SILVESTRIS

I do not think Love hath any spark of Divini tie in him; since the end or his being is earthly. In the blood is he begotten by the frail fires of the eye, & quench by the frailer shadows of thought. What reason have we then to sooth his humour with such zeal, and follow his fading delights with such passion. I, one that thinks her self above love. That which necessity makes me to endure, love reverence, wisdom wonder at. Rivalem patienter h e. Polypus, Niobe, is ever of the colour of the stone it slicketh to, and thou ever of his humour thou talkest with. So many. Yes one. My self. Sweet Niobe, a river running into diverse brooks becomes shallow, and a mind divided into sundry of fections, in the end will have none: what oy can I take in the fortune of my love, when I shall know many to have the Like favours? Turtles slock by couples, and breed both joy and young ones. Why do you covet many, that may find sweet ness in one? Because whilst he slept with some, he might wake with other some. That was but a device of Inno, that knew I p ors love. The whole heaven hath but one Sun . The Rainbow is ever in one compass. A woman hath but one heart. My Lute, though it have many strings, makes a sweet consent, and a Ladies heart, though it harbour ma nigh fancies, should embrace but one love. Why, what strings are in Ladies hearts? Not the base. The mean? The Triple Sweet Niobe, let us sing, that I may die with the Swan. Are thy tunes fire? No, but when I have herd thy voice, I am con tent to die. Inconstant Niobe ! unhappy Silvestris ! yet had I rather she should rather love all then none: for now though I have no certainty, yet do I find a kind of sweetness. Wavering, yet witty Niobe, but are we all more Mine is best of all, and worst, this is my hope, that either she will have many or none. A remedy for love irremoveable, but I will first see whither all those that love Niobe, do Like in the mean season I will content my self with my share. Cedit amor rebus, res age, tutus eris. Sat mihi si fancies, fit be notam mihi. Now for my self, Victoriatecum stabit scilicet. I consent; but what if Cupid deny help? But if he yield, what shall we ask? And I. Cupid, thou God of love, whose arrows have pierced our hearts, give ear to our plaints. This fan of Swans and Turtles feathers, is to ken of my truth and jealousy: jealousy, without which love is dotage, and with which love is madness, without the which love is lust, and with which love is folly. This heart, neither bleeding nor bloodless, but wolne with sighs, I offer to thy godhead, protesting, that all my thoughts are as my words without lust; and all my love, as my fortune without sweetness. This Garland of flowers, which hath all colours of the Rainbow, witnesseth that my heart hath all torments of the world: pity poor Sil vestris. Mine most witty, but most wavering. Too fickle. The third, that he hath no nose, for savours are not found of lovers. All, that he is a foolish God, working without rea son, and suffering the repulse without regard. That Jupiter never sware true to Ju . That deceit kept a forge in the hearts of fools. Women's reasons, they would not, because they would not. Mine divine, Cupid, whose affection nothing can make stayed, let her be turned to that Bird, that veth only by air, and dieth if she touch the earth, because it is constant. The bird of Paradise, Cupid, that drawing in her bowels nothing but air, she may know her heart fed on nothing but fickleness. But shall we not go visit Erisicthon? But how shall we look on them when we shall see them smile? We must, and perchance they will frown. If it come by commandment of Ceres, not their own motions, I rather they should hate: for what joy can there be in our lives, or in our loves sweetness, when every kiss shall be sealed with a curse, and every kind word proceed of fear, not affection? enforcement is worse then enchantment. But here comes Ceres with Erisicthon : let us look demurely, for in her heart she hates us deeply. Cupid knoweth so of us all. My sweet Niobe. Happy Silvestris. And mine, Cupid, which nothing can altar. I would my self were stone, flower, or fowl, see king that Nisa hath a heart harder then stone, a face fairer then the Rose, and a mind lighter then feathers. Sweet Niobe, the farther you did seem to be from me, the nearer I was to my death, which to make it more speedy, wished thee wings to she into the air, and my self led on my heals to sink into the Sea. My sweet Niobe, fly whither thou wilt all day, so I may find thee in my nest at night, I will love thee, and belove thee.