Montemayor's Diana

Page 033

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Made me thou hast to frowards disdaining:
Of one, that did conuerse with all men daily,
Made me thou hast their company refraining.
Eies had I once, now blinded with desire:
I was a man of flesh, but now of fire.

What’s this my hart, thy torments dost thou double?
Tell me mine eies, and are you still a weeping?
My soule, sufficeth not my passed trouble?
My teares, and are ye yet in riuers steeping?
My wandring wits, and are you not molested
More then ynough with such incessant sorrow?
And are ye not my senses also wrested
From your right course, resting not euen nor morrow?
How know I then, weepe, see, or feele this hower,
When torments waste their force and seuerall power?

Who made my Shepherdesses tresses twist all
Of fine Arabian gold, not gilt-like shining:
Her face of cleerest and of chosen christ all,
Her rubie lips, two rowes of pearle combining:
Her dymond eies, like to those stars aboue all,
Her necke, that whitest Allablaster stayneth,
Her passing wit, inforcing vs to loue all:
Her stately minde, that all our loues disdaineth.
Why made shee not her hart of melting matter,
Then of such marble stone so hard to batter?

One day I do conforme me to my fortune,
And to my griefe, that faire Diana causeth:
Next day mine yll doth vex me, and importune
My soule with thoughts of griefe that seldome pauseth:
Cruell and fierce and inhumane I call her,
And so there is no order in my sorrow:
For afterwards in phrases I install her,
What now I say, I do deny to morrow.
And all is thus leading a life in anguish,
Which soone mine eies may see by death to languish.

When faire Seluagia knew the Shepherd Syluanus by his voice, she went to him, and saluting one another with curteous and louing words, they sat them downe vn∣der the shadow of a thicke and leafie mirtle, in the mids of a little medow, which for the diuersitie of fine golden flowers wherewith it was spotted, more then their sorrowfull thoughts could desire, was most pleasant to the wandring eie. And Syl∣uanus began to speake in this sort. The diuersitie of so many vnaccustomed mi∣shaps, that daily harme vs woefull & true louers cannot be (faire Seluagia) without griefe and compassion of minde considered. But amongst them all, there is none (me thinks) that ought to be so much feared as that, which he suffers, who hath once

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