The Triumph of Death, Chapter II

THe nyghte folowynge ye this horrible chauce Fell, to my hartesioye & pleasaunce
That made in maner the sone lese his lyght
And from ye erth toke also all delyght
And the fayre flowre in heauen on hygh set
My guyde gone and I with sorowe fret
And blynde lefte from al ioye and pleasure
The swete softe season pleasaunt be ye sure
With the colde that spredde was in the ayre
Afore Aurora moste delicate and fayre
Taketh awaye with his holsome streames
All vntrue and fayned false dreames
Euen at that tyme to me dyd appeare
Semblaunt to that season a mayde fayre & cleare
Crowned with ryche orient pearles whyte
And for to encrease the more my delyght
Hyr fayre hande stretche forth then dyd she
And softely syghyng gently spake to me
Doest thou not knowe me sayth she me tell
Hyr that sometyme thou dyddest loue so well
Of whome thy harte was all set on fyre
And made the forsake all foule and vyle desyre
Thus sayinge with a sadde sobre countenaunce
She sat her downe my ioye and my pleasaunce
And made me syt by hyr euen there
Apon a bancke me thought we twayne were
Whiche was shadowed with the Lawrell tree
A greate beche therby well myght I see
And I so set muche lyke in suche a case
As he that speaketh and wepeth a great pace
Soo dyd I aunswer vnto this Lady deare
O thou fayre creature without to haue a peare
Howe shoulde it be that I the shoulde forgette
Sythyns that euer my hart on the was set
Arte thou alyue or deade I longe to knowe
I am alyue sayes she thou mayst me trowe
And thou arte deade and soo styll shalbe
Tyll that the last houre that taketh the
From the earth, now marke wel what I saye
The tyme is shorte, and oure wyll alwaye
Is longe, and therefore I the rede
What thou wylt saye that it be sayde with spede
Lest that the daye that commeth at the hande
Make thou shalt not here no longer stande
Then sayde I O Lady swete and pereles
That hast proued I se it doubtles
What lyfe and death are both certayne
Tel me yf death be so great a payne
She aunswered forthwith and to me sayde
Mens blynde opinion makes it to be frayde
But for to tell the what it is in deade
Death is dissoluynge of all doubte and dread
And cleane delyuers vs from a pryson darke
Specially to hym that gently doth warke
But vnto hym that hath done amys
And all on couetousnesse his harte set is
It is a payne and doloure infinite
But I that from that am free and quyte
For this death whiche I dyd assaye
For whiche thou hast mourned to this daye
Woulde make the mery and all thy soores heale
If halfe the ioye thou haddest that I do feale
Thus spake she, and hyr celestyall eyes
Deuoutly she lyfte vp vnto the skyes
And that rodye lyppes more swete then rose
She helde them styll tyll I dyd purpose
Silla, Nero, Cayus, and Maryus
With these tyrauntes put Maxentius
Syckenes in the brest and in the flanckes
Payne of burnyng, feuers and cranckes
Makes the death more bytter then gall
She aunswered me then forthwith all
I cannot (sayes she) for truth denye
But that the payne moost certaynlye
That goeth afore that the death doth come
Is wonder greuouse this is all and some
But that which greuith most of all
Is the feare of losse of the lyfe eternall
But the spirite that comfortes hym in good
And with his harte doth dread his rodde
Unto hym I say what is the death
But euen a syght and a short stopping breath
This by my selfe dyd I well knowe and se
At the laste houre when death dyd take me
The body was sycke but the soule was well
When that I harde one by me there tell
O howe wreched and miserable is he
That compteth the dayes of the infenyte
That Laura is in and thinketh euery day
A thousand dayes I dare ryght wel say
Her excelente person to se and to beholde
And neuer after se, his comfort should
Sekes for her the water and the lande
And neuer for her in quyete doth stande
But alwayes folowinge one maner of style
Howe that he may in euery tyme and whyle
On her to thynke on her with penne to wryte
On her to speake on hye for to endyte
This beryng casting myne eyes asyde
Hyr amonge the other there I espyde
That often moued me, the for to loue
And kyndled in thy hart farre aboue
The loue I bare alwayes vnto the
I knowe her well that it was very she
That much comfortyd me or I dyed
With her wise wordes on euery syde
And playnely to the when that I was
In my best tyme, and in that honest case
In youth but tendre, and vnto the moost dere
Whiche made many and dyuers here and there
To speake both and ofte of the and me
The lyfe wherein thou sawest me for to be
Was but bytter I sweare nowe on my fayth
To the respecte of my most pleasaunt death
Whiche to men mortall is very rare
So that when my lyfe awaye dyd fare
Euen at that poynt I was moost mery and glad
Sauynge that of the great pytie I hadde
To departe this worlde trust thou me
As one in exyle his owne countre to se
Then sayde I to hyr euen there agayne
On the fayth Madame whiche you are certayne
That I ought you without for to chaunge
Tell me nowe and be not to me straunge
For you knowe all seynge that gloryous syght
Aboue oure knowledge the eternall light
Had you euer pitie in your harte
Of my greate sorowes, and paynes smarte
Not leauynge aparte your hygh chast wayes
Whiche that you vsed with me alwayes
Nowe shewynge to me a swete dysdayne
Nowe a swete angre to double my payne
Nowe shewynge a peax wrytten in your eyes
That hylde me so tyed and in suche wyse
That doubtfull I was in what case I stoode
Many yeares thus I in loue abode
Scant had I these wordes to hyr sayde
When that I sawe euen at a brayde
That swete smylyng and fayre countenaunce
That somtyme was my ioye and plesaunce
My comforte, my lust, and my reioysinge
In this wise to me moste graciouse speking
From the my hart was neuer deuyded
Nor neuer shall but that I prouided
Dyuers tymes with my wyse regard
I tempered thy loue yt well neer thou had marde
Because there was as than none other way
Oure feruent loue with honest for to stay
Therefore in lyke case as thou sest a mother
Correcte her deare chylde for no nother
But all to brynge her to good frame
Euen so dyd I then vse the same
And sayde to my selfe full many a season
This man not louys but burnes out of reason
Wherefore it behoueth me for to prouyde
In this hard daungerouse case on euery syde
And surely full euyll prouydeth he
That loketh outwarde and doth not se
What is inwarde in such a peryllous case
This in my pitefull harte toke then place
And thys to the as a brydell was than
As thou seest by a horse reuled by a man
Wherefore somtime I shewed me wonders glade
Somtyme agayne to be as sober and sadde
And yet I loued as hoote and true as you
Allwayes sauing the chosen honest dowe
Which soo my will than and euer opprest
That reason reulde my desyre at the lest
And when that agayne I dyd beholde and se
Thy sorowe to greuouse and paynefull for to be
Swetely and gently on the myne eyes I sett
Thy helth and welfayre agayne for to gett
Thys was euer my wise honest wayes
That I honestly vsed with the in those dayes
And when I sawe the teres droppyng auayle
Downe thy pale chekes lyke vnto the hayle
Then I dyd pray and softly then I sayde
Here it is necessarye I geue anone an ayde
And when that thou were forthwith agayne
Into to much hope my loue for to attayne
Anone vnto my selfe euen thus sayde I
Here of necessitie must be had a remedye
A harde and strayt byt I muste nowe put to
Thus with dyuers colours many mo
Myth hoote with grene with golde with white
I kepte the alwayes styll in honest plyte
Thou knowest this well and hast it tolde
And in many a swete sonet it encolde
When she had sayde these wordes to me playne
With tremblyng voyce I sayd to her agayne
Your wordes to me should be passyng were
For the greate loue and most fetuant here
That I haue euer borne my ioy to you
If I beleuyde them faythfully to be true
O vnfaythfull man then answered she
Why shoulde I say these wordes vnto the
If that my wordes were not true and iuste
Nowe then I tell the disclose my hart I muste
If in this world lyuing to my sight
I toke in the luste pleasure and delight
I kept it secret where thou I say agayne
Thy loue to all men dydest make it playne
There was no dyfference in our loue at all
But that my true loue was ioyned all
In moost honest wyse so for to be
But nowe one thynge I wyll demaunde of the
When that thy swete balettes I dyd synge
Dyddest thou then doubte of me in any thynge?
I thynke playnly nay and therfore thus
Though for a tyme I was contrarius
By louynge straunge and semyng so to be
A thousande tymes thou mayst trust me
With my thoughte alwayes so I farde
Thou haddest of me an inwarde swete regarde
And more thy mynde at that tyme to appease
I wyl tell the that thynge that shal the please
It greueth me sore that I was not borne
By thy fayre citie I saye to the therforne
Althoughe my countre full pleasaunt be
I woulde my nest had ben nere to the
Lest that percase thy mynde shulde chaunge
And loue some other amonge so great a raunge
To these wordes no worde then I sayd
The thyrde celestial speare had so arrayde
And lyfte in loue so sore my louynge thought
That aunswer hyr at that tyme coulde I nought
Then she to me with a benigne loue and chere
I haue in this world by the great honour here
And shal haue alwaye marke wel what I shal say
The nyght is past now commeth the bryght daye
Yf that to me thou wylt more saye swete hart
Be short I byd the for I must hence departe
O sayde I, myne owne swete Lady dere
For al the sorowe and payne I haue had here
In louinge you these wordes so fayre and swete
Doth recompence my loue and makes all mete
But from you thus for to be seperate playne
Is vnto me a deadly mortall payne
But one thynge nowe to me you must declare
Or that ye from my wofull presence fare
Shall I lyue longe tell me after you
Or shortly as I woulde O Lady you ensue
She aunswered gently as farre as she coulde tell
Longe after hyr on earth here should I dwell