« ForrigeFortsæt »
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.
EDWARD VERE, EARL OF
THE BIRTH OF DESIRE.
"OME hither, shepherd swain !
Sir, what do you require ?
My name is fond Desire.
When wert thou born, Desire ?
In pomp and prime of May.
By fond Conceit, men say.
Tell me, who was thy nurse?
Fresh youth in sugared joy.
Sad sighs, with great annoy.
What hadst thou then to drink?
Unsavoury lovers' tears.
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,
With such a one as thee.
SIR EDWARD DYER,
MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.
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 shape to feed a loving eye ;
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 ;
Look what I lack my mind supplies:
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 ;
My state at one doth still remain :
Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will ;
A cloked craft their store of skill.