In black mourn I, All fears scorn I, Heart is bleeding, All help needing, (O cruel speeding!) Fraughted with gall. My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, Procures to weep, In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. How sighs resound Through heartless ground, Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! Clear wells spring not, Sweet birds sing not, Green plants bring not 6 no deal] i. e. in no degree. 7 With sighs so deep, Procures, &c.] "The dog procures (i. e. manages matters) so as to weep." STEEVENS. The whole passage is probably corrupt. Shakespeare certainly wrote none of this wretched piece. Malone in his last edition printed it as given i Weelkes's Madrigals. Flocks all sleeping, Nymphs back peeping Fearfully. All our pleasure known to us poor swains, Thy like ne'er was For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan: " Poor Coridon Must live alone, Other help for him I see that there is none. XVI. Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame, And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike, Let reason rule things worthy blame, As well as partial fancy 10 like: 11 Take counsel of some wiser head, And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, lass] The reading in Weelkes's Madrigals: old copy "love." moan] The reading in England's Helicon: old copy, 200e." 10 fancy] i. e. love. 11 Corrected by a manuscript of the time. Lest she some subtle practice smell; What though her frowning brows be bent, And twice desire, ere it be day, What though she strive to try her strength, And to her will frame all thy ways; The strongest castle, tower, and town, Serve always with assured trust, Press never thou to choose anew: When time shall serve, be thou not slack The wiles and guiles that women work, The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 18 Think women still to strive with men, To sin, and never for to saint: There is no heaven, by holy then, When time with age shall them attaint. But soft; enough,-too much I fear, Yet will she blush, here be it said, 18 Think women, &c.] These four lines are scarcely intelli gible: in a MS. copy of the poem, belonging to S. Lysons Esq. they stand thus: "Think women love to match with men, And not to live so like a saint: Here is no heaven; they holy then Begin, when age doth them attaint." As it fell upon a day,1 XVII. In the merry month of May, Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring; Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: 14 This and the next piece were in all probability written by Richard Barnefield, as they are found in a collection of his Poems printed in 1598. The Passionate Pilgrim was first published in the following vear. store |