takes. Palms do rejoice to be join’d by the match of a male to a female, And shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense? Thus be my thoughts dispers’d, thus thinking nurseth a thinking. Thus both trees and each thing else, be the books of a fancy. But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I left my betear’d eyes, Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me, And think there she doth dwell and hear what plaints I do utter: When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me, When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer. Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image: {108} Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest, That men’s hearts be thy seat, and endless fame be thy servant, O descend for a while, from this great height to behold me, But nought else to behold, else is nought worth the beholding, Save what a work by thyself is wrought: and since I am alter’d Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done, In mean caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes. And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden. ZELMANE Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight Justly to grant thee reward, such envy I hear to thy fortune. But to myself what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows, Whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped, And if a mean were found, fortune th’ whole course of it hinders? Thus plagu’d how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment? Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape? Bound, and bound by so noble bands, as loth to be unbound, Jailer I am to myself, prison and pris’ner to mine own self. Yet by my hopes thus plac’d, here fix’d lives all my comfort, That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat, Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me, Will at length perceive those flames by her beams to be kindled, And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me. O be it so, grant such an event, O gods, that event give, And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer Of mine own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar. But cease worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers With mournful melodies; for enough our griefs be revealed, If the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked, And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.