in what may ill me
But thrise more cruell that thou wouldst not kill me.
Did my face feare thee from thy murdering will
That being young, thou letst me liue so long?
Or hauing such a bewtie at thy will,
Thoughtst thou the rape would be esteem'd a wrong?
O if thou didst, withall thou wild'st that I,
Should liue so long that I should shame to dye

It was the auarice of thy list to kill,
Founded my downefall on my kinges decease
Such is thy nature, and so much so ill
One murder with a second to increase
But thus we see who on a king relyes
Findes death a liue whilst liuing yet he dyes.
See how my end brought me to my confusion
The common wonder of the wisest eye
My end the period and my liues conclusion
Turnes to my deathes shame, that I greeue to dye
And that whereof dying I am ashamed,
I greeue to liue because I liue defamed,
Dead vnto life, liuing vnto my death,
The end of shame, and yet my shames beginning
Thus doe I draw the selfe disdayning breath,
Hath worthie shame by myne vnworthie sinning
And whilst at once I would both liue and dye
I doe them both yet am not cur'd thereby.
For when true penitencie doth begin,
With contrite sorrow, and repentant zeale,
To mynde the greatnesse of displeasing sin
That shame in hidden silence doth conceale.
When these faultes in our selues our selues doe see
We thincke that all know them aswell as wee.

But stay thee here, and plaintiu'ly rehearce,
The funerall tenor of thine after fortunes;
O wash his toombe with teares weepe on his hearce,
Whose death gaue life, to greefe that thee importunes
For now behold vnhappely he dyes,
On whom the essence of my good relyes.
Euen as the gloomie sighted night, with cloudes,
Obscures the sunbright bewtie of the ayre,
And in her deadly looke frowningly shrowdes,
Blacke desolation and forlorne dispayre,
Threatning with sad aspect some future woe,
By blacke deuining lookes presaging so
So seem'd the blacke ayre, that with fowle aspect,
Feedes lowring heauinesse through a duskie light,
That ouglie looking darknesse doth reflect,
From caued bowells of the fearefull night,
So at his death, darknesse seem'd to bewray,
Eternall blacknesse to the heauie day
That so dissolu'd to euerlasting feares,
That sun-reft-ages after posteritie,
Might weepe his funeralls in complainyng teares,
As rightes belonging to a dead prosperitie,
And sing his obsequies in consorting woe,
Sorrowing their light should be bereft them so

For now their sonne gone to his home for euer,
Pronounces from declining of his rayes,
A worser night with tyrannous indeuor,
Would darke the bewtie of their after dayes
And prowd ambition ayming at a crowne
Would pull the dead-kings true-borne issue downe.
When loe, discentious in her owne proceeding
Suspitious in her thoughtes, stil'd in her musing,
Carefully thoughted, on her owne selfe feeding,
With ielious doubt her proper wits abusing
Sighes-and-greefe-breeding feare to heauen doth cry
And wisht with him posteritie might dye
For th' infant liue of his bloud lest a pray,
To vultar greedinesse of an easie crowne,
In tyrant practises did soone bewray,
Cruell protection would the land confound,
And then as doubtfull minded as before,
Feare would increase her sorrow ten times more.
Thus stood suspected of incertaine fate
And drawne by oft feares to a dead dispaire
The neuter subiect, that did know too late,
What hell it is to haue a different heyre.
And that which all their discontent had sowne
To haue a king to come not to be knowne.

Now gan the trembling rich, and fearefull-wanting,
Bequeath their fortunes to their hap of warre,
And trembling woemen-harts, with sorrow panting
Greeue that their fate should be vnknowne so farre
As whilst they yet thought no ill could assay them,
Vnthought-on death should sodaine come and slay them
And those, whom diuersly-affecting humor,
Drew to the aduerse part an other would not,
When running motions of deceiuing rumor,
Make them affect the matter that they should not
At last exclaime as on a heauie thing
That none should know the man should be their king.
Then what might I doe, where with all to saue,
Me from confusion, that I might not dye,
Now when dead sleeping carelesse in his graue
My king was gone, on whom I did relye,
What rests for me, a poore distressed woman,
But hold me patient at my fortunes sommon?
And what is worse, impriuiledge from hope,
Of my reflowring time, of my new being,
I saw the bandes, I saw the narrow scope,
Wherein my sinne must secret sit from seing
And this so narrow, and so strickte to be,
As all the world might my misfortune see

Why haue myne eyes wept idle teares till now?
Why hath my groning hart sigh'd to releeue me?
Or why hath greefe eclipst my sadded brow?
Since now, I would weepe, grone, and sigh, and greeue me,
And now I neede them, now I can doe none,
For greefe, and sighes, and grones, and teares, be gone,
Weepe eyes, grone hart, greefe sighe and take agayne
Your second quintescence from my second woe,
O neuer will I wast your wet in vayne,
Nor grone, nor greeue, nor sigh, nor weepe you so.
But with my dayes, date all your discontent,
And weepe you truely, till my selfe be spent.
O you are comfort in your issuing motions,
Vnto the mynde with passion is afflicted
Whom wearieng greatnesse of her owne commotions
Of wordes and speech, with greefe hath interdicted.
Werte not for you, th' opressed hart would breake
When greefe doth grow so bigge we cannot speake.
Werte not for you (and yet I want you too)
My harts distresse, that makes you her relye,
Could neuer know, nor how, nor what to doe,
But liue in silence, and in dombnesse dye
O none can tell, the ease the mynde doth gayne her
When eyes can weepe, th' hart grone, or greefe complaine her

But wanton teares haue dryde myne idle eyes,
And wayn'd away the bewtie of my fayre;
My hart, for want of grones distressed dyes,
And sighes are vanisht to vnworthie ayre
Then what remaynes for me forlorne thereby,
But know my greefe, and hold my peace and dye,
T'is now that I should weepe a thousand teares;
Now, when my starres in fixed opposition,
Denounces sorrow to my greeuing eares,
And tells me I must chaunge my liues condition
And trust to fauoring destinie no more,
For I must begge my bread, from doore to doore
What fortune ere thou art enuiest our age,
A tyrant monster, in a madding vayne,
Returne in furie of thy prowdest rage,
And Acte the Scene of all thy hate agayne;
And if ere any bad like woes as I,
Yet giue me ten times more, but let me dye.
Sayd ere Philosophie hell was confind
Below the yearth where neuer any were?
O if it be so, yet withall I finde,
That hell's aboue the yearth as well as there
And neuer could Philosophie approue,
That there was one below but one aboue.

T'is but th' inuention of th' highe-witted wise,
Allow'd of any there, more then t'expresse,
Th' extreame of tortures, that might tyrannise
Them being dead, that liuing did transgresse
Nor haue they left vs any confirmation,
But deem'd surmises of imagination;
This t'was rayn'd on the yearth, and prayd on me,
T'was this which I esteem'd a heauen before,
And more infernall cannot any be,
For hell is but extreame, yet this was more
And we ner know what t'is in heauen to dwell,
Vntill we know what t'is to liue in hell.
O could my wordes expresse in mourning sound,
The ready passion, that my mynde doth trye,
Then, greefe all eares, all sences would confound,
And some would weepe with me, aswell as I
Where now because my wordes cannot reueale it
I weepe alone inforced to conceale it.
O, and alone, let me weepe myne owne fortunes.
Peculier to my selfe, am woe begone
Me whom it euer secretly importunes
As willing I should weepe my fate aloane
O therefore weeping let me liue and dye,
For none can weepe so worthie teares, as I

Well may some sorrie, greeuedly supposing,
Suggest a passion excellently strange
And in true Acte pittifully disclosing
An inward greefe, neere at my fortunes range
But none can Acte greefe in complaint so right
As he that is himselfe agreeued by't.
O God what error is in natures will,
That nature so vnkinde, so bad should be,
The poore improuident should endure such ill,
As through securitie not this ill to see,
For had I seene before what now I try,
Or I had fear'd to liue, or learn'd to dye.
But ill brookes th' high aspiring thoughtes surmise
Coward respect of vulgar education
And hungering greedinesse of attempting eyes,
Deeme nor deuine their after alteration,
But minde their mindes will, not their owne condition
Thus mads th' aspiring in her mindes ambition.
This was my fault had worthie fortune by it,
And worthie was it, since I could not see,
How discontent is ordinarie quyet,
To wakefull mindes, that n'er contented be.
To ioye the sweet meane of a low content,
But mount so high they after must repent

Had I bin fayre, and not allur'd so soone,
To that, at which all thoughtes leuell their sadnesse
My sunbright day had not bin set ere noone
Nor I bin noted for detected badnesse
But this is still peculier to our state,
To sinne too soone, and then repent too late,
But euen as soard the feathered boy so highe,
(Reaching his infant thoughtes vnto the sonne,)
By whotter rayes, in all his highth did dye,
And gain'd his prides meede ere his pride were done
So I vnto the low was made the nighest
Whilst now I thought I ouertopt the highest
For now rain'd tyrannie in ambitious throane,
A true-borne-infant-bloud-spilling murtherer
Vsurping monster, yet contrould of none,
Fowle guilts Appeale, and mischiefs furtherer,
Prowd Richard Gloster in his pride I saw
Acte all thinges at his will for will was law.
He sayes (and then he shewes a withered arme
Dryde at his byrth-day lame and vselesse still)
Quoth he t'was thou by charmes wroughtst me this harme
And therefore doomes me to his tyrant will
For neuer is th' offended mightie Armelesse
To wreake his furie on the hated harmelesse.

Beare hence quoth he (and there withall reflected
Fire sparkling furie from incensed eyes,
Whose madding threat his lunacie detected,
And told me he was taught to tyrannize)
And then agayne in more incensed rage
He cryes, beare hence this monster of her age.
When loe the seruaunt sworne performeth on me,
Th' vnwilling office of a greeued sorrie
And whilst he yet layes forced handes vpon me
Noting my bewtie, and my bewties glorie
He does his duetie yet his loookes doe shoe,
He craueth pardon for his doing so.
For what eye fram'd to enuie and disdayne
Would not inforce the hart to shake the head,
When that pure mayden blush that did destayne
My purple cheeke with fainte vermillon red,
Seem'd constant fayre not chang'd for threatning will
But fearefull true and modest comely still
I seem'd vnwilling that the tyrant should
By force of will haue tyrant-like compel'd me
And therefore made the litle shift I could
To burst away out of their armes that held me,
But as I strugled bewtie grew the more,
Which seene, they held me faster then before.

And those vnwilling handes that prayd vppon me
(Happie they held me to behold my bewtie)
Imbraste me faster with still gazing on me,
To feede their eyes-listes not performe their duetie
For had it bin in them I am assured
Such tyrant lawes I should not haue endured.
But he, whom hell nurst-furie hath infected,
Threats death to them, and me that him offended
And from his knitted browes horror reflected,
Th' inraged doome his fellon thoughtes intended
Impatient, moodie, mad, and full of yre,
He sweares by heauen that shame shalbe my hyre,
Posteritie sayes he (and then agayne
The knit vaynes of his prowdly-looking browes
Swelling with mallice, and extreame disdaine,
Like to an yrefull bore he prowdly bowes)
And sweares by hell heauie reuenge shall date
Th' incenst displeasure of his falling hate,
Posteritie shall know thine Acte (quoth hee)
And then he bids that my attyres be rent,
And termes the habit vnbefitting mee
A Sorcer witch full of her fowle intent
And that which wordes for anger could not say
A furious acte in iesture did bewray.

When I rest of my habite and attyre,
Stood yet as modest, as a mayd should be,
Bashfully feared with the new admire,
Of this base tyrants rauishing of mee.
Who not content with this commandes that I,
Be turn'd into the streets and begge or dye.
Euen as an angerie Bull incenst with yre,
Bellowing his menaces with a hollow rore,
Impatient, madd, wanting his lustes desire,
Augments his madded fiercenesse more and more
And yet no quyet any murther bringes
Although he prayes vpon a thousand thinges.
So vnappeas'd, vnquyet, mad, and yrefull
Rages th' insatiate furie of his will
And in his looke, fierce, wan, and pale, and dyrefull
He seem's impatient, moodie, madded, still,
And not content with this disgrace to greeue me
He sayes that all shall dye, (that dare relieue me.)
(Then from the Court, the martirdoome of mee,)
All solitarie, alone, forlorne, I went
Thether where discontentment I did see,
Threatning my miserie ere my dayes were spent
And needie want as naked as was I,
Told me that thus perplexed I should dye.

When I vnapt to frame a lyer-tale,
Vnapt to craue my bread with beggar prayer,
My poore discountnanst looke all wan and pale
Through hungers nature wayned from her fayre
I could not ô shame would not then that I
Should begge at all but rather choose to dye.
And yet necessitie did vrdge constrainte,
To brooke th' impatience of her proper will,
Whilst silence breaking out to no complainte,
In secret passion hid her sorrow still
And shame with fearefull blush all greeu'd did cry
And wisht she did but know but how to dye.
Nor could remembrance of my high degree,
Brooke my resorting into publicke place
For I did sigh as oft as I did see,
Or thincke that any thought on my disgrace
And who dispayres in such a kinde as this
Thinckes that the whole world knoweth all amisse.
But ô, why doe I thus wearie prolong,
The wofull Tragedie of my pleasures wayne,
Suffices that I knew to bide the wrong,
And brooke with patience what I did sustaine,
Idly we greeue when greeuingly we plaine vs,
For that must be perform'd that needes constraine vs.

I can no more delate my further ill,
Tis sooner iudg'd then told, the greefe is such,
The wise-iuditiall may if so they will,
Sooner conceiue then I can say so much
Since so much now would call agayne the pryme,
And those that tell greefe feele it for the tyme.
I must (quoth she) addresse my selfe to death,
And therewithall, clasping her handes in one,
And wresting oft sighes with a deepe fetcht breath.
She panteth forth a poore complayning grone,
When closing fast her eyes (first ope to heauen)
She now seem's both of speech and life bereauen.
When coward death, fainting, and fearefull slow,
Lookes on her fayre face, with a vultar eye,
And nils him selfe his force vpon her show,
As doting fearefull she could neuer dye,
And yet he would and yet he doth dispayre
And feares she cannot dye she is so faire,
And yet her toung now stil'd could say no more
She panted, and she sigh'd, and gaue a grone,
And euen that bewtie was pure-fayre before,
Wayn'd with her liues expire, and now was none,
Yet death suspected still, doth still dispayre,
And sayes she cannot dye and be so fayre.

For euen as looketh at the sunnes late sitting
A witherd lilly, dry'd, and saplesse quyte,
And in her weakned leaues, inwardly knitting,
Seem's dead and yet, retaines a perfect white
So seem'd her face, when now her fayre did fall
That death still fear'd she would not dye at all.
He saw't, and sigh'd, and yet he could not see,
Cause to induce his hope-perswading eye,
To thincke that there was any cause that shee,
Could be so passing fayre and yet could dye
He thinckes the bewtious neuer life should loose
And yet withall he thinckes, she should not choose
O what a combat wrought her life and death,
Both clayming interest in her end, to spill her,
Life would not that the fayre should loose her breath
Death would not loose his right, yet would not kill her,
But lookes vpon her with a curious eye,
Doubting (though she were dead) she could not dye.
At last, perswading palenesse seem's to say,
O she is dead, her breathlesse sences fayled,
Her life hath lost her ioy, her death his pray,
And now nor her life, nor her death auayled,
O then did any euer ought else trye
Then life or death that maketh vs to dye.

Death tooke delight in her, vntill she dyed,
Life fed vpon her lookes, he did so way her,
Death and his life vpon her end relied,
And greeuing life likt her she was so fayre
This lent her liuing that prolong'd her breath,
O then ther's somthing else that kills then death
For he wisht that he were not death, she might not dye,
Pittieng in this, he greeues he wanteth pietie,
Tyrant in Acte, his will doth this deny
That her death should conferme him in his diety
And rather then of life he would bereaue her
He would giue leaue to all, to liue for euer,
Rather then she should not, he would not be,
Or to a mortall being he would bow,
So she might, all should liue as well as she,
(For death did neuer doubt vntill t'was now)
And yet by death if she might gained be,
The world should dye and none should liue but she,
But as a Christall with a tender breath
Receiues dim thicknesse, and doth seeme obscure
So darkt with palenesse of a breath'd on death
(If it were death that did this darke procure,)
She seem's aliue and yet ah she was gone
And then life greeu'd, and death did fetch a grone.

Yet would they part the remnant of her being
Her body went to death her fame to life
Thus life, and death, in vnitie agreeing
Dated the tenor of their sonderie strife,
Death vow'd her body should be eyed neuer,
Yet life hath vow'd her fame should liue for euer.

by Anthony Chute

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