The fear whereof, O how doth it torment His troubled mynd with more then hellish paine! And to his fayning fansie represent Sights never seene, and thousand shadowes vaine, 255 To breake his sleepe and waste his ydle braine: Thou that hast never lov’d canst not beleeve Least part of th’evils which poore lovers greeve. The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare, The vaine surmizes, the distrustfull showes, 260 The false reports that flying tales doe beare, The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the woes, The fayned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more then any tongue can tell, Doe make a lovers life a wretches hell. 265 Yet is there one more cursed then they all, That cancker-worme, that monster, Gelosie, Which eates the heart and feedes upon the gall, Turning all Loves delight to miserie, Through feare of losing his felicitie. 270 Ah, gods! that ever ye that monster placed In gentle Love, that all his ioyes defaced! By these, O Love! thou doest thy entrance make Unto thy heaven, and doest the more endeere Thy pleasures unto those which them partake, 275 As after stormes, when clouds begin to cleare, The sunne more bright and glorious doth appeare; So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie, Dost beare unto thy blisse, and heavens glorie. There thou them placest in a paradize 280 Of all delight and ioyous happy rest, Where they doe feede on nectar heavenly-wize, With Hercules and Hebe, and the rest Of Venus dearlings, through her bountie blest; And lie like gods in yvory beds arayd, 285 With rose and lillies over them displayd. There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe play Their hurtlesse sports, without rebuke or blame, And in her snowy bosome boldly lay Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame, 290 After full ioyance of their gentle game; Then her they crowne their goddesse and their queene, And decke with floures thy altars well beseene. Ay me! deare Lord, that ever I might hope, For all the paines and woes that I endure, 295 To come at length unto the wished scope Of my desire, or might myselfe assure That happie port for ever to recure*! Then would I thinke these paines no paines at all, And all my woes to be but penance small. 300 [* _Recure_, recover, gain.] Then would I sing of thine immortal praise An heavenly hymne such as the angels sing, And thy triumphant name then would I raise Bove all the gods, thee only honoring; My guide, my god, my victor, and my king: 305 Till then, drad Lord! vouchsafe to take of me This simple song, thus fram’d in praise of thee. AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.