A Quarrel with Love
Oh that I could write a storyOf love's dealing with affection!How he makes the spirit sorryThat is touch'd with his infection.
But he doth so closely wind him,In the plaits of will ill-pleased,That the heart can never find himTill it be too much diseased.
'Tis a subtle kind or spiritOf a venom-kind of nature,That can, like a coney-ferret,Creep unawares upon a creature.
Never eye that can behold it,Though it worketh first by seeing;Nor conceit that can unfold it,Though in thoughts be all its being.
Oh! it maketh old men witty,Young men wanton, women idle,While that patience weeps, for pityReason bite not nature's bridle.
What it is, in conjecture;Seeking much, but nothing finding;Like to fancy's architectureWith illusions reason blinding.
Yet, can beauty so retain it,In the profit of her service,That she closely can maintain itFor her servant chief on office?
In her eye she chiefly breeds it;In her cheeks she chiefly hides it;In her servant's faith she feeds it,While his only heart abides it.
Love and my mistress were at strifeWho had the greatest power on me:Betwixt them both, oh, what a life!Nay, what a death is this to be!
She said, she did it with her eye;He said, he did it with his dart;Betwixt them both (a silly wretch!)'Tis I that have the wounded heart.
She said, she only spake the wordThat did enchant my peering sense;He said, he only gave the soundThat enter'd heart without defence.
She said, her beauty was the markThat did amaze the highest mind;He said, he only made the mistWhereby the senses grew so blind.
She said, that only for her sake,The best would venture life and limb:He said, she was too much deceiv'd;They honour'd her because of him.
Long while, alas, she would not yield,But it was she that rul'd the roost;Until by proof, she did confess,If he were gone, her joy was lost.
And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love,I now do find it is for thee,That I am lov'd and honour'd both,And thou hast power to conquer me."
But, when I heard her yield to love,Oh! how my heart did leap for joy!That now I had some little hopeTo have an end to mine annoy!
But, as too soon, before the fieldThe trumpets sound the overthrow,So all too soon I joy'd too much,For I awaked, and nothing saw.
Words in this poem
- witty a.
- Possessed of wit; knowing; wise; skillful; judicious; clever; cunning. [AS. witig, wittig. See Wit, n.]
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- betwixt prep.
- In the space which separates; between. [OE. betwix, bitwix, rarely bitwixt, AS. betweox, betweohs, betweoh, betwih; pref. be- by + a form fr. AS. twa two. See Between.]
- enchant v. t.
- To charm by sorcery; to act on by enchantment; to get control of by magical words and rites. [F. enchanter, L. incantare to chant or utter a magic formula over or against one, to bewitch; in in, against + cantare to sing. See Chant, and cf. Incantation.]
- defence n.
- The act of defending, or the state of being defended; protection, as from violence or danger. [F. défense, OF. defense, fem., defens, masc., fr. L. defensa (cf. Fence.]
- amaze v. t.
- To bewilder; to stupefy; to bring into a maze. [Pref. a- + maze.]
- dainty n.
- Value; estimation; the gratification or pleasure taken in anything. [OE. deinie, dainte, deintie, deyntee, OF. deintié delicacy, orig., dignity, honor, fr. L. dignitas, fr. dignus worthy. See Deign, and cf. Dignity.]
- hast
- , 2d pers. sing. pres. of. Fave, contr. of havest.
- trumpets n.
- A plant (Sarracenia flava) with long, hollow leaves.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Quarrel with Love is in the public domain. This text is taken from Pastoral Poems by Nicholas Breton, Selected Poetry by George Wither, and Pastoral Poetry by William Browne (of Tavistock), Project Gutenberg ebook #22001; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Nicholas Breton, A Quarrel with Love, in Pastoral Poems and Selected Poetry (1597–1604), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #22001, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/breton-poems/a-quarrel-with-love.html, id L08835.
Form and metre
A Quarrel with Love is 68 lines in 17 stanzas of 4 lines each. The commonest rhyme scheme is ABAB, in 5 of the 17 stanzas; the rest vary or could not be confirmed. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 100% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.0 syllables. 22 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 21% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A story · affectionA · sorry · infectionA
- 2 ABAB himA · pleasedB · himA · diseasedB
- 4 ABAB itA · seeingB · itA · beingB
- 5 ABAB wittyA · idleB · pityA · bridleB
- 6 ABAB conjectureA · findingB · architectureA · blindingB
- 7 A-A- itA · service · itA · office
- 8 AAAA itA · itA · itA · itA
- 9 ABAB strifeA · meB · lifeA · beB
- 10 -A-A eye · dartA · wretch · heartA
- 11 -A-A word · senseA · sound · defenceA
- 12 -A-A mark · mindA · mist · blindA
- 13 -A-A sake · limbA · deceiv'd · himA
- 15 -A-A love · theeA · both · meA
- 16 -A-A love · joyA · hope · annoyA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Oh that I could write a story | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Of love's dealing with affection! | 8 | ··/˘·˘/˘ |
| How he makes the spirit sorry | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| That is touch'd with his infection. | 8 | ·····˘/˘ |
| But he doth so closely wind him, | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| In the plaits of will ill-pleased, | 8 | ·······˘ |
| That the heart can never find him | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Till it be too much diseased. | 8 | ·····˘/˘ |
| 'Tis a subtle kind or spirit | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| Of a venom-kind of nature, | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| That can, like a coney-ferret, | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| Creep unawares upon a creature. | 9 | ··˘/···/˘ |
| Never eye that can behold it, | 8 | /˘···˘/· |
| Though it worketh first by seeing; | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| Nor conceit that can unfold it, | 8 | ·˘/··˘/· |
| Though in thoughts be all its being. | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Oh! it maketh old men witty, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Young men wanton, women idle, | 8 | ··/˘/˘/˘ |
| While that patience weeps, for pity | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| Reason bite not nature's bridle. | 8 | /˘··/˘/˘ |
| What it is, in conjecture; | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Seeking much, but nothing finding; | 8 | /˘··/˘/˘ |
| Like to fancy's architecture | 8 | ··/˘/˘·˘ |
| With illusions reason blinding. | 8 | ·˘/˘/˘/˘ |
| Yet, can beauty so retain it, | 8 | ··/˘·˘/· |
| In the profit of her service, | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| That she closely can maintain it | 8 | ··/˘·˘/· |
| For her servant chief on office? | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| In her eye she chiefly breeds it; | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| In her cheeks she chiefly hides it; | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| In her servant's faith she feeds it, | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| While his only heart abides it. | 8 | ··/˘·˘/· |
| Love and my mistress were at strife | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Who had the greatest power on me: | 8 | ···/˘/·· |
| Betwixt them both, oh, what a life! | 8 | ˘/······ |
| Nay, what a death is this to be! | 8 | ········ |
| She said, she did it with her eye; | 8 | ········ |
| He said, he did it with his dart; | 8 | ········ |
| Betwixt them both (a silly wretch!) | 8 | ˘/···/˘· |
| 'Tis I that have the wounded heart. | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| She said, she only spake the word | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That did enchant my peering sense; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| He said, he only gave the sound | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That enter'd heart without defence. | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| She said, her beauty was the mark | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That did amaze the highest mind; | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| He said, he only made the mist | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Whereby the senses grew so blind. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| She said, that only for her sake, | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The best would venture life and limb: | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| He said, she was too much deceiv'd; | 8 | ······˘/ |
| They honour'd her because of him. | 8 | ········ |
| Long while, alas, she would not yield, | 8 | ··˘/···· |
| But it was she that rul'd the roost; | 8 | ········ |
| Until by proof, she did confess, | 8 | ······˘/ |
| If he were gone, her joy was lost. | 8 | ········ |
| And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| I now do find it is for thee, | 8 | ········ |
| That I am lov'd and honour'd both, | 8 | ········ |
| And thou hast power to conquer me." | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| But, when I heard her yield to love, | 8 | ········ |
| Oh! how my heart did leap for joy! | 8 | ········ |
| That now I had some little hope | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| To have an end to mine annoy! | 8 | ······˘/ |
| But, as too soon, before the field | 8 | ········ |
| The trumpets sound the overthrow, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| So all too soon I joy'd too much, | 8 | ········ |
| For I awaked, and nothing saw. | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
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