William Fowler :: An Anthology of 16th and Early 17th Century Scots Poetry

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William Fowler

From The Tarantula of Love:

76. 4. Pryde of my spreits and brightnes of my eyes
77. 16. Ten thousand wayes Love hes enflamd my harte
78. 21. O quhat great power lurketh in these eyes
79. 35.The rearding thoundars highest tries abate
80. 48. Schip brokken men, whome stormye seas sore tossis
81. 63. Vpon this firthe, as on the sees of love

From a sonnet-sequence:

82. [Orknay]
83. A Dreame

From The Tarantula of Love:

4. Pryde of my spreits and brightnes of my eyes

Pryde of my spreits and brightnes of my eyes,

Lamp of my lyfe and onlye hartes delyte;

Hope of my paynes, sueit causer of my cryes;

Cheife worke of heaven and Naturs mould perfyte;

Glass of al bontye and of beautye quhyte;

Deare sant on earthe, and yet of hevinlye race;

Blist bright suborner of these theames I wryte;

Cleire schyning sun which darknes dois displace;

Strong centryeis and wyde storehouse of al grace;

Scharpe quik reviver of my slow ingyne,

Wha bothe my wills and witts reulis by thy face:

Receave these verse which humblie I propyne,

And in theme reid that which thy beutye bred,

Whose wondars hathe me in my folyeis fedd.

16. Ten thousand wayes Love hes enflamd my harte

Ten thousand wayes Love hes enflamd my harte

And Nature greivd me with far moe agayne;

Yea, Fortoun in my losses playes her parte,

And with dissembled shawes protracts my payne.

Love doth in hardest knotts my harte enchayne,

And Nature discords in my senses place,

And Fortoun crosses just deserts agayne,

And maks me cludds of toyes for joyes embrace:

So live I plundge, yea, drouned in disgrace,

And triple foes doe mak me perrish thryse;

I see my wrak, and authours I embrace;

Unlovd, I love theme that my deathe devyse.

Thus wemen tuoe and a chyld forlorne

Conspyrs all thrie in killing me to scorne.

21. O quhat great power lurketh in these eyes

O quhat great power lurketh in these eyes,

Which brings me deathe quhen I there beames behold!

O how bothe sueit and soure ar these bright rayes,

Which att one instant maks me whote and cold!

Proud eyes, meik eyes, which maks in doubts me bold,

And dimmis my sight, and dois subdewe my harte;

Fair eyes which bothe dois plagues and peace vnfold,

And by sueit discord dois my saule subvert.

Stey, stey, my faire, and do not theme devert

Which beares the message of my future payne;

Go, go, my dame, and theme no more convert

To summond me unto your love agayne.

Stey, stey! Go, go! I wott not quhat I wishe:

Bot this I knaw, they bring me bayle and bliss.

35. The rearding thoundars highest tries abate

The rearding thoundars highest tries abate,

rearding: roaring

And staitlye touers dothe with there fal ding doune;

Yet they not ay contenewe in that state,

Nor yet they alweys furiouslye dois froune:

Bot thy fearse yre is euer bent and bowne

With sad effects my gladnes to efface,

And maks me scheaver trimblinglye, and swowne,

And by disdaynes prolongs my deip disgrace.

The godds there just conceaved wreathe release,

And ar appaysed by a humbled harte;

Yea, plagues deservd by fervent prayers cease:

Bot thow thy thoughts from pittie dois avert,

As nather may my treuthe nor traynes availe

The rampiers of thy rigour for to skayle.

rampiers: ramparts

48. Schip brokken men, whome stormye seas sore tossis

Schip brokken men, whome stormye seas sore tossis,

Protests with oaths not to adventur more,

Yet all there perrells, promeses and lossis

They quyte forgett quhen they come to the schore:

Euen so, fair dame, whils sadlye I deplore

The schipwrak of my witts, proceurd by yow,

Your lookes rekendleth love as of before,

And dois revive which I did disavowe;

So all my former voues I disallowe

And buryeis in oblivions grave my grones,

Yea, I forgiue herefter even as now

My feares, my teares, my cares, my sobbs and mones

In hope, gif I agane on roks be dreven,

Ȝe will me thole to ancer in your heaven.

63. Vpon this firthe, as on the sees of love

Vpon this firthe, as on the sees of love,

My beaten bark with waltring wawes tost sore

waltring: weltering

To the bright fyre her wandring course dothe move,

Imagining I see the on the schore;

Thy words the mapp and cairt is, o my glore,

Thy eyes the ey attractive calamite,

Thy winks the tuinkling stars which I adore,

The pointed compass ar thy proper feite,

The rudder is my reason undiscreit,

The airs my greiffs, the reas my piteous plaint,

reas: sail-yards

The ancar doubt, the suits sowre sueit,

The schip my half-deade hart through mad intent,

The see my teares, my sighs the whirling wynde,

Which maks me seik the heaven I can not fynd.

From a sonnet-sequence:

[Orknay]

As charming Circe did Ulisses stey

Within the bounds of the Sicilian yles,

Transforming men euen to there awen decay,

And chainging theme in foules and beastes by wyles,

So thow, chaist love, quha in my long exyles

From my Penelope haithe me deteind,

Conjuring wynds, which ay my hope beguyles,

Hes me with the, but greif in greif reteind;

And though this grace I have of yow obteind,

As not to be in foule nor beaste transformd,

Quhairthrough the loss the losser may be meind,

meind: diminished

Yet, charming charmer, thow hes me deformd:

Quhils my weake witts now wittles doe becum,

And eyes but sight, and toung baith tyed and dum.

A Dreame

Sche quhome I loued, quhase death is all my woe,

To me in sleip this night did hir adress,

With sugred speache to move me to forgoe

And leave these sobbs which dois my joyes suppress.

'Can these availl,' quod sche, with plesant ire,

'Can these availl to rander me my lyfe?

No, no, my deire, it is not my desyre:

Blist is my state, which is exeimd from stryfe.

exeimd: exempted

I joy my joyes with the celestiall troupe;

Within my grave then troubill me na more.

Raise upp thy spreits, and longer do not droupe;

Thy faithfull hairt dois weill my death decore.

Adieu, my love! Receave off me this kiss,

For faith nor love no gretar I culd wiss.'