Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY I.S. OF WORLDLY CROSSES, by MICHAEL DRAYTON



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY I.S. OF WORLDLY CROSSES, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine
Last Line: Be ever good, that I may love you ever.


Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine,
Neither that I would have you entertaine
The time in reading me, which you would spend
In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend,
I write not to you. Nay, and which is more,
My powerfull verses strive not to restore
What time and sicknesse have in you impair'd;
To other ends my Elegie is squar'd.
Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts
That have drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts,
Of me get little. I am so much man,
That let them doe their utmost that they can,
I will resist their forces: and they be
Though great to others, yet not so to me.
The first time I beheld you, I then sawe
That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe
My stay'd affection, and thought to allowe
You some deale of my heart; but you have now
Got farre into it, and you have the skill
(For ought I see) to winne upon me still.
When I doe thinke how bravely you have borne
Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne,
And how neglectfull you have seem'd to be,
Of that which hath seem'd terrible to me,
I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt
Those griefes which (often) I have seene to melt
Another woman into sighes and teares,
A thing but seldome in your sexe and yeares;
But when in you I have perceiv'd agen,
(Noted by me, more then by other men)
How feeling and how sensible you are
Of your friends sorrowes, and with how much care
You seeke to cure them, then my selfe I blame,
That I your patience should so much misname,
Which to my understanding maketh knowne
"Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne.
When straight me thinkes, I heare your patience say,
Are you the man that studied Seneca:
Plinies most learned letters; and must I
Read you a Lecture in Philosophie,
T'avoid the afflictions that have us'd to reach you;
I'le learne you more, Sir, then you bookes can teach you.
Of all your sex, yet never did I knowe
Any that yet so actually could showe
Such rules for patience, such an easie way,
That who so sees it shall be forc'd to say,
Loe what before seem'd hard to be discern'd,
Is of this Lady, in an instant learn'd.
It is heavens will that you should wronged be
By the malicious, that the world might see
Your Dove-like meekenesse; for had the base scumme,
The spawne of Fiends, beene in your slander dumbe,
Your vertue then had perish'd, never priz'd,
For that the same you had not exercis'd;
And you had lost the Crowne you have, and glory,
Nor had you beene the subject of my Story.
Whilst they feele Hell, being damned in their hate,
Their thoughts, like Devils them excruciate,
Which by your noble suffrings doe torment
Them with new paines, and gives you this content
To see your soule an Innocent, hath suffred,
And up to heaven before your eyes be offred:
Your like we in a burning Glasse may see,
When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be
Bent on some object, which is purely white,
We finde that colour doth dispierce the light,
And stands untainted: but if it hath got
Some little sully; or the least small spot,
Then it soone fiers it; so you still remaine
Free, because in you they can finde no staine.
God doth not love them least, on whom he layes
The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise
Himselfe most in them, and will make them fit,
Near'st to himselfe who is the Lambe to sit:
For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them,
Who are not his, until the world denies them.
And your example may worke such effect,
That it may be the beginning of a Sect
Of patient women; and that many a day
All Husbands may for you their Founder pray.
Nor is to me your Innocence the lesse,
In that I see you strive not to suppresse
Their barbarous malice; but your noble heart
Prepar'd to act so difficult a part,
With unremoved constancie is still
The same it was, that of your proper ill,
The effect proceeds from your owne selfe the cause,
Like some just Prince, who to establish lawes,
Suffers the breach at his best lov'd to strike,
To learne the vulgar to endure the like.
You are a Martir thus, nor can you be
Lesse to the world so valued by me:
If as you have begun, you still persever,
Be ever good, that I may love you ever.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...



Home: PoetryExplorer.net