Pale Death himselfe did loue my Philomell, When he her vertues and rare beauty saw, Therefore he sicknesse sent: which should expell His riuals life, and my deare to him draw. But her bright beauty dazled so his eyes, That his dart life did misse, though her it hit: Yet not therewith content, new meanes he tries, To bring her vnto Death, and make life flit. But Nature soone perceiuing, that he meant To spoyle her onely Ph[oe]nix, her chiefe pride, Assembled all her force, and did preuent The greatest mischiefe that could her betide. So both our liues and loues, Nature defended: For had she di'de, my loue and life had ended. _Allusion to Theseus voyage to Crete, against the Minotaure._ My loue is sail'd against dislike to fight, Which like vile monster, threatens his decay: The ship is hope, which by desires great might, Is swiftly borne towards the wishèd bay: The company which with my loue doth fare, (Though met in one) is a dissenting crew: They are ioy, griefe, and neuer-sleeping care, And doubt, which neere beleeues good newes for true: Blacke feare the flag is, which my ship doth beare, Which (Deere) take downe, if my loue victor be: And let white comfort in his place appeare. When loue victoriously returnes to me: Least I from rock despaire come tumbling downe, And in a sea of teares be for'st to drowne. _Vpon her looking secretly out at a window as he passed by._ Once did my Philomel reflect on me, Her Cristall pointed eyes as I past by; Thinking not to be seene, yet would me see: But soone my hungry eies their food did spy. Alas, my deere, couldst them suppose, that face Which needs not enuy Ph[oe]bus chiefest pride, Could secret be, although in secret place, And that transparent glasse such beames could hide? But if I had been blinde, yet Loues hot flame, Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright eye, Did plainly shew when it so neere thee came, By more the vsuall heate then cause was nie, So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy. When time nor place would let me often view Natures chiefe Mirror, and my sole delight; Her liuely picture in my heart I drew, That I might it behold both day and night; But she, like Philips Sonne, scorning that I Should portraiture, which wanted Apelles Art, Commanded Loue (who nought dare her deny) To burne the picture which was in my heart. The more loue burn'd, the more her Picture shin'd: The more it shin'd, the more my heart did burne: So what to hurt her Picture was assign'd, To my hearts ruine and decay did turne. Loue could not burne the Spirit, it was divine, And therefore fir'd my heart, the Saints poor shrine.