And bid me write, and promis'd wished rest; The Nymph's Reply to the [passionate] Shepherd. [From the same Collection.] If all the world and love were young, Time drives the flocks from field to fold, The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,- Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, All these in me no means can move But could youth last, and love still breed, [Signed Ignoto.] The Shepherd's Description of Love. [From the same Collection.] Melibaus. SHEPHERD, what's love? I pray thee, tell? Faustus. It is that fountain, and that well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell: It is, perhaps, that sauncing bell That tolls all in to heaven or hell; And this is love, as I heard tell. Mel. Yet what is love? I prithee say! It is December match'd with May, When lusty bloods, in fresh array, Mel. Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine! Faust. It is a sunshine mix'd with rain; It is a tooth-ach, or like pain; It is a game where none doth gain. The lass saith, No, and would full fain !— And this is love, as I hear saine. Mel. Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray? A pretty kind of sporting fray; Then, nymphs, take 'vantage while ye may !- Mel. Yet, what is love? good shepherd, show! A prize that passeth to and fro, The Silent Lover. PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams; The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb: So, when affections yield discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they come. They that are rich in words must needs discover They are but poor in that which makes a lover. Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, The merit of true passion, With thinking that he feels no smart Since if my plaints were not t' approve It comes not from defect of love, For, knowing that I sue to serve I rather choose to want relief, Where glory recommends the grief, Silence in love betrays more wo Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, Verses found in his Bible. E'en such is time; which takes in trust And from which grave, and earth, and dust, |