« EdellinenJatka »
Sweet love, begone a while,
Thou seest my heaviness : Beauty is born but to beguile
My heart of happiness. See how my little flock,
That lov'd to feed on high, Do headlong tumble down the rock,
And in the valley die. The bushes and the trees,
That were so fresh and green,
And not a leaf is seen.
That made the woods to ring, With all the rest, are now at hush,
And not a note they sing. Sweet Philomel, the bird
That hath the heavenly throat,
Recording of a note.
The herbs have lost their savour; And Phillida the fair hath lost
For me her wonted favour.
So kill me in conceit,
It is but mere deceit.
That know'st what help is best, Do now thy heavenly cunning use
To set my heart at rest. And in a dream bewray
What fate shall be my friend; Whether my life shall still decay,
Or when my sorrows end.
From Percy's Collection.
all his strength, By raging seas is rent in twain; The marble stone is pierc'd, at length,
With little drops of drizzling rain;
By yelping hounds at bay is set;
At length is caught in fowler's net :
All things are bounden to obey,
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
the throne of glorious fame; hough spitetul death man's body kill,
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name.
THE PRAISE OF AMARGANA. THE sun, the-season, in each thing
Revives new pleasures; the sweet spring Hath put to flight the winter keen, To glad our lovely summer queen.
The paths where Amargana treads
C. MARLOW. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. COME HOME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, 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, to 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 kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin'd choicely 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.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
THE NYMPH's REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,