16 Edmund Spenser From Amoretti

1

  • Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands,
  • Which hold my life in theyr dead doing might
  • Shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,
  • Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight.
  • And happy lines, on which with starry light,
  • Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look
  • And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
  • Written with teares in harts close bleeding book.
  • And happy rymes bath’d in the sacred brooke,
  • Of Helicon whence she derived is;
  • When ye behold that Angels bellsed looke,
  • My soules long-lacked foode, my heavens blis;
  • Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,
  • Whome if ye please, I care for other none!
  • 34

  • Lyke a ship that through the Ocean wyde,
  • By conduct of some star doth make her way,
  • Whenas a storme hath dimmd her trusty guyde,
  • Out of her course doth wander far astray.
  • So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,
  • Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,
  • Doe wander now in darknesse and dismay,
  • Through hidden perils round about me plast.
  • Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past
  • My Helice the lodestar of my lyfe,
  • Will shine again, and look on me at last,
  • With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.
  • Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse,
  • In secret sorrow and sad pensivenesse.
  • 37

  • What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
  • She doth attyre under a net of gold;
  • And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
  • That which is gold or heare, may scarse be told?
  • Is it that men’s frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,
  • She may entangle in that golden snare;
  • And being caught may craftily enfold,
  • Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware?
  • Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye do stare
  • Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,
  • In which if ever ye entrapped are,
  • Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.
  • Fondnesse it were for any being free,
  • To covet fetters, though they golden be!
  • 54

  • Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay,
  • My love lyke the spectator ydly sits;
  • Beholding me, that all the pageants play,
  • Disguysing diversely my troubled wits.
  • Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,
  • And mask in mirth lyke to a Comedy:
  • Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits,
  • I wail and make my woes a tragedy.
  • Yet she beholding me with constant eye,
  • Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:
  • But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry,
  • She laughs, and hardens evermore her hart.
  • What then can move her? if not merth nor moane,
  • She is no woman, but senseless stone.
  • 64

  • Coming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,)
  • Me seemd, I smellt a gardin of sweet flowers,
  • That dainty odours from them threw around
  • For damsels fit to deck theyr lovers bowres.
  • Her lips did smell lyke unto Gillyflowers;
  • Her ruddy cheekes lyke unto Roses red:
  • Her snowy browes lyke budded Bellamores,
  • Her lovely eyes lyke Pinks but newly spred.
  • Her goodly bosom lyke a Strawberry bed,
  • Her neck lyke to a bunch of Cullambynes;
  • Her brest lyke Lillies, ere theyr leaves be shed;
  • Her nipples lyke young blossomed Jessemynes:
  • Such fragrant flowers doe give most odorous smell;
  • But her sweet odour did them all excell.
  • 65

  • The doubt which you misdeeme, fayre love, is vaine,
  • That fondly feare to lose your liberty;
  • When loosing one, two liberties ye gaine,
  • And make him bond that bondage erst dyd fly.
  • Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tye
  • Without constraynt or dread of any ill:
  • The gentle bird feels no captivity
  • Within her cagel; but singes and feeds her fill.
  • There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill
  • The league twixt them, that loyal love hath bound:
  • But simple truth and mutual good-will,
  • Seeks with sweet peace to salve each others wound:
  • There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen tower,
  • And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.
  • 67

  • Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,
  • Seeing the game from him escapt away,
  • Sits downe to rest him in some shady place,
  • With panting hounds beguiled of their pray:
  • So after long pursuit and vain assay,
  • When I all weary had the chace forsooke,
  • The gentle deare returned the selfe-same way,
  • Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke:
  • There she beholding me with mylder look,
  • Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide:
  • Till I in hand her yet half-trembling tooke,
  • And with her own goodwill here fyrmely tyed.
  • Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wyld,
  • So goodly wonne with her owne will beguyled.
  • 68

  • Most glorious Lord of lyfe! that on this day,
  • Didst make thy triumph over death and sin;
  • And having harrowd hell, didst bring away
  • Captivity thence captive us to win:
  • This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
  • And grant that we for whom thou didst die
  • Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
  • May live for ever in felicity!
  • And that thy love we weighing worthily,
  • May lykewise love thee for the same againe;
  • And for thy sake that all lyke deare didst buy,
  • With love may one another entertayne.
  • So let us love, lyke as we ought:
  • Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
  • 74

  • Most happy letters! fram’d by skillful trade,
  • With which that happy name was first desynd:,
  • The which three times thrise happy hath me made,
  • With guifts of body, fortune and of mind.
  • The first my being to me gave by kind,
  • From mother’s womb deriv’d by dew descent :
  • The second is my sovereigne Queen most kind,
  • That honour and large richesse to me lent:
  • The third my love, my life’s last ornament,
  • By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed:
  • To speak her prayse and glory excellent,
  • Of all alive most worthy to be praysed.
  • Ye three Elizabeths! for ever live,
  • That three such graces did unto me give.
  • 75

  • One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
  • But came the waves and washed it away:
  • Again I wrote it with a second hand,
  • But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
  • Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay,
  • A mortal thing so to immortalize,
  • For I myself shall lyke to this decay,
  • And eek my name be wiped out lykewise.
  • No so, (quod I) let baser things devise
  • To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
  • My verse, your virtues rare shall eternize,
  • And in the heavens write your glorious name.
  • Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
  • Out love shall live, and later life renew.
  • 79

  • Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,
  • For that yourself ye dayly such doe see:
  • But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,
  • And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me:
  • For all the rest, how ever fayre it be,
  • Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew;
  • But onely that is permanent and free
  • From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
  • That is true beautie: that doth argue you
  • To be divine and borne of heavenly seed;
  • Deriv’d from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true
  • And perfect beauty did at first proceed:
  • He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made;
  • All other fayre lyke flowres untymely fade.
  • Source:

    Spenser, Edmund. Amoretti: Written Not Long Since. New York: Laurel P, 1901. HathiTrust. Web. 12 Apr. 2016. <http://hdl.handle.net/2027/nyp.33433081638151>

    License

    Icon for the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License

    Anthology of Medieval Literature Copyright © 2021 by Christian Beck is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

    Share This Book