Yet let me know thou dost not scorn To cast a look on me.
But if thy beauty make thee proud,
Think then what is ordained :
The heavens have never yet allowed
That Love should be disdained.
Then lest the fates that favour Love
Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report for thy behoove,
The honour of thy mind;
Let Coridon with full consent
Set down what he hath seen:
That Phillida, with Love's content, Is sworn the Shepherd's Queen.
"Fulke Grevile, servant to Queen Elizabeth, Counsellor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sydney."-LORD BROOKE'S EPITAPH.
Away with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads;
Away, poor souls that sigh, and weep,
In love of them that lie and sleep.
For Cupid is a merry god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
God Cupid's shafts, like destiny,
Doth either good or ill decree:
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his feet doth go.
What fools are they that have not known
That Love likes no laws but his own.
My songs, they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holidays;
On every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same.
Where Honour, Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.
If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree.
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then well-fare nothing once a year.
For many run, but one must win;
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
The worth that worthiness should move,
Is love, which is the due of love;
And love as well the shepherd can,
As can the mighty nobleman.
Sweet nymph, 'tis true, you worthy be,
Yet without love, nought worth to me.
I, with whose colours Myra dressed her head,
I, that wore posies of her own hand-making,
I, that mine own name in the chimneys read,
By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking:
Must I look on, in hope time coming may
With change bring back again my turn to play?
I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found
A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,
Which I to wear about mine arm was bound,
That each of us might know that all was ours;
Must I now lead an idle life in wishes,
And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?
I, that did wear the ring her mother left,
I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,
I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,
I, who did make her blush when I was named;
Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked,
Watching with sighs till dead Love be awakéd?
I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep,
Like Jealousy o'erwatched with Desire,
Was ever warnéd modesty to keep,
While her breath speaking kindled Nature's fire,
Must I look on a-cold while others warm them?
Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?
Was it for this that I might Myra see,
Washing the water with her beauties, white?
Yet would she never write her love to me;
Thinks wit of change, while thoughts are in delight?
Mad girls may safely love, as they may leave:
No man can print a kiss Lines may deceive.
["A Poetical Rhapsodie." 1602.]
WHAT need I say how it doth wound my breast,
By fate to be thus ravished from thine eyes,
Since your own tears with me do sympathise,
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?
For when with floods of tears they were oppressed,
Over those ivory banks they did not rise,
Till others, envying their felicities,
Did press them forth, that they might there be blest.
Some of which tears, pressed forth by violence,
Your lips with greedy kissing straight did drink :
And other some, unwilling to part thence,
Enamoured on your cheeks in them did sink;
And some which from your face were forced away,
In sign of love, did on your garments stay.
HIS SIGHS AND TEARS ARE BOOTLESS.
I have entreated, and I have complained;
I have dispraised, and praise I likewise gave;
All means to win her grace I tried have;
And still I love, and still I am disdained.
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