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  • Title: The Passionate Pilgrim (Octavo, 1599)
  • Editor: Hardy M. Cook

    • ISBN: 978-1-55058-411-0

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Hardy M. Cook
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Passionate Pilgrim (Octavo, 1599)

    THE
    P A SS I O N A T E
    PILGRIME.
    By W. Shakespeare.
    AT LO NDON
    Printed for W. Iaggard, and are
    to be sold by W. Leake, at the Grey-
    hound in Paules Churchyard.
    1599.
    1WHen my Loue sweares that she is made of truth,
    I doe beleeue her (though I know she lies)
    That she might thinke me some vntutor'd youth,
    Vnskilfull in the worlds false forgeries.
    5Thus vainly thinking that she thinkes me young,
    Although I know my yeares be past the best:
    I smiling, credite her false speaking toung,
    Outfacing faults in Loue, with loues ill rest.
    But wherefore sayes my Loue that she is young?
    10And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
    O, Loues best habite is a soothing toung,
    And Age (in Loue) loues not to haue yeares told.
    Therfore Ile lye with Loue, and Loue with me,
    Since that our faults in Loue thus smother'd be.
    A 3
    15TWo Loues I haue, of Comfort, and Despaire,
    That like two Spirits, do suggest me still:
    My better Angell is a Man (right faire)
    My worser spirite a Woman (colour'd ill.)
    To winne me soone to hell, my Female euill
    20Tempteth my better Angell from my side,
    And would corrupt my Saint to be a Diuell,
    Wooing his purity with her faire pride.
    And whether that my Angell be turnde feend,
    Suspect I may (yet not directly tell:
    25For being both to me: both, to each friend,
    I ghesse one Angell in anothers hell:
    The truth I shall not know, but liue in doubt,
    Till my bad Angell fire my good one out.
    A 4
    DId not the heauenly Rhetorike of thine eie,
    30Gainst whom the world could not hold argumēt,
    Perswade my hart to this false periurie:
    Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment.
    A woman I forswore: but I will proue
    Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee:
    35My vow was earthly, thou a heauenly loue,
    Thy grace being gainde, cures all disgrace in me.
    My vow was breath, and breath a vapor is,
    Then thou faire Sun, that on this earth doth shine,
    Exhale this vapor vow, in thee it is:
    40If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
    If by me broke, what foole is not so wise
    To breake an Oath, to win a Paradise?
    SWeet Cytherea, sitting by a Brooke,
    With young Adonis, louely, fresh and greene,
    45Did court the Lad with many a louely looke,
    Such lookes as none could looke but beauties queen.
    She told him stories, to delight his eares:
    She shew'd him fauors, to allure his eie:
    To win his hart, she toucht him here and there,
    50Touches so soft still conquer chastitie.
    But whether vnripe yeares did want conceit,
    Or he refusde to take her figured proffer,
    The tender nibler would not touch the bait,
    But smile, and ieast, at euery gentle offer:
    55 Then fell she on her backe, faire queen, & toward
    He rose and ran away, ah foole too froward.
    IF Loue make me forsworn, how shal I swere to loue?
    O, neuer faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed:
    Though to my selfe forsworn, to thee Ile constant proue,
    60those thoghts to me like Okes, to thee like Osiers bowed.
    Studdy his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eies,
    where all those pleasures liue, that Art can comprehend:
    If knowledge be the marke, to know thee shall suffice:
    Wel learned is that toung that well can thee commend,
    65All ignorant that soule, that sees thee without wonder,
    Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admyre:
    Thine eye Ioues lightning seems, thy voice his dreadfull thunder
    which (not to anger bent) is musick & sweet fire
    Celestiall as thou art, O, do not loue that wrong:
    70 To sing heauens praise, with such an earthly toung.
    SCarse had the Sunne dride vp the deawy morne,
    And scarse the heard gone to the hedge for shade:
    When Cytherea (all in Loue forlorne)
    A longing tariance for Adonis made
    75Vnder an Osyer growing by a brooke,
    A brooke, where Adon vsde to coole his spleene:
    Hot was the day, she hotter that did looke
    For his approch, that often there had beene.
    Anon he comes, and throwes his Mantle by,
    80And stood starke naked on the brookes greene brim:
    The Sunne look't on the world with glorious eie,
    Yet not so wistly, as this Queene on him:
    He spying her, bounst in (whereas he stood)
    Oh IOVE (quoth she) why was not I a flood?
    85FAire is my loue, but not so faire as fickle.
    Milde as a Doue, but neither true nor trustie,
    Brighter then glasse, and yet as glasse is brittle,
    Softer then waxe, and yet as Iron rusty:
    A lilly pale, with damaske die to grace her,
    90 None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
    Her lips to mine how often hath she ioyned,
    Betweene each kisse her othes of true loue swearing:
    How many tales to please me hath she coyned,
    Dreading my loue, the losse whereof still fearing.
    95 Yet in the mids of all her pure protestings,
    Her faith, her othes, her teares, and all were ieastings.
    She burnt with loue, as straw with fire flameth,
    She burnt out loue, as soone as straw out burneth:
    She fram d the loue, and yet she foyld the framing,
    100She bad loue last, and yet she fell a turning.
    Was this a louer, or a Letcher whether?
    Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
    B
    IF Musicke and sweet Poetrie agree,
    As they must needs (the Sister and the brother)
    105Then must the loue be great twixt thee and me,
    Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other.
    Dowland to thee is deere, whose heauenly tuch
    Vpon the Lute, dooth rauish humane sense,
    Spenser to me, whose deepe Conceit is such,
    110As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
    Thou lou'st to heare the sweet melodious sound,
    That Phoebus Lute (the Queene of Musicke) makes:
    And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd,
    When as himselfe to singing he betakes.
    115 One God is God of both (as Poets faine)
    One Knight loues Both, and both in thee remaine.
    FAire was the morne, when the faire Queene of loue,
    Paler for sorrow then her milke white Doue,
    For Adons sake, a youngster proud and wilde,
    120Her stand she takes vpon a steepe vp hill.
    Anon Adonis comes with horne and hounds,
    She silly Queene, with more then loues good will,
    Forbad the boy he should not passe those grounds,
    125Once (quoth she) did I see a faire sweet youth
    Here in these brakes, deepe wounded with a Boare,
    Deepe in the thigh a spectacle of ruth,
    Soe in my thigh (quoth she) here was the sore,
    She shewed hers, he saw more wounds then one,
    130 And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
    B 3
    SWeet Rose, faire flower, vntimely pluckt, soon vaded,
    Pluckt in the bud, and vaded in the spring[.]
    Bright orient pearle, alacke too timely shaded,
    Faire creature kilde too soon by Deaths sharpe sting:
    135 Like a greene plumbe that hangs vpon a tree:
    And fals (through winde) before the fall should be.
    I weepe for thee, and yet no cause I haue,
    For why: thou lefts me nothing in thy will[.]
    And yet thou lefts me more then I did craue,
    140For why: I craued nothing of thee still:
    O yes (deare friend I pardon craue of thee,
    Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
    VEnus with Adonis sitting by her,
    145Vnder a Mirtle shade began to wooe him,
    She told the youngling how god Mars did trie her,
    And as he fell to her, she fell to him.
    Euen thus (quoth she) the warlike god embrac't me:
    And then she clipt Adonis in her armes:
    150Euen thus (quoth she) the warlike god vnlac't me,
    As if the boy should vse like louing charmes:
    Euen thus (quoth she) he seized on my lippes,
    And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
    And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
    155And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
    Ah, that I had my Lady at this bay:
    To kisse and clip me till I run away.
    Crabbed age and youth cannot liue together,
    Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care,
    160Youth like summer morne, Age like winter weather,
    Youth like summer braue, Age like winter bare.
    Youth is full of sport, Ages breath is short,
    Youth is nimble, Age is lame
    Youth is hot and bold, Age is weake and cold,
    165Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
    Age I doe abhor thee, Youth I doe adore thee,
    O my loue my loue is young:
    Age I doe defie thee. Oh sweet Shepheard hie thee:
    For me thinks thou staies too long.
    170BEauty is but a vaine and doubtfull good,
    A shining glosse, that vadeth sodainly,
    A flower that dies, when first it gins to bud,
    A brittle glasse, that s broken presently.
    A doubtfull good, a glosse, a glasse, a flower,
    175 Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an houre.
    And as goods lost, are seld or neuer found,
    As vaded glosse no rubbing will refresh:
    As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground,
    As broken glasse no symant can redresse.
    180 So beauty blemisht once, for euer lost,
    In spite of phisicke, painting, paine and cost.
    Good night, good rest, ah neither be my share,
    She bad good night, that kept my rest away,
    And daft me to a cabben hangde with care:
    185To descant on the doubts of my decay.
    Farewell (quoth she) and come againe to morrow
    Fare well I could not, for I supt with sorrow.
    Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
    In scorne or friendship, nill I conster whether:
    190'T may be she ioyd to ieast at my exile,
    'T may be againe, to make me wander thither.
    Wander (a word) for shadowes like my selfe,
    As take the paine but cannot plucke the pelfe.
    Lord how mine eies throw gazes to the East,
    195My hart doth charge the watch, the morning rise
    Doth scite each mouing scence from idle rest,
    Not daring trust the office of mine eies.
    While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
    And with her layes were tuned like the larke.
    200For she doth welcome daylight with her dittie,
    And driues away darke dreaming night:
    The night so packt, I post vnto my pretty,
    Hart hath his hope, and eies their wished sight,
    Sorrow changd to solace, and solace mixt with sorrow,
    205 For why, she sight, and bad me come to morrow.
    C
    Were I with her, the night would post too soone,
    But now are minutes added to the houres:
    To spite me now, ech minute seemes an houre,
    Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.
    210 Pack night, peep day, good day of night now borrow
    Short night to night, and length thy selfe to morrow
    SONNETS
    To sundry notes of Musicke.
    AT LONDON
    Printed for W. Iaggard, and are
    to be sold by W. Leake, at the Grey-
    hound in Paules Churchyard.
    1599.
    IT was a Lordings daughter, the fairest one of three
    That liked of her maister, as well as well might be,
    Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eie could see,
    215 Her fancie fell a turning.
    Long was the combat doubtfull, that loue with loue did fight
    To leaue the maister louelesse, or kill the gallant knight,
    To put in practise either, alas it was a spite
    Vnto the silly damsell.
    220But one must be refused, more mickle was the paine,
    That nothing could be vsed, to turne them both to gaine,
    For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdaine,
    Alas she could not helpe it.
    Thus art with armes contending, was victor of the day,
    225Which by a gift of learning, did beare the maid away,
    Then lullaby the learned man hath got the Lady gay,
    For now my song is ended.
    ON a day (alacke the day)
    Loue whose month was euer May[.]
    230Spied a blossome passing fair,
    Playing in the wanton ayre,
    Through the veluet leaues the wind
    All vnseene gan passage find,
    That the louer (sicke to death)
    235Wisht himselfe the heauens breath,
    Ayre (quoth he) thy cheekes may blowe
    Ayre, would I might triumph so
    But (alas) my hand hath sworne,
    Nere to plucke thee from thy throne,
    240Vow (alacke) for youth vnmeet,
    Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet,
    Thou for whome Ioue would sweare,
    Iuno but an Ethiope were
    And deny hymselfe for Ioue
    245Turning mortall for thy Loue.
    MY flocks feede not, my Ewes breed not,
    My Rams speed not, all is amis:
    Loue is dying, Faithes defying,
    Harts nenying, causer of this.
    250All my merry Iigges are quite forgot,
    All my Ladies loue is lost (god wot)
    Where her faith was firmely fixt in loue,
    There a nay is plac't without remoue.
    One silly crosse, wrought all my losse,
    255 O frowning fortune cursed fickle dame,
    For now I see, inconstancy,
    More in wowen then in men remaine.
    In blacke morne I, all feares scorne I,
    Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall:
    260Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
    O cruell speeding, fraughted with gall.
    My shepheards pipe can sound no deale,
    My weathers bell rings dolefull knell,
    My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaid,
    265Plaies not at all but seemes afraid.
    With sighes so deepe, procures to weepe,
    In howling wise, to see my dolefull plight,
    How sighes resound through hartles ground
    Like a thousand vanquisht men in blodie fight.
    270Cleare wels spring not, sweete birds sing not,
    Greene plants bring not forth their die,
    Heards stands weeping, flocks all sleeping,
    Nimphes blacke peeping fearefully:
    All our pleasure knowne to vs poore swaines:
    275All our merrie meetings on the plaines,
    All our euening sport from vs is fled,
    All our loue is lost, for loue is dead,
    Farewell sweet loue thy like nere was,
    For a sweet content the cause all my woe,
    280 Poore Coridon must liue alone,
    Other helpe for him I see that there is none.
    When as thine eye hath chose the Dame,
    And stalde the deare that thou shouldst strike,
    Let reason rule things worthy blame,
    285As well as fancy (partyall might)
    Take counsell of some wiser head,
    Neither too young, nor yet vnwed.
    And when thou comst thy tale to tell,
    Smooth not thy toung with filed talke,
    290Least she some subtill practise smell,
    A Cripple soone can finde a halt,
    But plainly say thou loust her well,
    And set her person forth to sale.
    D
    What though her frowning browes be bent
    295Her cloudy lookes will calme yer night,
    And then too late she will repent,
    That thus dissembled her delight.
    And twice desire yer it be day,
    That which with scorne she put away.
    300What though she striue to try her strength,
    And ban and braule, and say the nay:
    Her feeble force will yeeld at length,
    When craft hath taught her thus to say:
    Had women beene so strong as men
    305 In faith you had not had it then.
    And to her will frame all thy waies,
    Spare not to spend, and chiefly there,
    Where thy desart may merit praise,
    By ringing in thy Ladies eare,
    310 The strongest castle, tower and towne,
    The golden bullet beats it downe.
    Serue alwaies with assured trust,
    And in thy sute be humble true,
    Vnlesse thy Lady proue vniust,
    315Prease neuer thou to chuse a new:
    When time shall serue, be thou not slacke,
    To proffer though she put thee back.
    The wiles and guiles that women worke,
    Dissembled with an outward shew:
    320The tricks and toyes that in them lurke,
    The Cock that treads thē shall not know,
    Haue you not heard it said full oft,
    A Womans nay doth stand for nought.
    Thinke Women still to striue with men,
    325To sinne and neuer for to faint,
    There is no heauen (by holy then)
    When time with age shall them attaint,
    Were kisses all the ioyes in bed,
    One Woman would another wed.
    330But soft enough, too much I feare,
    Least that my mistresse heare my song,
    She will not stick to round me on th'are,
    To teach my toung to be so long:
    Yet will she blush, here be it said,
    335 To heare her secrets so bewraid.
    LIue with me and be my Loue,
    And we will all the pleasures proue
    That hilles and vallies, dales and fields,
    And all the craggy mountaines yeeld.
    340There will we sit vpon the Rocks,
    And see the Shepheards feed their flocks,
    By shallow Riuers, by whose fals
    Melodious birds sing Madrigals.
    There will I make thee a bed of Roses,
    345With a thousand fragrant poses,
    A cap of flowers, and a Kirtle
    Imbrodered all with leaues of Mirtle.
    A belt of straw and Yuye buds,
    With Corall Clasps and Amber studs,
    350And if these pleasures may thee moue,
    Then liue with me, and be my Loue.
    Loues answere.
    IF that the World and Loue were young,
    And truth in euery shepheards toung,
    355These pretty pleasures might me moue,
    To liue with thee and be thy Loue.
    AS it fell vpon a Day,
    In the merry Month of May,
    Sitting in a pleasant shade,
    360Which a groue of Myrtles made,
    Beastes did leape, and Birds did sing,
    Trees did grow, and Plants did spring:
    Euery thing did banish mone,
    Saue the Nightingale alone.
    365Shee (poore Bird) as all forlorne,
    Leand her breast vp-till a thorne,
    And there sung the dolfulst Ditty,
    That to heare it was great Pitty,
    Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry
    370Teru, Teru, by and by:
    That to heare her so complaine,
    Scarce I could from teares refraine:
    For her griefes so liuely showne,
    Made me thinke vpon mine owne.
    375Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine,
    None takes pitty on thy paine:
    Senslesse Trees, they cannot heare thee,
    Ruthlesse Beares, they will not cheere thee.
    King Pandion, he is dead:
    380All thy friends are lapt in Lead.
    All thy fellow Birds doe sing,
    Carelesse of thy sorrowing.
    Whilst as fickle Fortune smilde,
    Thou and I, were both beguild.
    385Euery one that flatters thee,
    Is no friend in miserie:
    Words are easie, like the wind,
    Faithfull friends are hard to find:
    Euery man will be thy friend,
    390Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend:
    But if store of Crownes be scant,
    No man will supply thy want
    If that one be prodigall,
    Bountifull they will him call:
    395And with such-like flattering,
    Pitty but he were a King.
    If he be addict to vice,
    Quickly him, they will intice.
    If to Women hee be bent,
    400They haue at Commaundement.
    But if Fortune once doe frowne,
    Then farewell his great renowne:
    They that fawnd on him before.
    Vse his company no more.
    405Hee that is thy friend indeede,
    Hee will helpe thee in thy neede:
    If thou sorrow, he will weepe:
    If thou wake, hee cannot sleepe:
    Thus of euery griefe, in hart
    410Hee, with thee, doeth beare a part.
    These are certaine signes, to know
    Faithfull friend, from flatt'ring foe.
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