Abbildungen der Seite

I'll tell, that if they be not glad,

They yet may envy me;
But then if I grow jealous mad,
And of them pitied be,

It were a plague 'bove scorn,

And yet it cannot be forborne, Unless my heart would, as my thoughts, be


He is, if they can find him, fair,

And fresh, and fragrant too, As summer's sky, or purged air, And looks as lilies do

That are this morning blown;

Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, And fear much more that more of him be


And he hath eyes so round and bright,

As make away my doubt,
Where Love may all his torches light
Though hate had put them out;

But then, t’increase my fears,

What nymph soe'er his voice but bears, Will be my rival, though she have but ears.

I'll tell no more, and yet I love,

And he loves me; yet no
One unbecoming thought doth move
From either heart I know;

And so exempt from blame

As it would be to each a flame If love or fear would let me tell his name.



When Love with unconfined wings,

Hovers within my gates ; And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fetter'd to her eye ;
The birds, that wanton in the air,

Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round,

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,

Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free, Fishes, that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

When (like committed linnets) I

With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty,

And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be; Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soul am free;
Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.


A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs ;-
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come 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.





If all the world and Love were young,
And truth on every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flock from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And Age complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields ;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon 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, nor age no need;
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.


« ZurückWeiter »