Astrophel and Stella: Eight Song

In a groue most rich of shade,Where birds wanton musicke made,May then yong his pide weedes showing,New perfumed with flowers fresh growing, Astrophel with Stella sweete,Did for mutuall comfort meet,Both within themselues oppressed,But each in the other blessed. Him great harms had taught much care,Her faire necke a foule yoke bare,But her sight his cares did banish,In his sight her yoke did vanish. Wept they had, alas the while,But now teares themselues did smile,While their eyes by loue directed,Enterchangeably reflected. Sigh they did, but now betwixtSighs of woes were glad sighs mixt,With armes crost, yet testifyingRestlesse rest, and liuing dying. Their eares hungry of each word,Which the deere tongue would afford,But their tongues restraind from walking,Till their harts had ended talking. But when their tongues could not speake,Loue it selfe did silence breake;Loue did set his lips a sunder,Thus to speake in loue and wonder: Stella soueraigne of my joy,Faire triumpher of annoy,Stella starre of heauenly fier,Stella loadstar of desier. Stella, in whose shining eyes,Are the lights of Cupids skies,Whose beams where they once are dartedLoue therewith is streight imparted. Stella, whose voice when it speakes,Senses all a sunder breakes;Stella, whose voice when it singeth,Angels to acquaintance bringeth. Stella, in whose body isWrit each character of blisse,Whose face all, all beautie passeth,Saue thy mind which yet surpasseth. Graunt, O graunt, but speech alas,Failes me, fearing on to passe,Graunt, O me, what am I saying?But no fault there is in praying. Graunt, O deere, on knees I pray,(Knees on ground he then did stay)That not I, but since I loue you,Time and place for me may moue you. Neuer season was more fit,Neuer roome more apt for it;Smiling ayre allowes my reason,These birds sing; now use the season. This small wind which so sweet is,See how it the leaues doth kisse,Each tree in his best attiring,Sense of loue to loue inspiring. Loue makes earth the water drinke,Loue to earth makes water sinke;And if dumbe things be so witty,Shall a heauenly grace want pitty? There his hands in their speech, faineWould haue made tongues languag plaine,But her hands his hands repellingGaue repulse all grace excelling. Then she spake; her speech was such,As not eares but hart did tuch:While such wise she loue denied,As yet loue she signified. Astrophel said she, my loueCease in these effects to proue:Now be still, yet still beleeue me,Thy grief more then death would grieue me. If that any thought in meCan tast comfort but of thee,Let me feed with hellish anguish,Ioylesse, hopelesses, endlesse languish. If those eyes you praised, beHalfe so deere as you to me,Let me home returne, starke blindedOf those eyes, and blinder minded. If to secret of my heart,I do any wish impart,Where thou art not formost placed,Be both wish and I defaced. If more may be said, I say,All my blisse in thee I lay:If thou loue, my loue content thee,For all loue, all faith is meant thee, Trust me while I thee deny,In my selfe the smart I try,Tyran, honour doth thus vse thee,Stellas selfe might not refuse thee. Therefore, Deere, this no more moue,Least though I leaue not thy loue,Which too deepe in me is framed,I should blush when thou art named. There withal away she went,Leauing him to passion rent,With what she had done and spoken,That therewith my song is broken.