Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CAELICA: 75, by FULKE GREVILLE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CAELICA: 75, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the time when herbs and flowers
Last Line: Who travels constancy can tell.
Alternate Author Name(s): Brooke, 1st Baron; Brooke, Lord
Variant Title(s): Caelica And Philocell
Subject(s): Country Life


In the time when herbs and flowers,
Springing out of melting powers,
Teach the earth that heat and rain
Do make Cupid live again;
Late when Sol, like great hearts shows
Largest as he lowest goes,
Caelica with Philocel
In fellowship together fell.
Caelica, her skin was fair,
Dainty aborne was her hair;
Her hair nature dyed brown
To become the morning gown
Of hope's death, which to her eyes
Offers thoughts for sacrifice.
Philocel was true and kind,
Poor, but not of poorest mind,
Though mischance to harm affected
Hides and holdeth worth suspected,
He good shepherd loveth well;
But Caelica scorned Philocel.
Through enameled meads they went,
Quiet she, he passion rent.
Her worths to him hope did move;
Her worths made him fear to love.
His heart sighs and fain would show
That which all the world did know;
His heart sighed the sighs of fear,
And durst not tell her love was there;
But as thoughts in troubled sleep,
Dreaming fear, and fearing weep,
When for help they fain would cry,
Cannot speak, and helpless lie;
So, while his heart, full of pain,
Would itself in words complain,
Pain of all pains, lovers' fear,
Makes his heart to silence swear.
Strife at length those dreams doth break,
His despair taught fear thus spake:
"Caelica, what shall I say?
You, to whom all passions pray,
Like poor flies that to the fire,
Where they burn themselves, aspire;
You, in whose worth men do joy,
That hope never to enjoy,
Where both grace and beauty's framed,
That love being might be blamed.
Can true worthiness be glad,
To make hearts that love it sad?
What means nature in her jewel
To show mercy's image cruel?
Dear, if ever in my days,
My heart joyed in others' praise;
If I of the world did borrow
Other ground for joy or sorrow;
If I better wish to be
But the better to please thee;
I say, if this false be proved,
Let me not love, or not be loved.
But when reason did invite
All my sense to fortune's light,
If my love did make my reason
To itself for thyself treason,
If when wisdom showed me
Time and thoughts both lost for thee,
If those losses I did glory,
For I could not more lose sorry,
Caelica, then do not scorn
Love in humble humor born.
Let not fortune have the power
Cupid's godhead to devour,
For I hear the wise men tell,
Nature worketh oft as well
In those men whom chance disgraceth
As in those she higher placeth.
Caelica, 'tis near a god
To make even fortunes odd,
And of far more estimation
Is creator than creation.
Then dear, though I worthless be,
Yet let them to you worthy be
Whose meek thoughts are highly graced
By your image in them placed."
Herewithal like one oppressed
With self-burthens he did rest;
Like amazed were his senses
Both with pleasure and offenses.
Caelica's cold answers show
That which fools feel, wise men know;
How self-pities have reflection
Back into their own infection;
And that passions only move
Strings tuned to one note of love.
She thus answers him with reason,
Never to desire in season:
"Philocel, if you love me,
For you would beloved be,
Your own will must be your hire,
And desire reward desire.
Cupid is in my heart sped,
Where all desires else are dead.
Ashes o'er love's flames are cast,
All for one is there disgraced.
Make not then your own mischance
Wake yourself from passion's-trance,
And let reason guide affection
From despair to new election."
Philocel that only felt
Destinies which Cupid dealt,
No laws but love-laws obeying,
Thought that gods were won with praying.
And with heart fixed on her eyes,
Where love he thinks lives or dies,
His words, his heart with them leading,
Thus unto her dead love pleading:
"Caelica, if ever you
Loved have, as others do,
Let my present thoughts be glassed
In my thoughts which you have passed;
Let self-pity, which you know,
Frame true pity now in you;
Let your forepast woe and glory
Make you glad them you make sorry.
Love revengeth like a god,
When he beats he burns the rod.
Who refuse alms to desire
Die when drops would quench the fire;
But if you do feel again
What peace is in Cupid's pain,
Grant me, dear, your wished measure,
Pains but pains that be of pleasure;
Find not these things strange in me
Which within your heart we see,
For true honor never blameth
Those that love her servants nameth.
But if your heart be so free,
As you would it seem to be,
Nature hath in free hearts placed
Pity for the poor disgraced."
His eyes great with child with tears
Spies in her eyes many fears,
Sees, he thinks, that sweetness vanish
Which all fears was wont to banish.
Sees, sweet love, there wont to play,
Armed and dressed to run away,
To her heart where she alone
Scorneth all the world but one.
Caelica, with clouded face,
Giving unto anger grace,
While she threat'ned him displeasure,
Making anger look like pleasure,
Thus in fury to him spake,
Words which make even hearts to quake:
"Philocel, far from me get you,
Men are false, we cannot let you;
Humble, and yet full of pride,
Earnest, not to be denied;
Now us, for not loving, blaming,
Now us, for too much, defaming.
Though I let you posies bear,
Wherein my name ciph'red were,
For I bid you in the tree,
Cipher down your name by me;
For the bracelet pearl-like white,
Which you stale from me by night,
I content was you should carry
Lest that you should longer tarry;
Think you that you might encroach
To set kindness more abroach?
Think you me in friendship tied
So that nothing be denied?
Do you think that I must live
Bound to that which you will give?
Philocel, I say, depart,
Blot my love out of thy heart,
Cut my name out of the tree,
Bear not memory of me.
My delight is all my care,
All laws else despised are,
I will never rumor move,
At least for one I do not love."

Shepherdesses, if it prove,
Philocel she once did love,
Can kind doubt of true affection
Merit such a sharp correction?
When men see you fall away
Must they wink to see no day?
It is worse in him that speaketh
Than in her that friendship breaketh?
Shepherdesses, when you change,
Is your fickleness so strange?
Are you thus impatient still?
Is your honor slave to will?
They to whom you guilty be,
Must not they your error see?
May true martyrs at the fire
Not so much as life desire?
Shepherdesses, yet mark well,
The martyrdom of Philocel.
Rumor made his faith a scorn,
Him, example of forlorn,
Feeling he had of his woe,
Yet did love his overthrow;
For that she knew love would bear,
She to wrong him did not fear;
Jealousy of rivals' grace
In his passion got a place;
But love, lord of all his powers,
Doth so rule this heart of ours,
As for our beloved abuses,
It doth ever find excuses.
Love tears reason's law in sunder;
Love is god, let reason wonder.
For nor scorn of his affection,
Nor despair in his election,
Nor his faith damned for obeying,
Nor her change, his hopes betraying,
Can make Philocel remove,
But he Caelica will love.
Here my silly song is ended,
Fair nymphs be not you offended,
For as men that traveled far
For seen truths oft scorned are
By their neighbors, idle lives,
Who scarce know to please their wives,
So though I have sung you more
Than your hearts have felt before,
Yet that faith in men doth dwell,
Who travels constancy can tell.





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