Billeder på siden

Then for a gift a row of pins,

A purse, a pair of knives ; Was all the way that love begins,

And so the shepherd wives.

But now we have so much ado,

And are so sore aggrieved ; That when we go about to woo

We cannot be believed. Such choice of jewels, rings and chains

That may but favour move ; And such intolerable pains

Ere one can hit on love. That if I still shall bide this life

'Twixt love and deadly hate ; I will go learn the country life,

Or leave the lover's state.


OXFORD, 1545-1604.




"OME hither, shepherd swain !

Sir, what do you require ?
I pray thee shew to me thy name !

My name is fond Desire.

When wert thou born, Desire ?

In pomp and prime of May.
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot?

By fond Conceit, men say.

Tell me, who was thy nurse?

Fresh youth in sugared joy.
What was thy meat and daily food ?

Sad sighs, with great annoy.

What hadst thou then to drink?

Unsavoury lovers' tears.
What cradle wert thou rocked in?

In hope devoid of fears.

What lulled thee then asleep?

Sweet speech, which likes me best. Tell me where is thy dwelling place?

In gentle hearts I rest.

What thing doth please thee most?

To gaze on beauty still. Whom dost thou think to be thy foe?

Disdain of my good will.

Doth company displease ?

Yes, surely, many one. Where doth Desire delight to live?

He loves to live alone.

Doth either time or age

Bring him unto decay? No! no, Desire both lives and dies

A thousand times a day.

Then fond Desire, farewell,

Thou art not mate for me,
I should be loth methinks to dwell

With such a one as thee.







Y mind to me a kingdom is,

Such present joys therein I find, That it excels all other bliss

That earth affords or grows by kind: Though much I want which most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely pomp, no wealthy store,

No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to feed a loving eye ;
To none of these I yield as thrall:
For why? my mind doth serve for all.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soon do fall ; I see that those which are aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all ; They get with toil, they keep with fear: Such cares my mind could never bear.

Content I live, this is my stay,

I seek no more than may suffice ;
I press to bear no haughty sway;

Look what I lack my mind supplies:
Lo thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave ;

I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor though much they have,

And I am rich with little store ; They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain ;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;

My state at one doth still remain :
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend ;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,

Their wisdom by their rage of will ;
Their treasure is their only trust,

A cloked craft their store of skill.
But all the pleasure that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.

« ForrigeFortsæt »