The Triumph of Love, Chapter III

SO muche was my hearte a marueld of this syght
That I stode styll as one that had no myght
To speake or looke but to holde hys peace
As desyreous to haue some councell doubtles
When that my frende gentylly to me sayde
Why doest thou muse? Why arte thou dismayde?
Shewe forth a better chere and porte
And se how that I am one of the sorte
That wyll I, nyll I, must folowe the rest.
Brother sayde I, and thou knowest best
Myne entention, and the hote loue I feale
Whiche is so whote that it cannot keale
So that suche busynes doth trauayle my mynde
That what I wolde saye I leaue behynde.
He aunswered and sayde, I do heare it all
And well vnderstande by thy memoriall
Thou wouldest knowe yet what these other be
And I shall shewe thee yf thou wylte heare me
Seest thou yondre great man of honoure
That is Pompeus so great of power
That hath with hym Cornelia the chaste
Complaining of the vyle Tholome the vnstedfast
That betrayed so noble and worthy a man
The tother is the great and myghtie grecian
Alexander the lorde of lordes all
Egystus and Clytemistra see where they stall
And howe by them one may soone fynde
Loue vnconstant waueryng and blynde
More faste loue founde she that standeth by
Ipermistra it is that fayre swete ladye
See also where Piramus doth goo
And with hym Thisbe that he loued soo
That in the derke mette oft together
Leander in the see and Ero at the fenester
And hym that thou doest se so pensyle and sadde
It is Ulixes that so chaste a wyfe hadde
That dyd longe abyde hys returne from Troy
Nowe on Cyres he hath all his ioye
And yonder man that thou doest aduerte
That made all ytaly sore for to smerte
It is Amilcar sonne in very deade
That made all the Romaynes to feare and dread
And althoughe he made yche man to quake
A vyle wench prysoner doth hym take
And yonder woman with the short heare
Loke howe she foloweth here and there
All though she were quene of Ponto
Her husbande whersoeuer he doth goo
As a seruaunte and not as a wyfe
She ledde wyth hym a full harde lyfe
The tother thou seest is Porcia the true
The chastiste wyfe that euer man knewe
Because that yron men dyd her forbyde
The fyre she swallowed tyll she were dede
Beholde where is Iulia that soore complayned
That she best loued her husband vnfayned
And yet he louide hys second wyfe better
There could to her be no payne greater
Turne thyne eyes on the other syde
And see the olde holy father begylde
And dysdayne not for to take the payne
To serue seuen yeares to haue Rachell agayne
O lyuely loue that with labour doth encrease
See the father of this Iacob neuerthelesse
And the graundefather of Sara take delyght
Thus doth loue wyth his power and myght
After loke howe loue cruell and euyll
Ouercame Dauide and made hym to kyll
His faythfull seruaunt which he repented sore
In a derke place he dyd repentaunce therefore
A lyke mysty cloude pyte to thynke vpon
So […]erkyd the great wysedome of Salomon
That well neare it quenched hys hygh fame
Se also I praye the among the same
He that louyde and hatyd in a whyle
And it is he that Thamar dyd beguyle
Wherefore she complayned to Absolone
Of hyr mysfortune she made wondre mone
And lytle afore hym see there he went
The stronge Sampson that sore dyd repent
For putting his heade in his loues lappe
Tellyng her hys secretes he hadde hard happe
After beholde amonge swordes and speares
Iudeth that hent hym by the heares
The proude Holiferne vanquished by loue
Whereby she sauyde her citie from reproue
There was no moo but she and hee mayde
That dyd thys wonders acte at that abrayde
Doest thou not see Sychen afore thine eyes
Emonge the circumcysed people howe he dyes
Scorned in lyke maner as the tother was
Thys was loue that brought hym to that case
Lo where thou mayest see the greate Assuerus
That for to heale hys malady amarouse
Left the tone and toke hym to a sweter
There is no remedy agaynst loue better
Then one nayle to knocke out with a nother
A stronge example this is among the other
But nowe wylt thou see in one tyrantes hart
Loue and crueltie which is a diuers parte
Beholde Herodes howe he doth complayne
Thys myscheuouse tyrante inhumayne
To late repentyd soo doth dyuers mo
The deade ones done, it cannot be vndoo
Maryamne hys loue he calleth and clepeth
And all in vayne wherefore he wepeth
And lo there one may beholde and see
Three fayre swete Dameselles where they be
Pocry and the good gentle Arthemesia
And in there companye there standeth Deidamin
These were not soo good but the other be as yll
That foloweth this loues tryumphe styll
Semiramis and Biblia, and Mirra, the gent
That of theyr vyle loue do soore repente
I am not aduysed theyr offences to name
Therefore I leue it for very pure shame
Nowe foloweth then that fyll bokes wyth lyes
Launslote and Trystram that for Ysode dyes
And Quene Queynor with other louers moo
But specially the fayre gentle Darmino
That made for his loue great complaynte
And she for hym wexed pale and faynte
Thus spake my frende, & I which herkened well
All these hystories that he to me dyd tell
Stode astonied as in dreade and feare
Of hurt to come that hastyth nere and nere
Pale and wane as he that is so taken
Oute of his tombe newe rysen and awaken
When that all sodenly by me there stode
The fayrest yonge mayden of face and mode
That euer I sawe whyter then a doue
Which vnprouided toke me soore in loue
And although that I dyd pretende
By strength agaynst her me to defende
And that I, would resyst in the place
A man of armes in such a soden case
Yet for hyr wordes and with her smyling there
She bounde me fast and toke me prysoner
And euyn then for trueth in that degree
My frende drue nere and smyling sayde to me
In my nere wysperyng nowe speake thou may
What loue is and all her nyce playe
Nowe mayest thou knowe it as well as I
Both we be spottyd wyth one maladye
I than was one of this great arraye
That more dyd lament the trueth, I saye
Of other mens loue that prosperde well
Then of myne owne doloure of which I tell
And as he that repenteth all to late
Of hurte taken vnwysely allgate
So of my loues beautie dyd I make
Myne owne death which wyllyngly I take
By loue, by ielozy, by enuye also
Burnynge lyke fyre thus dyd I loue in woo
The fyre was kyndled in that most fayrest face
Euen as a sycke man that an appetyte hase
And desyreth that to hym semeth swete
Yet to this helth it is nothynge mete
Euen so was I vnto all other pleasure
Deaf and blynde, out of all measure
Folowynge hyr by so doubtfull wayes
That it to remember, those tymes and dayes
I tremble and quake when therof I do thynke
More then I can wryte with pen paper and ynke
So that from the tyme that this befell
Myne eyes for moysture semed a well
My harte was pensyfe, my lodginge was in dede
Brokes sprynges, and ryuers, so dyd I lede
My lyfe in busshes, in grouets, and in woodes
Amonge the stones, I sought none other goodes
And to this so many papers whyte
As in hyr prayse I payned to endyte
When after I tore them into peces smal
I was compelled agayne to wryte them all
And all in loues cloystre what is done
I know it well it cannot be vndone
That there is feare, and there is hope also
Who wyll it rede, and take hede thereto
In my forehead there maye ye se it playne
All my sorowe, my doloure, and my payne
And for all this, that wylde ioly dame
That is the causer of all this same
Goeth afore me and careth not at all
Whether that I flete, I synke, or fall
So is she proude in vertue set so hye
That in hyr selfe she taketh glorye
To haue me so fast hyr seruaunt bounde
That I knowe not howe to heale my wounde
And to this it is a maruelouse thynge
The God of loue this great myghtye kynge
It seemeth of hyr he is soore afearde
When that she lyst to loke hymin the bearde
So that hope doth me so ofte forsake
That loue hym selfe no remedy can make
For when he wyll any thynge with this mayde
She doth not as other do that are afrayde
But as one that is free she goeth in the race
Not bounde, but at lydertie with hyr fayre face
And no wondre for she doth appeare
Emonge the starres as the Sonne cleare
Hyr porte is synguler hyr wordes are maruelous
Hyr heare spred as the golde moost beutiouse
The eyen kyndled with a celestiall lyght
That well content to burne is my delyght
Who can compare with hyr angelyke demure
It passeth my connyng ye maye be sure
As muche as the Sea passeth a lytle broke
For who on good maners doth prye and looke
A newe thynge it is, and not afore seene
Nor after shall not so dulse and sheene
So that all tounges hyr beutye to expresse
Are and shalbe muete doubtelesse
With suche a one am I taken, and with hyr tyde
And she free from all loue on euery syde
O wycked starre that my destanye doth leade
Howe is it that I haue no better speade
Day and nyght vpon hyr I do call
But she nothyng bouse to pytie at all
Nor scant will tary to heare what I saye
Alas for pytye well mourne I maye
A harde lawe it is thus to loue be kynde
The waye not ryght, but crooked for to fynde
But yet to folowe it why shulde I saye naye
When that not onely men doth goe that waye
But the Goddes also that be celestiall
Are not free from this payne at all
He that is a louer ful well knowes this
How that the hart from the bodye departed is
How nowe he is in warre, and forthwith in peace
Howe when his loue doth shewe vngentlenes
He wyll not be aknowen, but his malady hyde
Thoughe that it prycke hym both backe and syde
This euell feele I, and yet more there to
When with my loue I haue to do
The bloude for feare renneth to my harte
And streyght abroade in my vaynes doth starte
I knowe also howe hydde vnder the floure
The serpent lyeth the louer to deuoure
How alwayes the louer lyeth in dread and doute
In great suspecte for to be put oute
By another, and so no rest I take
Neyther when I slepe, nor when I wake
I knowe also howe to seke the place
Where my loue is ay wont to passe
And yet I stand in feare hyr to fynde
Althoughe hyr selfe is prynted in my mynde
I knowe also my selfe howe to beguyle
With louynge and mornynge a great whyle
Folowynge the damesell it is euen so
That wyll burne me folowyng, yet after I go
I knowe moreouer how loue cryes and calles
And wyll not be shytte out with dores nor walles
But puttes by reason, and wyll not go awaye
Tyll he pearce the harte, and all I saye
I knowe also how s[…] a gentle harte
Is tyed with a small lace and cannot start
When the sences haue the better hande
And reason put by, and wyll not withstande
I knowe to this how that loue doth shote
How he flyes and strykes without geuyng boote
How he threateth and robbeth with forse & might
And thus wronges his seruautes against alright
and I am not ignoraut how vnstable is his whele
The hope doubtfull alwayes for to fele
The doloure sute, his promyse vntrue
Ay desyrous to chaunge for thynges newe
And how to this in the bones doth rest
The hyd fyre that lyeth so opprest
In the louers vaynes, and that with such a woud
That at the last it bryngeth hym to the ground
In conclusion I know loue so to be
Inconstaunt, waueryng, and fearefull trust me
Hauyng in it a lytle small swetenes
Mengled with extreme payne and bytternes
When he woulde speake, cannot though he would
Sodeyne scilence when his tale should be tolde
A shorte laughynge with complaynt styll & longe
Gall tempred with hony this is the louers songe.