THE CONSTANCIE OF A LOVER.
That selfe same tongue which first did thee intreate, To lynke thy lyking with my lucky love;
That trusty tongue must nowe these wordes repeate, I love thee still, my fancy cannot move.
That dreadlesse hart which durst attempt the thought
To win thy will with mine for to consent,
Maintains that vow which love in me first wrought,
I love thee still, and never shall repent.
That happy hand which hardily did touch
Thy tender body to my deepe delight,
Shall serve with sword to prove my passion such
As loves thee still, much more than it can write.
Thus love I still with tongue, hand, hart, and all
And, when I change, let vengeance on me fall.
Born about 1540, died about 1595.
The flowring hearbes, the pleasant spring
That deckes the fieldes with vernal hew
The harmlesse birdes that sweetly sing,
My hidden griefes do still renew:
The joyes that others long to see
Is it that most tormenteth me.
I greatly doubt, though March be past,
Where I shall see that wished May,
That can recure that balefull blast,
Whose cold despaire wrought my decay :
My hopelesse clouds that never cleere,
Presage great sorrows very neere.
I once did mirth and musicke love,
Which both as now I greatly hate:
What uncouth sprite my heart doth move
To loath the thing I loved so late?
My greatest ease, in deepest mone,
Is when I walke myselfe alone:
Where, thinking on my hopelesse hap,
My trickling teares like rivers flow;
Yet Fancy lulls me in her lap,
And telles me lyfe from death shall grow:
Thus flattering hope makes me believe
My griefe in tyme shall feele relieve.
Good fortune helpes the venturing wight
That hard attempts dares undertake,
But they that shun the doubtful fight,
As coward drudges, doth forsake:
Come what there will, I meane to try,
For, winne or lose, I can but dye.
FRANCIS KINDLEMARSH, OR KYNWEL
A VERTUOUS GENTLEWOMAN IN PRAISE OF HER LOVE.
I am a virgin faire and free, and freely do rejoyce ;
I sweetly warble sugred notes from silver voice;
For which delightful joyes yet thanke I courteous love,
By whose almightie power such sweet delights I prove.
I walke in pleasant fieldes adorned with lively greene,
I view the fragrant flowers most lovely to be seene;
The purple columbine, the cowslippe, and the lillie,
The violet sweetc, the daisic, and yellow daffodillie ;
The woodbine in the edge, the red rose and the white,
And each fine flower clse that rendereth sweet delight;
Amongst the which I chuse all those of seemlicst grace,
In thought resembling them to my deare lover's face.
His lovely face I mean, whose golden flowring giftes
His ever living fame to loftie skye upliftes :
Whom loving me I love onley for vertue's sake,
Whom vertuously to love all onely care I take.
Of all which fresh faire flowers, that flower which doth appeare
In my conceit most like to him I holde so deerc,
I gather it, I kissc it, and eke devise with it
Such kind of lovely speech as is for lovers fit.
And then of all my flowers I make a garland fine,
With which my golden-wire haires together I do twine;
And set it on my head, so taking that delight
That I would take, had I my lover still in sight.
For as in goodly flowers mine eyes great pleasure finde,
So are my lover's gifts most pleasant to my minde.
Upon which vertuous giftes I make more repast
Than they that for love sportes the sweetest joyes do
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountains yield.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidering 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,
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.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD'S INVITATION.
If all the world and Love were young,
And truth on every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me nove,
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.
|