1
The Cheviott hills doe with my state agree
In everie point, excepting onelie one,
For as there toppes in cloudes are mounted hie,
So all my thoughts in skies be higher gone;
There foote is fast, my faithe a stedfast stone;
From them discends the christall fontains cleare,
And from mine eyes butt fained force and mone
Hoppes trickling teares with sadd and murnefull cheare;
From them great windes doe hurle with hiddeous beir,
From me deepe sighs; greate flocks of sheepe they feede,
I flockes of love; no fruicts on them appeare,
My houpe to me no grace can bring or breede.
In these alike, in this we disagree:
That snowe on them, and flames remaines in me.
2
As man, a man am I composed all
Of brethren foure which did this worlde compone,
Yett unto me doth suche a chance befall
As I, of mankinde all, am he alone
Who of the foure possesseth onelie one:
My flames of love to firie heaven be past;
My aire in sighs evanish'd is and gone;
My moysture into teares distilling fast;
Now onelie earthe remaines with me at last,
That am denuded of the other three.
Then, crewell dame, since unto suche a cast
Your onelie beautie thus compelleth me,
Send als my earth with earthe for to remaine,
Or els restore me to my selfe againe.
3
If he that lackes the light may justlie mone,
And eke lament his miserable cace,
As he to whome all wordlie joye is gone
When drearie darknes cumes in Phoebus place,
How muche the more may I lament, allace!
The absence of my onelie lampe of light,
Since lezardlike I feede upon her face,
And suckes my satisfaction from her sight.
No more may I then marigolde by night
Beare blossomes when no sighte of sunne I have,
For you, madame, have by your beauties might
Bereft, and brookes, my hart, your humble slave:
How may a man, a floure, a corps in smart
See, blossome, breathe, but eyes, but sunne, but hart?
4
Come, fruictfull thoughts, that fertill ever flowes,
And showe what sicknes smites my heavie hart:
The more I muse, my greefe the greater growes
And painefull pangues of passions playe there parte.
My evill, it is incurable by art
And keepis a contrare course to nature cleene;
My minde delights to pance upon his smart
And feede on flames, though secrete and unseene.
Bot as my brest a butt full long hath bene
To sightles shotts, so on the other side,
O ye my harts allurer by my eyen,
Respect with ruthe the bale I daylie bide!
Then, since we bothe like sorrowe doe sustaine,
Bothe preasse to turne in pleasure all our paine.
5
Although that crooked, crawling Vulcan lie
An-under ashes colde, as oft we see,
As senseles deade whill by his heaye he drie
The greene and fizzing faggots made of tree;
Then will that litle sponke and flaming eye
Bleaze bravelie forth and sparkling all abreed
With wandling wp, a wondrous sight to see,
Kithe clearlie then, and on the faggots feede;
So am I forced for to confesse indeede
My sponke of love, smor'd under coales of shame
By Beauties force, the fosterer of that seede,
Now budds and bursts in an appearing flame.
Bot since your beautie hath this wonder wroght,
I houpe, madame, it shall not be for noght.
6
O womans witt, that wavers with the winde,
When none so well may warie now as I:
As weathercocke thy stablenes I finde,
And as the sea that still can never lie.
Bot since that tyme the trueth hath made me trie,
That in inconstance thou art constant still,
My courage sayes: 'On Cupide ceasse to crie,
That are rewarded thus for thy goodwill.'
For thogh, madame, I failde not to fullfill
All sort of service to a mistres dewe,
Yett absence, thogh bot for a space, did spill
The thankes deserved of all my service trewe.
What shall I say? I never thought to see
That out of sight, should out of langour be.
