{"id":3578,"date":"2018-08-04T01:28:40","date_gmt":"2018-08-04T01:28:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/montemayor.tamu.edu\/?page_id=3578"},"modified":"2018-08-04T01:28:40","modified_gmt":"2018-08-04T01:28:40","slug":"transcription","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/montemayor.tamu.edu\/index.php\/transcription\/","title":{"rendered":"Transcription"},"content":{"rendered":"
Download Full Transcription PDF<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n Download Full Transcription .DOCX<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n Continuous Text<\/strong><\/p>\n PAGE 000.006 (recto)<\/a><\/p>\n DIANA At London, Printed by Edm. Bollifant, PAGE 000.007 (verso)<\/a><\/p>\n Robert Harley of Bramton Castle PAGE 000.008<\/a><\/p>\n TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE R<\/strong>IGHT HONORABLE, such are the apparant defects of arte and iudgement in this new pour\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3traied DIANA, that their discouerie must needes make me blush and abase the worke, vnlesse with vndeserued fauour erected vpon the high and shining pillar of your Honorable protection, they may seeme to the beholder lesse, or none at all. The glorie wherof as with reason it can no waies be thought woorthie, but by boldly aduenturing vpon the apparant de\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3monstration of your magnificent minde, wherein all noble vertues haue their proper seate, and on that singular desire, knowledge and delight, wherewith your Ladiship entertaineth, embraceth and affecteth honest endeuours, learned languages, and this particular subiect of DIANA, warranted by all vertue and modestie, as COLLIN in his French dedi\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3catorie to the Illustrous Prince LEWIS of LORRAINE at large setteth downe and commendeth: so now presenting it to so soueraigne a light, and relying on a gracious acceptance, what can be added more to the full content, desire and perfection of DIANA, and of her vnwoorthie Interpreter (that hath in English attire exposed her to the view of stran\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3gers) then for their comfort and defence to be armed with the Hono\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3rable titles and countenance of so high and excellent a Patronesse? But as certaine yeares past (my Honorable good Lady) in a publike shewe at the Middle Temple, where your Honorable presence with many noble Lordes and faire Ladies graced and beautified those sportes, it befell to my lot in that woorthie assemblie, vnwoorthily to performe the part of a French Oratour by a deducted speech in the same toong, and that amongst so many good conceits and such generall skill in toongs, all the while I was rehearsing it, there was not any, whose mature iudgement and censure in that language I feared and suspected more then your Ladi\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ships, whose attentiue eare and eie daunted my imagination with the apprehension of my disabilitie, and your Ladiships perfect knowledge in the same: Now once againe in this translation out of Spanish (which language also with the present matter being so well knowen to your<\/p>\n PAGE 000.009<\/a><\/p>\n Ladiship) whose reprehension and seuere sentence of all others may I more iustly feare, then that which (Honorable Madame) at election you may herein duely giue, or with fauour take away. But as then by your gra\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3cious aspect and milde countenance I flattered my selfe with your fauou\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3rable applause of the first; So now to preuent the second, I haue no other meanes, then the humble insinuation of it to your most Honorable name & clemencie, most humbly beseeching the same to pardon all those faultes, which to your learned and iudicious view shall occurre. Since then for pledge of the dutifull and zealous desire I haue to serue your Ladiship, the great disproportion of your most noble estate to the qualitie of my poore condition, can affoorde nothing else but this small present, \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0Your Honors most<\/em> BARTHOL. YONG.<\/p>\n PAGE 000.010<\/a><\/p>\n The Preface to divers learned Gentlemen,<\/em> A<\/strong>Bout nineteene yeeres past (curteous Gentlemen) comming out of Spaine into my natiue countrey, and hauing spent welny three yeeres in some serious studies and certaine affaires, with no meanes or occasion to exercise the Spanish toong (by dis\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3continuance whereof it had almost shaken hands with me) it was my good hap to fall into the companie and acquaintance of my especiall good friend Edward Banister<\/em> of Idesworth in the Countie of Southampton Esquier; who perceiuing my remissenes in the saide language, perswaded & encouraged me earnestly, by some good translation to recal it to her former place: And to that intent he gaue me the first and second Part of Diana of Montemayor<\/em> in Spanish, which Booke (although I had beene two yeeres in Spaine) till then I neuer saw nor heard of; whose friendly care and desire to preuent so great a losse, and to preserue such an ornament in me, I confesse was the chiefe and principall cause (and therefore the onely credit) of this translation, whereby I recouered that toong againe that lay (as it were) smothered in the cinders of obli\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3uion. The second cause of this my labour, was the delight I passed in discurring most of those townes and places in it with a pleasant recordation of my pen, which mine eies so often with ioy and sorrow had beheld. The third, the resolued then in\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3tent I had neuer (howsoeuer now it hath escaped my hands) to put it in Print, in proofe whereof it hath lyen by me finished Horaces<\/em> ten and sixe yeeres more. For till then I neuer tried my vnproper vaine in making an English verse: how well or ill then the hard and strange kinde of Spanish is turned, I leaue to your fauourable censure and pardon: The low and pastorall stile hereof, Montemayor<\/em> in his Epistle to the L. of Villanoua excuseth, entreating of Shepherds, though indeed they were but shadowes of great and honorable personages, and of their marriages, that not many yeeres agoe liued in the Court of Spaine, whose posteritie to this day liue in noble estate. But touching the Bookes following, you must vnderstand that George of Montemayor<\/em> a Gentleman sprung out of the noble house of Montemayor<\/em> in Portu\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3gal, after he had ended his first Part of Diana<\/em>,which he distributed into seuen Bookes, intending to set forth the second Part, and before his departure into Italie (where I heard he died) imparted his purpose, and the subiect of his intended second Part, to Alonso Perez<\/em>, who answering his intent, wrote the second Part of Diana<\/em>, contayning eight Bookes, promising in the end thereof to continue it with a third Part, which yet he hath not done, although I heare he hath a purpose to do it. But Gaspar Gil Polo<\/em> a Valentian Gentleman, who in my opinion excelleth for fine conceit (whether be\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3fore or after that Alonso Perez<\/em> second Part came forth) made another Part of Diana<\/em>, naming it the first Part of Enamoured Diana<\/em>; the which being diuided into fiue Bookes, he intituleth to follow in due sequence the first seuen Bookes of Diana<\/em> of George<\/em> of Montemayor<\/em>. And in the ende of that first Part of Enamoured Diana<\/em>, he likewise maketh a reference to another Part which he promised to set foorth; the which and that of Alonso Perez<\/em>, if euer they come to light, I leaue to some finer wit and better iudgement to English, my selfe hauing done too much by launching so far into the maine, vnlesse (happily) in your fauourable iudgements it may finde a<\/p>\n PAGE 000.011<\/a><\/p>\n friendly and temperate construction. Hauing compared the French copies with the Spanish originall, I iudge the first Part to be exquisite; the other two corruptly done with a confusion of verse into Prose, and leauing out in many places diuers hard sentences, and some leaues in the end of the third Part, wherefore they are but blind guides by any to be imitated. Well might I haue excused these paines, if onely Edward Paston<\/em> Esquier (who heere and there for his owne pleasure (as I vnderstand) hath aptly turned out of Spanish into English some leaues that liked him best) had also made an absolute and complete translation of all the Parts of Diana<\/em>; the which, for his trauell in that Countrey, and great knowledge in that language, accompa\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3nied with other learned and good parts in him, had of all others, that euer yet I heard translate these Bookes, prooued the rarest and worthiest to be embraced. The faults escaped in the Printing, the copie being verie darke and enterlined, and I loth to write it out againe, I pray you Gentlemen pardon, since all the last Terme that it was in the Presse (hauing matters of greater consequence in charge) I could not intende the correction: aduertising you by the way that the greatest faults are at the ende of the Booke set downe, the lesse being of no moment purposely omitted. Fare ye well and continue me in your woonted loue and fauours.<\/p>\n Yours in all friendly offices,<\/p>\n B. Y.<\/p>\n PAGE 000.012<\/a><\/p>\n THE EPISTLE A<\/strong>Lthough this custome were not very auncient, most noble L. for Authours to dedicate their workes to personages of honour and renowne, by whome they were protected and defended; notwithstanding your rare and high deserts (as well for your noble and ancient house from whence you are descended, as also for the re\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3splendant valour and vertue of your person) might with greater reason then I can expresse, incite me to performe more then this obliged dutie. And admit the base stile of the worke, and the Authours small woorth, in reason ought not so far extend as to dedi\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3cate it to your Lordship: yet excluded from all other remedies, I presu\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3med onely on this, that it was somewhat accounted of. For precious stones are not so highly valued for the name they haue (for they may be false and counterfeite) as for his estimate in whose handes they are: I humbly beseech your good Lordship to entertaine this booke vnder your Hon. ampare and correction, as to the Authour heereof (being but a stranger) you haue done no lesse, since his poore abilitie is not able to serue your Lordship in any other thing: whose wished life and noble estate our Lord increase for many yeeres.<\/p>\n To the same Lord.<\/p>\n Moecenas<\/em> was to Maro<\/em> of great fame PAGE 000.013<\/a><\/p>\n Don Gaspar Romani to the Authour.<\/em><\/p>\n If Lady LAVRAS memorie vnstained Don Hieronymo Sant-Perez, to Parnasse<\/em>, O sacred mount and full of glorie, In deede J am, since that the Muses left me, Thrise happie his Diana, since her flower In all the world most celebrate and graced, PAGE 001<\/a><\/p>\n The Argument of the first Seuen I<\/strong>N the fieldes of the auncient and principall citie of Leon<\/em> in Spaine, lying along the bankes of the riuer Ezla<\/em>, liued a Shepherdesse called Diana<\/em>, whose beautie was most soueraigne aboue all others in her time. She loued, and was deerely beloued againe of a Shepherd cal\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3led Syrenus<\/em>, in whose mutuall loue was as great chastitie and vertue as might be. At the same time another Shepherd called Syluanus<\/em> loued her also more then himselfe, but so abhorred of the Shepherdesse, that there was not any thing in the world, which she hated more. But it fell out, that as Syrenus<\/em> was con\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3strained to be out of the kingdom about certaine affaires, which could by no means be excused, nor left vndone, and the Shepherdesse remaining at home very sad for his absence, time, and Dianas<\/em> hart with time were chaunged, who then was married to another Shepherd called Delius<\/em>,burying him, whom she had but of late so greatly loued, in vniust obliuion. Who, after a whole yeere of his absence comming home againe with great affection and desire to see his beloued Shepherdesse, knew before he came, that she was already married. And from hence the first booke begins: and in the others following, they shall finde diuers histories of accidents, that haue truly happened, though they goe muffled vnder pastorall names and style.<\/p>\n The first Booke of Diana of George<\/em> D<\/strong>Owne from the hils of Leon<\/em> came forgotten Syrenus<\/em>, whom loue, fortune, and time did so entreate, that by the least greefe, that he suffered in his sorrowfull life, he loo\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ked for no lesse then to loose the same. The vnfortunate Shepherd did not now bewaile the harme, which her absence did threaten him, and the feare of her forgetful\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3nes did not greatly trouble his minde, bicause he sawe all the prophecies of his suspicion so greatly to his preiu\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3dice accomplished, that now he thought he had no more misfortunes to menace him. But the Shepherd comming to those greene and plea\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3sant meades, which the great riuer Ezla<\/em> watreth with his cristalline streames, the great felicitie and content came to his wandring thoughtes, which sometimes he had enioyed there, being then so absolute a Lord of his owne liberty, as now subiect to one, who had wrongfully enterred him in darke obliuion. He went musing of that happie time, when in those medowes, and on those faire banks he fed his flocks, applying then his minde in the onely care and interest he had to feede them well: and spending the rest of his howers in the onely delight, that he tooke in the sweete smell of those golden flowers, at that time especially, when cheerefull spring-tyde (the merry messenger of sommer) is spread ouer the face of the whole earth: some\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3times taking his rebecke, which he euer caried very neate in a scrip, and sometimes his bagpipe, to the tune of which he made most sweete ditties, which of all the<\/p>\n PAGE 002<\/a><\/p>\n Shepherdesses of those hamlets thereabouts made him most highly commended. The Shepherd busied not his thoughts in the consideration of the prosperous and preposterous successe of fortune, nor in the mutabilitie and course of times, neither did the painfull diligence and aspiring minde of the ambitious Courtier trouble his quiet rest: nor the presumption and coye disdaine of the proude and nice Ladie (celebrated onely by the appassionate vowes and opinions of her amorous sutours) once occurre to his imaginations. And as little did the swelling pride, and small care of the hawtie priuate man offend his quiet minde. In the field was he borne, bred, and brought vp: in the field he fed his flockes, and so out of the limits of the field his thoughts did neuer range, vntill cruell loue tooke possession of his libertie, which to those he is commonly woont to doe, who thinke themselues freest from his tyrannie. The sad Shepherd therefore came softly on his pace, his eies turned into fountaines, the fresh hew of his face chaunged, and his hart so tempered to suffer Fortunes vnworthie disgraces, that if she would haue giuen him any content, she must haue sought him a new hart to receiue it. The weedes that he did weare, was a long gray coate, as rugged as his haps, carrying a sheepehooke in his right hand, and a scrip hanging on his left arme. He laide himselfe downe at the foote of a thicke hedge, and began to cast foorth his eyes along those faire riuer banks, vntill their beames came to that place, where first they beheld the beautie, grace, and rare vertues of the Shepherdesle Diana, she, in whom skilfull nature had consum\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3mated all perfections, which in euery part of her dainty body she had equally be\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3stowed. Then did his hart imagine that, which before it diuined of, That sometimes he should finde himselfe put amongst sorrowfull memories. And then could not the wofull Shepherd stop his teares from gushing out, nor smother his sighes which came smoking out of his brest, but lifting vp his eies to heaue\u00cc\u201e began thus to lament. Ah memorie (cruell enemie to my quiet rest) were not thou better occupied to make me forget present corsies, then to put before mine eies passed contents? What saiest thou memorie? That in this medow I beheld my Lady PAGE 003<\/a><\/p>\n halfe so iocund as it was woont to be, at what time he was in Dianas<\/em>fauour, and began to sing that which followeth.<\/p>\n H<\/strong>Aire in change what libertie, Syrenus<\/em> had not so soone made an end of his sorrowful song, if that his teares had not bene at hand, for such an one was he, from whom fortune had cut off all the waies and meanes of his remedie. Sorrowing thus, his Rebecke fell out of his hand, and taking vp the golden haire he put them in their place againe, saying, O pledges of the fairest and most disloyall Shepherdesse that humane eies may behold, how with your owne sasetie haue you beguiled me? Woe is me, that I cannot choose but see you, my whole greefe consisting in hauing seene you. And pulling his hande out of his scrip, he found a letter, that Diana<\/em> in time of his prosperitie had sent him,<\/p>\n PAGE 004<\/a><\/p>\n which when he beheld, with a burning sigh, that came from his very hart, he saide. O letter, letter burned maist thou be by his handes, who may best doe what he list: and woe be to him that now shall reade thee: But who may doe it? And opening it, he sawe that it said thus.<\/p>\n Dianas letter to Syrenus.<\/em> I<\/strong> Am a louer, but was neuer loued, PAGE 005<\/a><\/p>\n And flie from loue, but it is euer neere me: For euery ill one semblant I doe beare still, The night to certaine louers is a trouble, Of Cupid to complaine who euer craue it, My Mistresse<\/em> loued her Syrenus<\/em> deerely, Loue\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not a thing, that any may procure it, PAGE 006<\/a><\/p>\n Syrenus<\/em> was not idle when Syluanus<\/em> was singing these verses, for with his sighes he answered the last accents of his wordes, and with his teares did solemnize that, which he conceiued by them. The disdained Shepherd after he had ended his song, began to reuolue in his minde the small regarde he had of himselfe, and how for the loue of his cruell Mistresse Diana<\/em>, he had neglected all his busines and flockes: and yet he reckoned all this but small. He considered, that his seruice was without hope of recompence, a great occasion to make him, that hath but small firmnesse, easily cut off the way of his loue. But his constancie was so great, that being put in the middes of all the causes, which he had to forget her, who neuer thought of him, with his owne safetie he came so easily out of them, and so cleerely without preiu\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3dice to the sincere loue, which he bare his Shepherdesse, that (without any feare) he neuer committed any ignorance, that might turne to the hurt or hinderance of his faith. But when he sawe Syrenus<\/em> at the fountaine, he woondred to see him so sad, not that he was ignorant of the cause of his sorrow, but bicause he thought that if he had tasted but the lest fauour, that Syrenus<\/em> had sometimes receiued at Dianas<\/em> handes, such a contentment had bene ynough for him all his life time. He came vnto him and imbraced him, and with many teares on both sides they sat them downe vpon the greene grasse, Syluanus<\/em> beginning to speake in this sort. God forbid (Syrenus<\/em>) that for the cause of my mishap, or at the lest for the small remedie thereof, I should take delight or reuenge in thine, which though at mine owne pleasure I might well doe, yet the great loue which I beare to my Mistresse Diana<\/em>, woulde neuer consent thereunto, nor suffer me to goe against that, which with such good will and liking she had sometimes fauoured: if thy sorrowes greeue me not, let me neuer haue end of mine; and in such sort, that as soone as Diana<\/em> was about to marry, if it killed not my hart with thinking, that her marriage and thy death should haue bene both at one time, let me neuer enioy any other estate and condition of life then now I doe. Canst thou then thinke (Syrenus<\/em>) that I would wish thee ill, bicause Diana<\/em> loued thee? And that the fauours that she did thee, were the occasions to make me hate thee? What man, my faith was neuer so basely poysed, but that it was euer so ser\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3uiceable to my Mistresse humour, not onely in louing thee, but in louing and honou\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ring all that euer she loued. And yet thou hast no cause to thanke me for this care and compassion of thy greefe, for I am so dissolued into cares, that for mine owne good I would be sorie, how much more then for other mens harmes. This straunge kinde of the Shepherd Syluanus<\/em> his greeting caused no small admiration in Syrenus<\/em>, and made him for a while in suspence with himselfe, woondring at his great suffe\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3rance, and at the strange qualitie of his loue, that he did beare to his Shepherdesse. But remembring himselfe at last, he said. Hast thou (Syluanus<\/em>) happily, bene borne for an example of patience to those, who know not how to suffer the aduersities, that fortune puts before their eies? Or may it be, that nature hath giuen thee so strong a minde, that it is not ynough for thee to suffer thine owne, but thou wilt needes helpe others to support theirs? I see thee so conformable to the hard condi\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3tion of thy fortune, that, promising thee no helpe of remedie, thou doest aske no other, then that it hath already giuen thee. I tell thee (Syluanus<\/em>) that time shewes well by thee, how euery day it discouers nouelties and straunge conceites beyonde the compasse of mans imagination. O how much more then ought this vnfortunate Shepherd to emulate thee, by seeing thee suffer thy greefes with such content, which thou mightest rather haue done to him, when thou sawest him so happily enioy his merry times. Hast thou not seene how greatly she fauoured me, and with<\/p>\n PAGE 007<\/a><\/p>\n what sweete and gracious wordes she manifested her loue vnto me? Didst thou not see, how she could neuer goe with her flockes to the riuer, or take her lambes out of the folde, or in the heate of the day driue her sheepe into the shades of these Sica\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3mours without my companie? But for all this, I wish I may neuer see the remedie of my greefe, if I euer expected or desired any thing at Dianas<\/em> hands that was re\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3pugnant to her honour, or if any such thing did euer passe my thought. For such was her beautie, her braue minde, her vertue, and such vnspotted puritie in her loue to me againe, that they admitted no thought into my minde, which in preiudice of her goodnes and chastitie I might haue imagined. I beleeue it well (saide Syluanus<\/em> sighing) for I can say as much by my selfe, and thinke moreouer that there was neuer any, that casting his eies on Dianas<\/em>peerelesse beautie, durst desire any other thing, then to see her, and to conuerse with her. Although I knowe not, whether such rare and excellent beautie might in some mens thoughts (not subiect to such a continent affection as ours) cause an excessiue desire: and especially, if they had seene her, as I did one day sitting with thee neere to you little brooke, when she was kembing her golden haire, and thou holding the glasse vnto her, wherein now and then she be\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3held her diuine figure, though neither of you both did (perhaps) knowe that I espied you from those high bushes, neere to the two great okes, keeping (yet) in minde the verses, that thou sungest vpon the holding of the glasse, whiles she was addressing her resplendant tresses. How came they to thy handes, saide Syrenus<\/em>? The next day following (saide Syluanus<\/em>) in that very place I founde the paper wherein they were written, and reading them, committed them to memorie: And then came Diana<\/em> thither weeping for the losse of them, and asking me, if I had found them, which was no small ioy and contentment to me, to see my Mistresse powre foorth those teares, which I might speedily remedie. And this I remember was the first hower, that euer I had a gentle and curteous word of her mouth (how greatly in the meane time stood I neede of fauours) when she saide vnto me, that I might highly pleasure her, to helpe her to that, which so earnestly she sought for: which wordes, like holy relikes, I kept in my minde; for in a whole yeere after I tooke no regarde of all the woes and greefes that I passed, for ioy of that one onely word, which had in it but a small apparance of ioy and happinesse. Now as thou louest thy life (saide Syrenus<\/em>) rehearse those verses, which, thou saidst, I did sing, since thou hast them so well by hart. I am content, saide Syluanus<\/em>: and these they were.<\/p>\n F<\/strong>Or a fauour of such woorth Let not this to thee seeme ill, PAGE 008<\/a><\/p>\n Yet a thought, that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s free and set When Syrenus<\/em> had heard the song out, he saide to Syluanus<\/em>. I wish that loue, gentle Shepherd, with hope of impossible felicitie may remedie my greefes, if there be any thing in the worlde, that I would sooner choose to passe away my sorrowfull life with, then in thy sweete and gracious companie, and if it greeues me not now to the hart, that Diana<\/em> is so cruell vnto thee, that she hath not (which well she might haue done) once thanked thee, nor showen thee a fauourable and gratefull counte\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3nance for all thy long and loyall seruice, and for so true loue that thou hast shewed therein. I could with a little content me (saide Syluanus<\/em> sighing) if my angrie fortune would perswade Diana<\/em> to giue me some hope, which she might well affoord without staine to her honour, or breach of faith to thee. But so hard harted is she, that not onely when I craue it, she denies it me, and flies from me when I come in her sight, but to comfort me with any small signe or token, whereby I might imagine or hope hereafter to enioy it, she would neuer yet consent. Whereupon I saide many times to my selfe. It may fall out that this stonie harted and fierce Tygresse may one day conceiue some displeasure against Syrenus<\/em>, for reuenge whereof, and to despite him, she will perhaps shew me some fained fauour; for so disgraced and comfortlesse a man as I am would be glad but with fained fauours to content him, and to imbrace them as true ones. And when thou wentst out of this countrie, then I infallibly perswaded my selfe, that the remedie of my greefe was knocking (as it were) at my doore, and that obliuion was the certainest thing to be expected after absence, and especially in a womans hart. But after when I saw her teares, her little rest and stay\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ing in the village, her delight in seeking out solitarie places, and her continual sighes, when I say I beheld all these things, God knowes with what impatience and greefe of minde I felt them. For though I knewe, that time was an approoued phisition of sorrow, which absence is commonly woont to procure, yet I desired not, that my Mistresse might passe one hower of greefe, although I hoped to get thereby two thousand of content. A few daies after thy departure I saw her at the foote of yon\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3der hill, leaning against an oke, and staying her tender brest vpon her sheepehooke, where she stood in that sort a good while before she espied me, who, though after\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3wards she lifted vp her eies, yet her teares that issued out so fast, did also hinder her (I thinke) that she could not well perceiue me. She should then be musing on her solitarie and sorrowfull life, and on the greefe that by thy absence she conceiued: But a little after that, not without many teares (accompanied with as many painfull sighes) she tooke out her bagpipe which she caried in a fine scrip, and began to play on it so sweetely, that the hils, and dales, the riuers, the enamoured birdes, and the rockie mountaines of that thicke wood were amazed and rauished with her sweete musicke. And leauing her bagpipe, to the tune that she had plaied, she began to sing this song following.<\/p>\n O<\/strong> Eies, that see not him, who look\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d on yow PAGE 009<\/a><\/p>\n Greene flowrie meade where often I did vew, Yon is the riuer banke, this is the meade, Heere haue I yet his picture that deceaues me, Speaking to it no wordes it is replying, PAGE 010<\/a><\/p>\n But (wofull soule) I say vnto it crying, I neuer can go homeward with my sheepe, Yet in thine owne opinion greater reason My song take heede thou goest where I betake thee, PAGE 011<\/a><\/p>\n After Syluanus<\/em> had made an ende of Dianas<\/em> amorous song, he saide to Syrenus<\/em>, who in hearing the louing verses that his Shepherdesse had sung after his depar\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ture, was almost besides his wits. When faire Diana<\/em> was singing this song, it was seene by my teares if I felt not those at my hart, which for thy sake she powred out: but making as though I had not heard, nor seene any thing, by dissembling the mat\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ter the best I could, (which I could scarce doe) I came to the place where she was. Syrenus<\/em> interrupting him at these wordes, saide. Stay a little Syluanus<\/em>, (I pray thee) and tell me what hart was able to chaunge, that PAGE 012<\/a><\/p>\n Syrenus<\/em> giuing a great sigh, saide. Thou hast tolde me strange things, Syluanus<\/em>, and all (wretched man) for the increase of my harmes, since I haue tried too soone the small constancie that is in a womans hart, which for the loue that I beare to them all (for her sake) in very trueth greeues me not a little. For I would not, Shepherd, heereafter heare it spoken, that in a moulde, where nature hath conioined such store of peregrine beautie, and mature discretion, there should be a mixture of such vn\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3worthy inconstancie as she hath vsed towards me. And that, which comes neerest to my hart, is, that time shall make her vnderstand, how ill she hath dealt with me, which cannot be, but to the preiudice of her owne content and rest. But how liues she, and with what contentment after her marriage? Some tell me, saide Syluanus<\/em>,that she brookes it but ill, and no maruell, for that Delius<\/em> her husband though he be (as thou knowest) enriched with fortunes giftes, is but poore in those of nature and good education: For, thou knowest, how lowtish of spirit and body he is, and namely for those things, which we Shepherds take a pride in, as in piping, singing, wrestling, darting of our sheepehookes, and dauncing with the wenches on Sunday, it seemes that Delius<\/em> was borne for no more, but onely to beholde them. But now good Shepherd, said Syrenus<\/em>, take out thy Kit, and I will take my Bagpipe, for there is no greefe that is not with musicke relented and passed away, and no sorrow, which is not with the same againe increased. And so both the Shepherdes tuning, and playing on their instruments with great grace and sweetnesse began to sing that which followeth.<\/p>\n Syluanus.
\nOF GEORGE OF
\nMONTEMAYOR:
\n(ALonso Perez, yGaspar Gil Polo.)
\nTranslated out of Spanish into
\nEnglish by<\/em> BARTHOLOMEW
\nYONG of the Middle
\nTemple Gentleman.<\/p>\n
\nImpensis G. B.
\n1598<\/p>\n
\nIn the County of Hereford Esq.<\/p>\n
\nand my very good Lady
\nthe Lady<\/em> RICH.<\/p>\n
\nmy praier shall alwaies importune the heauens for the happie
\nincrease of your high and woorthie degree, and
\nfor the full accomplishment of your
\nmost Honorable and ver-
\ntuous desires.
\nFrom High Onger in Essex the
\n28. of Nouemb.
\n1598.<\/p>\n
\n\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 humbly deuoted,<\/em><\/p>\n
\nand other my louing friendes.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nTo the Illustrous and noble Lord Don<\/em>
\nIuan de Castella<\/em> de Villa Noua,
\nBaron of Bicorb and Quesa,
\nof GEORGE of
\nMontemayor.<\/p>\n
\nA singular good Lord and louing frend,
\nAnd Alexander<\/em> did enioy that same
\nRare wit of Homer<\/em>, death though him did end:
\nAnd so the \u00c6\u00b2illanouas<\/em> generous name
\nThe Lusitan<\/em> poore Authour doth defend,
\nMaking a base and wanting wit t\u00e2\u20ac\u2122aspire
\nVnto the clouds, and yet a great deale higher.<\/p>\n
\nPETRARC in endlesse verse hath left renowned:
\nAnd if with Laurell HOMER hath beene crowned
\nFor writing of the wars the Greekes obtained:
\nIf Kings t\u00e2\u20ac\u2122aduaunce the glorie they haue gained
\nIn life time, when fierce MARS in battell frowned,
\nProcure it should not be in LETHE drowned,
\nBut after death by historie maintained:
\nMore iustly then shouldst thou be celebrated
\n(O excellent DIANA) for the fairest
\nOf all the faire ones, that the world hath brought foorth:
\nSince all those wits, whose pens were estimated
\nTo write the best, in glorie thou impairest,
\nAnd from them all the Laurell crowne hast sought foorth.<\/p>\n
\nGeorge of Montemayor.<\/p>\n
\nThe Poets muse, delight of their desires:
\nMe thinkes thou art too comfortlesse and sorie,
\nCompar\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d with this, whose famous name aspires.<\/p>\n
\nAnd with their gracious Quire from hence descended
\nTo mount this Hill<\/em>, whose Greatnes<\/em> hath bereft me
\nOf all my fame, and glorie that is ended.<\/p>\n
\nIn top of this High Hill<\/em> was set so lately,
\nThat all the world might view it euery hower,
\nWhere she doth liue most soueraigne and stately:<\/p>\n
\nBeing no lesse excelse, then highly placed.<\/p>\n
\nBookes.<\/p>\n
\nof Montemayor.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nDiana<\/em>, that in the same I began to feele that, which I shal neuer leaue of to lament, That neere to that cleere fountaine (set about with high and greene Sicamours) with many teares she so\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3lemnly sware to me, that there was not the deerest thing in the world, no, not the will of her parents, the perswasion of her brethren, nor the importunities of her allies, that were able to remooue her from her setled thoughts? And when she spake these words, there fell out of those faire eies teares like orientall pearles, which see\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3med to testifie that, which remained in her secret hart, commanding me, vpon paine to be accounted of her a man but of a base and abiect minde, if I did not beleeue that, which so often times she had told me. But stay yet a little Memorie, since now thou hast put before me the foundations of my mishap (and such they were, that the ioy, which I then passed, was but the beginning of the greefe which now I suffer) forget not to tune me this iarring string, to put before mine eies by one and one, the troubles, the turmoiles, the feares, the suspects, the iealousies, the mistrusts, and cares, which leaue not him, that most truly loues. Ah memorie, memorie, how sure am I of this answere at thy hands, that the greatest paine, that I passed in these con\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3siderations, was but little in respect of that content, which in lieu of them I recei\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ued. Thou hast great reason memorie, and the worse for me that it is so great: and lying and lamenting in this sort, he tooke a paper out of his bosome, wherein he had a few greene silken strings and haire tyed vp together, and laying them open before him vpon the greene grasse, with abundance of teares he tooke out his Rebecke, not<\/p>\n
\nSince I sawe you, haue I seene?
\nHow vnseemely hath this greene
\nBene a signe of hope to me?
\nOnce I thought no Shepherd might
\nIn these fieldes be found (O haire)
\n(Though I did it with some feare)
\nWorthy to come neere your sight.
\nHaire, how many times and tydes
\nDid my faire Diana<\/em> spie,
\nIf I ware or left you by
\nAnd a thousand toyes besides.
\nAnd how oft in weeping sort
\n(Of deceitfull teares O springs)
\nWas she iealous of the things,
\nWhich I spake or did in sport?
\nThose faire eies which wrought my woe,
\n(Golden haire) tell me what fault
\nIn beleeuing them I caught,
\nWhen they did assure me soe?
\nSaw you not how she did greeue,
\nSpilling daily many a teare,
\nVnto her till I did sweare,
\nThat I did her words beleeue?
\nWho more beautie euer knew
\nIn a subiect of such change,
\nOr more sorrowes or more strange
\nIn a loue so perfect true?
\nOn the sand her did I see
\nSitting by you riuer bright,
\nWhere her finger this did wright
\nRather dead then changed be.<\/em>
\nSee how loue beares vs in hand,
\nMaking vs beleeue the wordes,
\nThat a womans wit affordes,
\nAnd recorded in the sand.<\/p>\n
\nH<\/strong>Ow ill I should brooke thy words (my Syrenus<\/em>) who would not thinke, but that loue made thee vtter them? Thou saiest I loue thee not so much as I ought to doe, I knowe not whereby thou perceiuest it, and conceiue not, how I should loue thee more. Behold, it is now no time not to beleeue me, bicause thou seest, that the loue, which I beare thee, compels me to beleeue that, which from thy very thoughts and affection thou dost tell me. I imagine oftentimes, that as thou supposest, that I loue thee not (by louing thee more then my selfe) so must thou thinke, that thou lo\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3uest me by hating me. Behold Syrenus,how time hath dealt better with thee then thou didst imagine at the beginning of our loues (with safetie yet of mine honour) which owes thee all that it may: wherein is not any thing, that I would not doe for thy sake, beseeching thee, as much as I may, not to trouble thy minde with iealousie and suspicions, bicause thou knowest, how few escape out of their hands with safetie of life, which God giue thee with all the content that I wish thee.
\nIs this a letter saide Syrenus<\/em>, sighing, to make one thinke, that obliuion could enter into that hart, from whence such wordes came foorth? And are these wordes to be passed so slightly out of memorie? And that she then spake them, and now forget me? O sorrowfull man, with what great content did I reade this letter when my Mistresse had sent it me, and how many times in the same hower did I reade it ouer againe? But for euery pleasure then, with seuen folde paine I am now apaide: and fortune could doe no lesse with me, then to make me fall from one extreme to ano\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ther: For it had ill beseemed her with partiall hand to exempt me from that, which to all others she is commonly wont to doe.
\nAbout this time from the hill beneath, that led from the village to the greene medowe, Syrenus<\/em> might perceiue a Shepherd comming downe pace by pace, and staying awhile at euery step, sometimes looking vp to heauen, and sometimes casting his eies vpon the greene medow and faire riuer bankes, which from aloft he might easily view and discouer (the thing which more augmented his sorrow) seeing the place, where the beginning and roote of his mishap did first growe. Syrenus<\/em> knew him by and by, and looking towardes the place from whence he came, saide. Vnfortunate Shepherd (though not halfe so much as I am) that art a corriuall with me in Dianas<\/em> loue, to what end haue thy bootelesse suites serued thee, and the dis\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3daine that this cruell Shepherdesse hath done thee, but to put them all on my score? But if thou hadst knowen that the finall summe of all thy paines should haue bene like to mine, what greater fauour hadst thou found at fortunes hands, by preseruing thee still in this haplesse estate of life, then by throwing me headlong downe from it, when I did lest suspect it? But now despised Syluanus<\/em> tooke out his bagpipe, and playing on it a little, with great sorrow and greefe did sing these verses following.<\/p>\n
\nWell haue I lou\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d, and will though hated euer,
\nTroubles I passe, but neuer any mooued,
\nSighes haue I giuen, and yet she heard me neuer:
\nI would complaine, and she would neuer heare me,<\/p>\n
\nObliuion onely blamelesse doth beset me,
\nFor that remembreth neuer to forget me.<\/p>\n
\nTo day not sad, nor yesterday contented,
\nTo looke behinde, or go before I feare still,
\nAll things to passe alike I haue consented:
\nI am besides my selfe like him that daunceth,
\nAnd mooues his feete at euery sound that chaunceth:
\nAnd so all like a senselesse foole disdaines me,
\nBut this is nothing to the greefe that paines me.<\/p>\n
\nWhen in the day some good they are attending:
\nAnd other some doe hope to gaine some double
\nPleasure by night, and wish the day were ending:
\nWith that, that greeueth some, some others ease them,
\nAnd all do follow that, that best doth please them:<\/em>
\nBut for the day with teares I am a crying,
\nWhich being come, for night I am a dying.<\/p>\n
\nIn waues he writes and to the windes he crieth:
\nOr seeketh helpe of him, that neuer gaue it:
\nFor he at last thy paines and thee defieth.
\nCome but to him some good aduise to lend thee,
\nTo thousand od conceits he will commend thee.
\nWhat thing is then this loue? It is a science,
\nThat sets both proofe and study at defiance.<\/p>\n
\nAnd scorned me, whose loues yet I auouched,
\nLeft to my greefe, for good I held it cleerely,
\nThough narrowly my life and soule it touched:
\nHad I but had a heauen as he once shining,
\nLoue would I blame, if it had bene declining.
\nBut loue did take no good from me he sent me,
\nFor how can loue take that he neuer lent me.<\/p>\n
\nLoue\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not a thing, that may be bought for treasure;
\nLoue\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not a thing, that comes when any lure it,
\nLoue\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not a thing, that may be found at p\u00e2\u20ac\u00a2\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6re:
\nFor if it be not borne with thee, refraine it
\nTo thinke, thou must be borne anew to gaine it:
\nThen since that loue shuns force, and doth disclame it,
\nThe scorned louer hath no cause to blame it.<\/p>\n
\nIn no doubt I doe remaine,
\nSince with selfe same coyne againe
\n(Mistresse<\/em>) thou art paide right foorth.
\nFor if I enioy with free
\nPleasure, seeing before me
\nFace and eies, where Cupid stands:
\nSo thou seeing in my hands,
\nThat which in thine eies I see.<\/p>\n
\nThat of thy beautie diuine
\nThou see\u00e2\u20ac\u2122st but the figure shine,
\nAnd I natures perfect skill:<\/p>\n
\nNeuer yet in Cupids net,
\nBetter then the bond beholdes,
\nThough the one the liuely mouldes,
\nTh\u00e2\u20ac\u2122other but the counterfet.<\/p>\n
\nWhen that they were the mirrours of his sight,
\nWhat can you now behold to your content?<\/p>\n
\nAnd staid for my sweete friend with great delight,
\nThe ill, which I doe feele with me lament.
\nHeer did he tell me how his thoughts were bent,
\nAnd (wretch) I lent an eare;
\nBut angry more then whelplesse Beare
\nPresumptuous him I call\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d, and vndiscreete:
\nAnd he layde at my feete,
\nWhere yet (poore man) me thinkes I see him lye:
\nAnd now I wish that I
\nMight see him so, as then I did: O happy time were this,
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\nFrom thence the hedge appeeres and shadowed lay,
\nWherein my flockes did feede the sauourie grasse:
\nBehold the sweete noys\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d spring, where I did leade
\nMy sheepe to drinke in heate of all the day,
\nWhen heere my sweetest friend the time did passe:
\nVnder that hedge of liuely greene he was;
\nAnd there behold the place,
\nWhere first I saw his sweetest face
\nAnd where he sawe me, happy was that day,
\nHad not my ill haps way
\nTo end such happy times, O spring,
\nO hedge, and euery thing
\nIs heere, but he, for whom I paine continually, and misse,
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\nSince that I see my Shepherd when I view it,
\n(Though it were better from my soule absented)
\nWhen I desire to see the man, that leaues me
\n(Which fond deceipt time showes and makes me rue it)
\nTo yonder spring I goe, where I consented
\nTo hang it on yon Sallow, then contented
\nI sit by it, and after
\n(Fond loue) I looke into the water,
\nAnd see vs both, then am I so content heere,
\nAs when his life he spent heere:
\nThis bare deuise a while my life sustaineth;
\nBut when no more it faineth,
\nMy hart surcharg\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d with anguish, and cries out, but yet amisse,
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\nAnd then (me thinkes) reuenge of me it taketh,
\nBicause sometime an answere I despised.<\/p>\n
\nSyrenus<\/em> speake, since now thy presence maketh
\nAboade, where neuer once my thoughts surmized:
\nSay, in my soule art thou not onely prized?
\nBut not a word it saieth,
\nAnd as before me there it staieth,
\nTo speake, my soule doth pray it (in conclusion)
\nO what a braue delusion,
\nTo aske a simple picture toong or sences?
\nO time, in what offences
\nOf vainest hope is my poore soule so subiect vnto his?
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\nWhen to the west the sunne begins to gyre,
\nNor to the foldes returne from our towne,
\nBut euery where I see, and (seeing) weepe
\nThe sheepe cote of my ioy and sweete desire
\nBroken, decaied, and throwen vnto the ground:
\nCarelesse of lambes and sheepe, there sit I downe
\nA little while, vntill
\nThe herdesmen feeding on the hill,
\nCry out to me, saying, O Shepherdesse
\nWhat doe thy thoughts possesse,
\nAnd let thy sheepe goe feeding in the graine?
\nOur eies doe see it plaine:
\nFor them the tender grasse in pleasant vales doth growe ywisse,
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\n(Syrenus<\/em>) it had bene, thus to haue started
\nWith more constraint, and force then I did see yet,
\nBut whom doe I accuse of guiltlesse treason?
\nFor what could make him stay and not haue parted,
\nIf fate and fortune thereto did agree yet?
\nNo fault of thine it was, nor could it be yet
\nIn my beleefe, haue ended
\nThou wouldst in ought, or haue offended
\nOur loue so plaine and simple, as to leaue it
\nNor will I once conceaue it,
\nThough many shewes and signes thereof there were yet:
\nO no, the fates did sweare it,
\nWith cloudes of sorrow to obscure my heauen of ioy and blisse,
\nSweete<\/em> shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus<\/em> is.<\/p>\n
\nYet shalt thou not forsake me:
\nFor it may be that fortune will with such a humour place thee,
\nThat may terme thee importunate and by that meanes disgrace thee.<\/p>\n
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u00a2elt such passions? O constancie, O firmnesse, how seldome and how small a time doe you soiourne in a womans hart? That the more subiect she is to loue and to imbrace you, the more ready she is to leaue and forget you. And surely I was of this opinion, that this imperfection was incident to all women, but to my Mistresse Diana<\/em>, in whom I euer thought that nature had not omitted to frame euery good and perfect thing. But Syluanus<\/em> after this prosecuting his historie, saide vnto him. When I came neere to the place where Diana<\/em> was, I sawe her fixing her faire eies in the cleere fountaine, where vsing her accustomed maner, she began to say. O woefull eies, how sooner shall you want teares to water my cheekes, then continuall occasions to powre you out? O my Syrenus<\/em>, I would to God, before the winter with his blustring stormes despoyles the greene medow of fresh and fragrant flowers, the pleasant vallies of fine and tender grasse, and the shadowed trees of their greene leaues, that these eies may behold againe thy presence so much desired of my louing soule, as mine is eschewed and (perhaps) hated of thine: With this she lifted vp her diuine countenance, and by chance espied me, and going about to dissemble her sorrowfull complaint, she coulde not so cunningly doe it, but that her teares made it too manifest, by stop\u00e2\u02c6\u00a3ping the passage of her dissimulation. She rose vp at my comming, and saide. Sit downe heere Syluanus<\/em>, and see how thou art now (to mine owne cost) sufficiently reuenged of me. Now doth this miserable woman pay thee home againe those paines, which thou didst suffer (as thou saidst) for her sake, if it be true, that she was euer, or yet is the cause of them. Is it possible Diana<\/em> (saide I againe) that these eares may heare these wordes? In the end, I perceiue, I am not deceiued by saying, that I was borne to discouer euery day new kindes of torments for thy sake, and thou to requite them with the greatest rigour in the world. Dost thou now therefore doubt, that thou art the cause of my greefe? If thou art not, who (dost thou imagine) can deserue so great loue as this: or what hart in the world (but thine) had not before this bene mollified and made pitifull by so many teares? And to these I added many other wordes, which now I doe not so well remember. But the cruell enemie of my rest cut off my wordes, saying. If thy toong, Syluanus<\/em>, fondly presumeth to speake to me againe of these matters, and not to entertaine the time with talke of my Syrenus<\/em>, I will (at thine owne pleasure) leaue thee to enioy the delight of this faire fountaine, where we now sit. For knowest thou not, that euery thing that intreates not of the goodnes of my Shepherd is both hatefull and hurtfull to my eares? And that she, that loueth well, thinketh that time but ill imploied, which is not spent in hearing of her loue? Whereupon, fearing least my wordes might haue bene an occasion to haue made me loose that great content and happines, that I had by her sweete sight and presence, I sealed them vp with silence, and was a good while without speaking a worde, onely delighting my selfe with the felicitie I had, by contemplating her soueraine beautie, vntill night with greater haste then I desired, came on, when both of vs then were constrained to goe homewards with our flockes to our village. Then<\/p>\n
\nS<\/strong>Yrenus<\/em>, what thought\u00e2\u20ac\u2122st thou when I was viewing thee
\nFrom yonder hedge, and in great greefe suspending me
\nTo see with what affliction thou wert ruing thee?
\nThere doe I leaue my flocke, that is attending me:
\nFor while the cleerest sunne goeth not declining it,
\nWell may I be with thee, by recommending me
\nThine ill (my Shepherd) for that (by defining it)
\nIs passed with lesse cost, then by concealing it:
\nAnd sorrow (in the end) departs resigning it.
\nMy greefe I would recount thee, but reuealing it,
\nIt doth increase, and more, by thus recording me
\nHow in most vaine laments I am appealing it:
\nMy life I see (O greefe) long time\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s affoording me
\nWith dying hart, and haue not to reuiue me it,
\nAnd an vnwonted ill I see aboording me,
\nFrom whom I hop\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d a meane, she doth depriue me it:
\nBut (sooth) I hop\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d it neuer, for bewraying it,
\nWith reason she might gain say to contriue me it.
\nMy passions did sollicite her, essaying yet
\nWith no importune meanes, but seemely grounding them,
\nAnd cruell loue went hindering and dismaying it.
\nMy pensiue thoughts were carefully rebounding them
\nOn euery side, to flie the worst, restraining them,
\nAnd in vnlawfull motions not confounding them.
\nThey prai\u00e2\u20ac\u2122d Diane<\/em>, in ils, that were not fayning them,
\nTo giue a meane (but neuer to repell it thee)<\/p>\n