A hundreth sundrie flowres bounde vp in one small poesie Gathered partely (by translation) in the fyne outlandish gardins of Euripides, Ouid, Petrarke, Ariosto, and others: and partly by inuention, out of our owne fruitefull orchardes in Englande: yelding sundrie svveete sauours of tragical, comical, and morall discourses ...
Gascoigne, George, 1542?-1577.
The extremitie of his Passion.
AMong the toye• which tosse my brayne,
and reaue my mind from quiet rest,
This one I find, doth there remayne,
to breede debate wit bin my brest.
When woe would worke▪ to wound my will,
I cannot weepe▪ nor wayle my fill.
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My tong hath not the skill t••ell,
the smallest gri•f• which gripes my heart,
Myne eyes haue not the power to swell,
into such Seas of secret smarte,
That will might melt to waues of woe,
and I might swell in sorowes so.
Yet shed mine eyes no trickling teares,
but fluddes which flowe abundantly▪
Whose fountaine first enforst by feares,
found out the gappe of iealowsie.
And by that breath, it soketh so,
that all my face, is still on flowe.
My voyce is like the raging wind,
which roareth still, and neuer stayes▪
The thoughts which tomble in my minde,
are like the wheele which whirles alwayes,
Now here, now there, now vp, now downe,
in depth of waues, yet cannot drowne.
The sighes which boyle out of my brest,
are not like those, which others vse,
For louers sighes, sometimes take rest,
and lend their mindes, a leaue to muse,
But mine are like the surging seas,
whome calme nor quiet can appeas.
And yet they be but sorrowes smoke,
my brest the fordge where fury play••,
My panting hart, it strikes the stroke,
my fan•ie blowes the flame alway•s,
The coles are kindled by desire,
and Cupide warmes him by the fire.
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Thus can I neither d•owne in dole,
nor burne to ashes, •hough I wast,
Myne eyes can neither quench the cole,
which warmes my hart in all this hast.
Nor ye• my fancie make such flame,
that I may smoulder in the same.
Wherefore I come to seeke out care▪
bese•hing him of curtesie,
To cut the thred which cannot weare,
by pangs of such perplexitie.
And but he graunt this boone of mine,
thus must I liue and euer pine.
Fato non fortuna▪
