« ZurückWeiter »
Or that he hath not power to avenge his teen?
Or that old Tyndarus this wrong can smother?
Or the two famous twins, each lov'd of other?
So were your valour and rare deeds you boast,
And warlike spirits in which you triumph'd most ;
By which you have attain'd 'mongst soldiers grace,
None will believe you, that but sees your face,
Your feature, and fair shape, is fitter far
For amorous courtships, than remorseless war.
Let rough-hew'd soldiers warlike dangers prove,
'Tis pity Paris should do ought, save love:
Hector (whom you so praise) for you may fight;
I'll find you war to skirmishi every night,
Which shall become you better. Were I wise,
And bold withal, I might obtain the prize :
In such sweet single combats, hand to hand,
'Gainst which no woman that is wise will stand.
My champion I'll encounter breast to breast,
Tho' I were sure to fall, and be o'erprest.
If that you private conference intreat me,
I apprehend you, and you cannot cheat me:
I know the meaning, durst I yield thereto,
Of what you would confer, what you would do.
You are too forward, you too far would wade;
But yet (God knows) your harvest's in the blade.
My tired pen shall here its labour end;
A guilty sense in thievish lines I send.
Speak next when your occasion best persuades,
By Cymene and Æthra my two maids.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HI:
Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasure prove,
That hills and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies ;
A cap of flowers, and a girdle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle ;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs.
And if these pleasures may thee move.
Then live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD. If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue ; These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold ; And Philomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yield: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, Thy cap, thy girdle, and thy posies ; Some break, some wither, some forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds; Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ; All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed; Had joys no date, and age no need ; Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.
Come live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year
In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breathes sweetest gales.
There shall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar, and the spreading vine,
And all the woods to be a skreen,
Lest Phæbus kiss my summer's queen.
The feast of your disport shall be,
Over some river, in a tree ;
Where silver sands and pebbles sing
Eternal dities to the spring.
There you shall see the nymphs at play,
And how the satyrs spend the day ;
The fishes gliding on the sands,
Offering their bellies to your hands;
The birds, with heavenly-tuned throats,
Possess woods echoes with sweet notes ;
Which to your senses will impart
A music to inflame the heart.
Upon the bare and leafless oak,
The ring-doves' wooings will provoke
A colder blood than you possess,
To play with me, and do no less.
In bowers of laurel trimly dight,
We will outwear the silent night,
While Flora busy is to spread
Her richest treasure on our bed.
The glow-worms shall on you attend,
And all their sparkling lights shall spend;
All to adorn and beautify
Your lodging with most majesty :
Then in my arms will I inclose
Lilies' fair mixture with the rose;
Whose nice perfections in love's play,
Shall tune me to the highest key.
Thus as we pass the welcome night
In sportful pleasures and delight,
The nimble fairies on the grounds
Shall dance and sing melodious sounds.
If these may serve for to entice,
Your presence to love's paradise ;
Then come with me, and be my dear,
And we will straight begin the year.
Take, O! take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights which do mislead the morn.
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, tho' seal'd in vain.
Hide, O ! hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow,
Are of those that April wears.
But my poor heart first set free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.
THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE.
Let the bird of lowest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad, and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey :
But thou, shrieking harbinger,
Foul procurer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king.
Keep the obsequy so strict;
Lest the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music ken,
Be the death-divining swan,
Let the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st,
With the breath thou giv'st and tak’st,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence :
Love and constancy is dead,
Phenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence ;
So they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts but in none,
Number there in love was slain :
Hearts remote, yet not asunder,
Distance, and no space was seen,
'Twixt the turtle and his queen,
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the Phenix' sight,
Either was the other mine.
Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same,
Single natures, double name,
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason itself confounded,
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one,
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragick scene.
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Hence inclos'd, in cynders lie:
Death is now the phenix's nest,
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest ;
Leaving no posterity,
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth inay seem, but cannot be ;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she :
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair,
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.