Astrophel and Stella

Part I (Sonnets 1-30)

1

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain: Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain: Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay, Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite-- "Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."

Ouing in trueth, and fayne in verse my loue to show, That she, deare Shee, might take som pleasure of my paine, Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pittie winne, and pity grace obtaine, I sought fit wordes to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inuentions fine, her wits to entertaine, Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sun-burnd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Inuentions stay; Inuention, Natures childe, fledde step-dame studies blowes; And others feet still seemde but strangers in my way. Thus, great with childe to speak, and helplesse in my throwes, Biting my trewand pen, beating myselfe for spite, Fool, said my Muse to me, looke in thy heart, and write.

2

Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed shot Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed; But known worth did in mine of time proceed, Till by degrees it had full conquest got: I saw and liked, I liked but loved not; I lov'd, but straight did not what Love decreed. At length to love's decrees I, forc'd, agreed, Yet with repining at so partial lot. Now even that footstep of lost liberty Is gone, and now like slave-born Muscovite I call it praise to suffer tyranny; And now employ the remnant of my wit To make myself believe that all is well, While with a feeling skill I paint my hell.

3

Let the dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine, That bravely mask'd, their fancies may be told: Or, Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine, Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold. Or else let them in statelier glory shine, Ennobling new found tropes with problems old, Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbs or beasts with Inde or Afric' hold. For me in sooth, no Muse but one I know: Phrases and problems from my reach do grow, And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. How then? Even thus: in Stella's face I read What love and beauty be, then all my deed But copying is, what in her Nature writes.

4

Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest. Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit. If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd, Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it. The scepter use in some old Cato's breast; Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit. I do confess, pardon a fault confess'd, My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit. But if that needs thou wilt usurping be, The little reason that is left in me, And still th'effect of thy persuasions prove: I swear, my heart such one shall show to thee That shrines in flesh so true a deity, That Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love.

5

It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve: And, fools, adore in temple of hour heart, Till that good God make Church and churchman starve. True, that true beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed: True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move: True, and yet true that I must Stella love.

6

Some lovers speak when they their Muses entertain, Of hopes begot by fear, of wot not what desires: Of force of heav'nly beams, infusing hellish pain: Of living deaths, dear wounds, fair storms, and freezing fires. Some one his song in Jove, and Jove's strange tales attires, Broidered with bulls and swans, powdered with golden rain; Another humbler wit to shepherd's pipe retires, Yet hiding royal blood full oft in rural vein. To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest style affords, While tears pour out his ink, and sighs breathe out his words: His paper pale despair, and pain his pen doth move. I can speak what I feel, and feel as much as they, But think that all the map of my state I display, When trembling voice brings forth that I do Stella love.

7

When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes, In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright? Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light? Or did she else that sober hue devise, In object best to knit and strength our sight, Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise, They sun-like should more dazzle than delight? Or would she her miraculous power show, That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary, She even if black doth make all beauties flow? Both so and thus, she minding Love shoud be Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed, To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed.

8

Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place, Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart, And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race. But finding these north climes do coldly him embrace, Not used to frozen clips, he strave to find some part Where with most ease and warmth he might employ his art: At length he perch'd himself in Stella's joyful face, Whose fair skin, beamy eyes, like morning sun on snow, Deceiv'd the quaking boy, who thought from so pure light Effects of lively heat must needs in nature grow. But she most fair, most cold, made him thence take his flight To my close heart, where while some firebrands he did lay, He burnt un'wares his wings, and cannot fly away.

9

Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face, Prepar'd by Nature's choicest furniture, Hath his front built of alabaster pure; Gold in the covering of that stately place. The door by which sometimes comes forth her Grace Red porphir is, which lock of pearl makes sure, Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure) Marble mix'd red and white do interlace. The windows now through which this heav'nly guest Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such, Which dare claim from those lights the name of best, Of touch they are that without touch doth touch, Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw: Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.

10

Reason, in faith thou art well serv'd, that still Wouldst brabbling be with sense and love in me: I rather wish'd thee climb the Muses' hill, Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree, Or seek heav'n's course, or heav'n's inside to see: Why shouldst thou toil our thorny soil to till? Leave sense, and those which sense's objects be: Deal thou with powers of thoughts, leave love to will. But thou wouldst needs fight both with love and sense, With sword of wit, giving wounds of dispraise, Till downright blows did foil thy cunning fence: For soon as they strake thee with Stella's rays, Reason thou kneel'dst, and offeredst straight to prove By reason good, good reason her to love.

11

In truth, oh Love, with what a boyish kind Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways: That when the heav'n to thee his best displays, Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind. For like a child that some fair book doth find, With gilded leaves or colored vellum plays, Or at the most on some find picture stays, But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind: So when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet Stella, thou straight lookst babies in her eyes, In her cheek's pit thou didst thy pitfall set: And in her breast bopeep or couching lies, Playing and shining in each outward part: But, fool, seekst not to get into her heart.

12

Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stella's eyes, That from her locks, thy day-nets, noe scapes free, That those lips swell, so full of thee they be, That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise, That in her breast thy pap well sugared lies, That he Grace gracious makes thy wrongs, that she What words so ere she speak persuades for thee, That her clear voice lifts thy fame to the skies: Thou countest Stella thine, like those whose powers Having got up a breach by fighting well, Cry, "Victory, this fair day all is ours." Oh no, her heart is such a citadel, So fortified with wit, stored with disdain, That to win it, is all the skill and pain.

13

Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love, Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were: Jove's golden shield did eagle sables bear, Whose talons held young Ganymede above: But in vert field Mars bare a golden spear, Which through a bleeding heart his point did shove: Each had his crest; Mars carried Venus' glove, Jove in his helm the thunderbolt did rear. Cupid them smiles, for on his crest there lies Stella's fair hair, her face he makes his shield, Where roses gules are borne in silver field. Phoebus drew wide the curtains of the skies To blaze these last, and sware devoutly then, The first, thus match'd, were scantly gentlemen.

14

Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend, Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire, Than did on him who first stole down the fire, While Love on me doth all his quiver spend, But with your rhubarb words you must contend, To grieve me worse, in saying that desire Doth plunge my well-form'd soul even in the mire Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end? If that be sin which doth the manners frame, Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed, Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame: If that be sin which in fix'd hearts doth breed A loathing of all loose unchastity, Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.

15

You that do search for every purling spring, Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring; You that do dictionary's method bring Into your rimes, running in rattling rows; You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes, With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing, You take wrong ways: those far-fet helps be such As do bewray a want of inward touch: And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light. But if (both for your love and skill) your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame, Stella behold, and then begin to endite.

16

In nature apt to like when I did see Beauties, which were of many carats fine, My boiling sprites did thither soon incline, And, Love, I thought that I was full of thee: But finding not those restless flames in me, Which others said did make their souls to pine, I thought those babes of some pin's hurt did whine, By my love judging what love's pain might be. But while I thus with this young lion played, Mine eyes (shall I say curst or blest?) beheld Stella; now she is nam'd, need more be said? In her sight I a lesson new have spell'd, I now hav learn'd Love right, and learn'd even so, As who by being poisoned doth poison know.

17

His mother dear Cupid offended late, Because that Mars grown slacker in her love, With pricking shot he did not throughly more To keep the pace of their first loving state. The boy refus'd for fear of Mars's hate, Who threaten'd stripes, if he his wrath did prove: But she in chafe him from her lap did shove, Brake bow, brake shafts, while Cupid weeping sate: Till that his grandame Nature pityijng it Of Stella's brows make him two better bows, And in her eyes of arrows infinite. Oh how for joy he leaps, oh how he crows, And straight therewith like wags new got to play, Falls to shrewd turns, and I was in his way.

18

With what sharp checks I in myself am shent, When into Reason's audit I do go: And by just counts myself a bankrupt know Of all the goods, which heav'n to me hath lent: Unable quite to pay even Nature's rent, Which unto it by birthright I do owe: And, which is worse, no good excuse can show, But that my wealth I have most idly spend. My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys, My wit doth strive those passions to defend, Which for reward spoil it with vain annoys. I see my course to lose myself doth bend: I see and yet no greater sorrow take, Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake.

19

On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent, That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same? When most I glory, then I feel most shame: I willing run, yet while I run, repent. My best wits still their own disgrace invent: My very ink turns straight to Stella's name; And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, Avise themselves that they are vainly spent. For though she pass all things, yet what is all That unto me, who fare like him that both Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall? Oh let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit: "Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward your wit."

20

Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound; fly! See there that boy, that murthering boy I say, Who like a thief, hid in dark bush doth lie, Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey. So tyrant he no fitter place could spy, Nor so fair level in so secret stay, As that sweet black which veils the heav'nly eye: There himself with his shot he close doth lay. Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did, And stayed pleas'd with the prospect of the place, While that black hue from me the bad guest hid: But straight I saw motions of lightning grace, And then descried the glist'ring of his dart: But ere I could fly hence, it pierc'd my heart.

21

Your words, my firend, (right healthful caustics) blame My young mind marr'd, whom Love doth windlass so, That mine own writings like bad servants show My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame; That Plato I read for nought, but if he tame Such doltish gyres; that to my birth I owe Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe, Great Expectation, were a train of shame. For since mad March great promise made of me, If now the May of my years much decline, What can be hoped my harvest time will be? Sure you say well, "Your wisdom's golden mine, Dig deep with learning's spade." Now tell me this, Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is?

22

In highest way of heav'n the Sun did ride, Progressing then from fair twins' golden place: Having no scarf of clouds before his face, But shining forth of heat in his chief pride; When some fair ladies by hard promise tied, On horseback met him in his furious race, Yet each prepar'd with fan's well-shading grace From that foe's wounds their tender skins to hide. Stella alone with face unarmed march'd. Either to do like him which open shone, Or careless of the wealth because her own: Yet were the hid and meaner beauties parch'd, Her daintiest bare went free; the cause was this, The Sun, which others burn'd, did her but kiss.

23

The curious wits seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies: Others, because the Prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress. But harder judges judge ambition's rage, Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry place, Holds my young brain cativ'd in golden cage. Oh Fools, or over-wise, alas the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start, But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.

24

Rich fools there be, whose base and filthy heart Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow: And damning their own selves to Tantal's smart, Wealth breeding want, more blist more wretched grow. Yet to those fools heav'n such wit doth impart As what their hands do hold, their heads do know, And knowing love, and loving, lay apart, As sacred things, far from all danger's show. But that rich fool who by blind Fortune's lot The richest gem of love and life enjoys, And can with foul abuse such beauties blot; Let him, depriv'd of sweet but unfelt joys, (Exil'd for aye from those high treasures, which He knows not) grow in only folly rich.

25

The wisest scholar of the wight most wise By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says, That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes, Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise; But for that man with pain his truth descries, Whiles he each thing in sense's balance weighs, And so nor will, nor can behold those skies Which inward sun to heroic mind displays, Virtue of late with virtuous care to stir Love of herself, took Stella's shape, that she To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her. It is most true, for since I her did see, Virtue's great beauty in that face I prove, And find th'effect, for I do burn in love.

26

Though dusty wits dare scorn astrology, And fools can think those lamps of purest light Whose numbers, ways, greatness, eternity, Promising wonders, wonder do invite, To have for no cause birthright in the sky, But for to spangle the black weeds of night: Or for some brawl, which in that chamber high, They should still dance to please a gazer's sight; For me, I do Nature unidle know, And know great causes, great effects procure: And know those bodies high reign on the low. And if these rules did fail, proof makes me sure, Who oft fore-judge my after-following race, By only those two stars in Stella's face.

27

Because I oft in dark abstracted guise Seem most alone in greatest company, With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, To them that would make speech of speech arise, They deem, and of their doom the rumor flies, That poison foul of bubbling pride doth lie So in my swelling breast that only I Fawn on myself, and others do despise: Yet pride I think doth not my soul possess, Which looks too oft in his unflatt'ring glass: But one worse fault, ambition, I confess, That makes me oft my best friends overpass, Unseen, unheard, while though to highest place Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace.

28

You that with allegory's curious frame, Of others' children changelings use to make, With me those pains for God's sake do not take: I list not dig so deep for brazen fame. When I say "Stella," I do mean the same Princess of Beauty, for whose only sake The reins of Love I love, though never slake, And joy therein, though nations count it shame. I beg no subject to use eloquence, Nor in hid ways do guide Philosophy: Look at my hands for no such quintessence; But know that I in pure simplicity Breathe out the flames which burn within my heart Love only reading unto me this art.

29

Like some weak lords, neighbor'd by mighty kings, To keep themselves and their chief cities free, Do easily yield, that all their coasts may be Ready to store their camps of needful things: So Stella's heart finding what power Love brings, To keep itself in life and liberty, Doth willing grant, that in the frontiers he Use all to help his other conquerings: And thus her heart escapes, but thus her eyes Serve him with shot, her lips his heralds are; Her breasts his tents, legs his triumphal car; Her flesh his food, her skin his armor brave, And I, but for bacuse my prospect lies Upon that coast, am giv'n up for a slave.

30

Whether the Turkish new moon minded be To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; How Poles' right king means, with leave of host, To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy; If French can yet three parts in one agree; What now the Dutch in their full diets boast; How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost, Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree; How Ulster likes of that same golden bit Wherewith my father once made it half tame; If in the Scotch court be no welt'ring yet: These questions busy wits to me do frame. I, cumber'd with good manners, answer do, But know not how, for still I think of you.

Part II (Sonnets 31-60)

31

With how sad steps, oh Moon, thou climb'st the skies, How silently, and with how wan a face. What, may it be, that even in heav'nly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? Sure, if that long with Love acquainted eyes Can judge of Love, thou feel'st a lover's case; I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace To me that feel the like, thy state descries. Then ev'n of fellowship, oh Moon, tell me Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here thy be? Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that Love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

32

Morpheus the lively son of deadly sleep, Witness of life to them that living die, A prophet oft, and oft an history, A poet eke, as humors fly or creep, Since thou in me so sure a power dost keep, That never I with clos'd-up sense do lie, But by thy work my Stella I descry, Teaching blind eyes both how to smile and weep; Vouchsafe of all acquaintance this to tell: Whence hast thou ivory, rubies, pearl and gold, To show her skin, lips, teeth, and head so well? "Fool," answers he, "no Indies such treasures hold, But from thy heart, while my sire charmeth thee, Sweet Stella's image I do steal to me."

33

I might, unhappy word, oh me, I might, And then would not, or could not see my bliss; Till now, wrapt in a most infernal night, I find how heav'nly day, wretch, I did miss. Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right; No lovely Paris made thy Helen his: No force, no fraud, robb'd thee of thy delight, Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is: But to myself my self did give the blow, While too much wit (forsooth) so troubled me, That I respects for both our sakes must show: And yet could not by rising morn foresee How fair a day was near, oh punish'd eyes, That I had been more foolish or more wise.

34

Come, let me write. "And to what end?" To ease A burthen'd heart. "How can words ease, which are The glasses of thy daily vexing care?" Oft cruel fights well pictur'd forth do please. "Art not asham'd to publish thy disease?" Nay, that may breed my fame, it is so rare. "But will not wise men think thy words fond ware?" Then be they close, and so none shall displease. "What idler thing than speak and not be heard?" What harder thing than smart, and not to speak? Peace, foolish wit, with wit my wit is marr'd. Thus write I while I doubt to write, and wreak My harms on ink's poor loss; perhaps some find Stella's great powers, that so confuse my mind.

35

What may words say, or what may words not say, Where truth itself must speak like flattery? Within what bounds can one his liking stay, Where Nature doth with infinite agree? What Nestor's counsel can my flames allay, Since Reason's self doth blow the coal in me? And ah what hope, that hope should once see day, Where Cupid is sworn page to Chastity? Honor is honor'd, that thou dost possess Him as thy slave, and now long needy Fame Doth even grom rich, naming my Stella's name. Wit learns in thee perfection to express, Not thou by praise, but prasie in thee is rais'd: It is a praise to praise, when thou art prais'd.

36

Stella, whence doth this new assault arise, A conquer'd, yielden, ransack'd heart to win? Whereto long since through my long batter'd eyes, Whole armies of thy beauties entered in. And there long since, Love thy lieutenant lies, My forces raz'd, thy banners rais'd within: Of conquest, do not these effects suffice, But wilt now war upon thine own begin? With so sweet voice, and by sweet Nature so In sweetest strength, so sweetly skill'd withal, In all sweet stratagems sweet Art can show, That not my soul, which at thy foot did fall Long since, forc'd by thy beams, but stone nor tree By Sense's privilege, can 'scape from thee.

37

My mouth doth water, and my breast doth swell, My tongue doth itch, my thoughts in labor be: Listen then, lordings, with good ear to me, For of my life I must a riddle tell. Toward Aurora's court a nymph doth dwell, Rich in all beauties which man's eye can see: Beauties so far from reach of words, that we Abase her praise, saying she doth excel: Rich in the treasure of deserv'd renown, Rich in the riches of a royal heart, Rich in those gifts which give th'eternal crown; Who though most rich in these and every part, Which make the patents of true worldly bliss, Hath no misfortune, but that Rich she is.

38

This night while sleep begins with heavy wings To hatch mine eyes, and that unbitted thought Doth fall to stray, and my chief powers are brought To leave the scepter of all subject things, The first that straight my fancy's error brings Unto my mind, is Stella's image, wrought By Love's own self, but with so curious draught, That she, methinks, not only shines but sings. I start, look, hark, but what in clos'd-up sense Was held, in open'd sense it flies away, Leaving me nought but wailing eloquence: I, seeing betters sights in sight's decay, Call'd it anew, and wooed sleep again: But him her host that unkind guest had slain.

39

Come sleep, oh sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th'indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw: Oh make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay if thou do so: Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light; A rosy garland, and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy Grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see.

40

As good to write as for to lie and groan, Oh Stella dear, how much thy power hath wrought, That hast my mind, none of the basest, brought My still-kept course, while others sleep, to moan. Alas, if from the height of Virtue's throne, Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a thought Upon a wretch, that long thy grace hath sought; Weigh then how I by thee am overthrown: And then, think thus, although thy beauty be Made manifest by such a victory, Yet noblest conquerors do wrecks avoid. Since then thou hast so far subdued me, That in my heart I offer still to thee, Oh do not let thy Temple be destroyed.

41

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, Both by the judgment of the Englsih eyes, And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, Town-folks my strength; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise; Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; Others, because of both sides I do take My blood from them who did escel in this, Think Nature me a man of arms did make. How far they shot awry! the true cause is, Stella look'd on, and from her heav'nly face Sent forth the beams, which made so fair my race.

42

Oh eyes, which do the spheres of beauty move, Whose beams be joys, whose joys all virtues be, Who while they make Love conquer, conquer Love, The schools where Venus hath learn'd chastity; Oh eyes, whose humble looks most glorious prove, Only lov'd tyrants, just in cruelty, Do not, oh do not from poor me remove, Keep still my zenith, ever shine on me. For though I never see them, but straightways My life forgets to nourish languish'd sprites; Yet still on me, oh eyes, dart down your rays: And if from majesty of sacred lights, Oppressing mortal sense, my death proceed, Wracks triumphs be, which Love (high set) doth breed.