when a rich ruby’s just price is the worth of a walnut,
or to the sun small sparks of a candle seem wonders,
then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,
virtue, riches, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
Oh, no, no. Worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title
where proofs justly do teach such worth, thus matched, to be nought worth.
Let not a puppet72 abuse thy sprite. Kings’ crowns do not help them
from the cruel headache, nor do shoes of gold heal the gout,
and precious couches full oft are shaked by a fever.
If then a bodily evil by a bodily gloze73 is not hidden,
shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love’s fire?
Dorus:
O glittering miseries of man, if this is the fortune
of those fortune lulls, then small rest rests in a kingdom.
What marvel that a prince transform himself to a pastor,
come from marble bowers (many times the gay harbor of anguish)
unto a silly cabin, though weak, yet stronger against woes.
Now by your words, I begin, most famous lady, to gather
comfort into my soul (I do find). I do find what a blessing
is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
of carking74 agonies to states which still be adherent,75
destiny keeps me aloof. For if all this state—to your virtue
joined, by your beauty adorned—be no means to abolish these griefs,
nor if by that help you can climb up to your fancy
(nor yet fancy so dressed do receive a more plausible hearing),
then do I think, indeed, that it is better to be private
in sorrow’s torments than be tied to the pomps of a palace.
Nurse inward maladies which have not scope to be breathed out
and perforce76 digest all bitter joys of horror
in silence, from a man’s own self with company robbed.
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I am plunged
into my life’s bondage, yet may I disburden a passion
(oppressed by ruinous conceits) by the help of an out-cry,
not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier,
but sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heavens, do decipher
with bold clamor, unheard, unmarked, what I seek, what I suffer.
And when I meet these trees, in the earth’s fair livery clothed,
ease do I feel (such ease as falls to one wholly diseased)
for that I find in them part of my state represented.
Laurel shows what I seek. By the myrrh is shown how I seek it.
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest.
Myrtle makes my request. My request is crowned with a willow?
Cypress promises help, but a help where comes no recomfort.
Sweet juniper says this, “Though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.”
Yew does make me think what kind of bow the boy77 holds,
which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart.
Fir trees great and green, fixed on a high hill (but a barren),
are like to my noble thoughts, still new, well placed, to me fruitless.
Fig, which yields most pleasant fruits—its shadow is hurtful.78
Thus are her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her!
Now, when I mark in a palm how it does rise under a burden,
then may I not (and I say) get up, although griefs be so weighty?
Pine is a mast to a ship. To my ship shall hope for a mast serve?
Pine is high (hope is as high), sharp leaved—sharp yet be my hope’s buds.
Elm embraced by a vine? Embracing fancy revives.
Poplar changes its hue from a raising sun to a setting—
thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.
Old aged oak cut down, of new works serves to the building—
so my desires by my fear, cut down, be the frames of her honor.
Ash makes spears that pierce through shields; her force no repulse takes.
Palms do rejoice to be joined by the match of a male to a female—
and shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense?
Thus be my thoughts dispersed; thus thinking nurses a thinking;
thus both trees and each thing else are the books of my fancy.
But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I lift my tearful eyes,
then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,
and think, there she dwells, and hears what sorrows I utter.
When that noble top nods, I believe she salutes me;
when by the wind it makes a noise, I do think she answers.
Then, kneeling to the ground, often do I speak to that image:
“Only jewel, ô only jewel, which only deserves
that men’s hearts be your seat, and endless fame be your servant,
ô descend for a while from this great height to behold me.
But naught else do behold (else is not worth the beholding)
save what a work by yourself is wrought. And since I am altered
thus by your work, disdain not that which is done by yourself.
In
