Montemayor's Diana

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Come Faustus then, with speede and stay no more,
For staying woundes my soule and euery sense,
Longer thy absence I cannot endure:
Marke well what they were woont to say of yore,
That by and by a hope, and confidence
After an absence doth succeede most sure.

A little while after that the bitter newes of his vniust change came to my know∣ledge, being mad with the extreme passion of loue, I wrote him this letter & Sonnet.


FAustus, if thou wilt reade from me
These fewe and simple lines,
By them most cleerely thou shalt see,
How little should accounted bee
Thy fained wordes and signes.
For noting well thy deedes vnkinde,
Shepherd, thou must not scan
That euer it came to my minde,
To praise thy faith like to the winde,
Or for a constant man:
For this in thee shall so be found,
As smoke blowne in the aire,
Or like quicksiluer turning round,
Or as a house built on the ground
Of sandes that doe impaire.
To firmenesse thou art contrarie,
More slipp’rie then the Eele,
Changing as weather-cocke on hie,
Or the Camelion on the die,
Or fortunes turning wheele.
Who would beleeue thou wert so free,
To blaze me thus ench howre:
My Shepherdesse, thou liu’st in mee,
My soule doth onely dwell in thee,
And euery vitall powre.
Pale Atropos my vitall string
Shall cut, and life offend,
The streames shal first turne to their spring,
The world shall end, and euery thing,
Before my loue shall end.


This loue that thou didst promise me
Shepherd, where is it found?
The word and faith I had of thee,
O tell me now, where may they be,
Or where may they resound?
Too soone thou didst the title gaine
Of giuer of vaine wordes,
Too soone my loue thou didst obtaine,
Too soone thou lou’st Diana in vaine,
That naught but scornes affoordes.
But one thing now I will thee tell,
That much thy patience mooues:
That, though Diana doth excell
In beautie, yet she keepes not well
Her faith, nor loyall prooues.
Thou then hast chosen, each one saith,
Thine equall and a shrowe,
For if thou hast vndone thy faith,
Her loue and louer she betraieth,
So like to like will goe.
If now this letter, which I send
Will anger thee: Before
Remember (Faustus yet my friend,)
That if these speeches doe offend,
Thy deedes doe hurt me more.
Then let each one of vs amend,
Thou deedes, I wordes so spent,
For I confesse I blame my pen,
Doe thou as much, so in the end
Thy deedes thou doe repent.


FAustus, it needes must be a woondrous case,
And such a deede as one would not conceaue,
A simple soule so slily to deceaue,
Who quickly did thy faith and loue imbrace:
Thy firmnesse she had tride a little space,
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