Loues laborinth, with the description of the seuen Plannets

I Trauel'd through a wildernesse of late,
A shadie, darke vnhaunted desart groue:
Whereas a wretch explain'd his piteous state,
Whose mones the Tygers vnto Ruthe would moue:
Yet though he was a man cast downe by Fate:
Full manly with his miseries he stroue,
And dar'd false Fortune, to her vtmost worst,
And er'e he meant to bend, would brauely burst.

Yet swelling griefe, so much or'e charg'd his heart,
In scalding sighs, he needs must vent his woe,
Where groanes, and teares, and sighs all beare a part:
As partners in their masters ouerthroe:
Yet spight of griefe, he laught to scorne his smart,
And midst his deapth of care, demean'd him so,
As if sweet concord, bore the greatest sway,
And snarling discord was inforc'd t'obay.

Thou Saint (quoth he) I whilome did adore,
Thinke not thy youthfull feature still can last,
In winters age, thou shalt in vaine deplore
That thou on me such coy disdaine didst cast:
Then, then remember old said sawes of yore:
Time was, Time is, but then thy Time is past.
And in the end, thy bitter torments be,
Because that causelesse, thou torment me.

Oh you immortall, high Imperious powres,
Haue you in your resistlesse es decreed
To blast with spight and scorne my pleasant hou'res:
To starue my hopes, and my dispaire to feed,
Once more let me attaine those sunshine showers:
Whereby my withered ioyes, againe may breed.
If Gods no comfort to my cares apply,
My comfort is, I know the way to die.

With wits destracted here I make my will,
I do bequeath to Saturne, all my sadnesse,
When Mellancholy first my heart did fill
My sences turne from sobernesse to madnesse:
Since Saturne, thou wast Author of my ill,
To giue me griefe, and take away my gladnesse.
Malignant Plannet, what thou gau'st to me
I giue againe, as good a guift to thee.

I doe surrender back to thundring Ioue,
All state, which earst my glory did adorne:
My frothy pompe, and my ambitious loue:
To thee false Iupiter I backe returne,
All Iouiall thoghts that first my heart did mooue,
In thy Maiestick braine was bred and borne:
Which by thy inspiration, caus'd my wrack,
And therefore vnto thee, I giue it backe.

To Mars I giue my rough robustious rage,
My anger, fury, and my scarlet wrath:
Man-slaughtring murder is thy onely page,
Which to thy bloudy guidance I bequeath.
Thy seruants all, from death should haue their wage,
For they are executioners for death,
Great Mars, all furie, wrath, and rage of mine
I freely offer to thy Goarye shrine.

All seeing Sol, thy bright reflecting eye
Did first with Poets Art inspire my braines:
Tis thou that me so much didst dignifie,
To rap my soule with sweet Poetike straines,
And vnto thee againe before I die
I giue againe, a Poets gainelesse gaines.
Though wit and art are blessings most diuine
Yet here, their iemmes, amongst a heard of swine.

To thee false goddesse, loues adultrous Queene
My most inconstant thoughts I do surrender:
For thou alone, alone hast euer beene
True louers bane, yet seemest loues defender,
And were thy bastard blind, as fooles do weene:
So right he had not split my heart so tender.
Fond Vulcans bride, thou turnest my ioy to paine
Which vnto thee I render backe againe.

To Mercury, I giue my sharking shifts,
My two fold false equiuocating tricks:
All cunning sleights, and close deceiuing drifts:
Which to decitfull wrong my humour pricks:
All my Buzeaka's, my Decoyes, and lifts:
No birdlime henceforth to my fingers sticks.
My thoughts, my words, my actions, that are bad
To thee I giue, for them from thee I had.

And last, and low'st of all these Plannets seuen
My wau'ring thoughts, I giue to Luna' es guiding:
My sencelesse braines, of wit and sence bereauen
My stedfast change, and my most certaine sliding.
All various alterations vnder heauen
All that is mine, ore mouing, or abyding,
My woes, my ioyes, my mourning, and my mirth
I giue to thee, from whence they had their birth.

Thus he against the higher powers contends
And threats, and bans, and beats his care crazd breast,
The birds harmonious musicke to him lends
Which addes no rest, vnto his restlesse rest:
Yea eu'ry thing in louing sort attends:
All senceable, and sencelesse doe their best.
With helplesse helpes do helpe to mone his mone
And her he loues, Remaines vnkind alone.

At last he rose from out the place he lay,
And frantikely ran woodlie through the wood:
The scratching brambles, in his wailes waie
Intreats him stay, but in a harebraind mood
He fled, till weary he at last did stay,
To rest him, where a ragged rock there stood,
With resolution to despaire and die
Whilst Eccho to his mones, did thus replie.

Eccho.
May humane mischiefes be compar'd with mine? mine.
Thine babling Eccho, would thy tongue told true: rue.
I rue that I alone must weepe and pine pine.
I pine for her, from whom my cares ensue. sue.
I sue, I serue a marble hearted faire ayre.
And ayre is all the fruit of fruitlesse loue: loue.
Lou's hope is past, then welcome black despaire despaire.
Shall there despaire my causelesse curse remoue moue.
Oh whither shall I moue, to ioy or paine paine.
Must paine be my reward for paine for aye aye.
Aye must my torment feed her scornfull veine vaine.
To ease my griefe, will she say yea or nay, nay.
Nay, then from loue and all his lawes I flie flie.
I flie, I search, I seeke the way to die. die.

Thus brabling gainst all things he heares or sees
Impatient as his froward fortunes wrongs.
No sensu'all obiect with his sence agrees.
All pleasures his displeasure more prolongs:
At length he carues vpon the thick bark'd trees
These vnder written sad lamenting songs.
And as my weake inuention vnderstood
His farewell thus, was grau'd vpon the wood.