Esther M. Zimmer Lederberg
George Gascoigne, 1539-1577
Gascoigns Anatomie
To make a lover knowne, by playne Anatomie,
You lovers all that list beware, lo here behold you me.
Who though mine onely lookes, your pittie wel might move,
Yet every part shall play his part to paint the pangs of love.
If first my feeble head, have so much matter left,
If fansies raging force have not his feeble skill bereft.
These locks that hang unkempt, these hollowe dazled eyes,
These chattering teeth, this trembling tongue, wel tewed with carefull cries.
These wan and wrinckled cheeks, wel washt with waves of wo,
May stand for patterne of a ghost, where so this carkasse go.
These shoulders they susteyne, the yoke of heavie care,
And on my brused broken backe, the burden must I beare.
These armes quite braunfalne are, with beating on my brest,
This right hand weary is to write, this left hand craveth rest:
These sides enclose the forge, where sorow playes the smith,
And hot desire, hath kindled fire, to worke this mettall with.
The anvile is my hearte, my thoughtes they strike the stroke,
My lights and lungs like bellow blowe, and sighs ascend for smoke.
My secret parts are so with secret sorowe soken,
As for the secret shame therof, deserves not to be spoken.
My thighes, my knees, my legs, and last of all my feete,
To serve a lovers turne, are so unable and unmeete,
That scarce they can beare up this restless body well,
Unlesse it be to see the boure, wherein my love doth dwell,
And there by sight eftsoones to feede my gazing eye,
And so content my hungrie corps tyll dolours doe me die:
Yet for a just rewarde of love so dearley bought,
I pray you say, lo this was he, whom love had worne to nought.
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