Robert Greene

Sephestia's
Cradle Song

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe;
Fortune changed made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl-drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies;
Thus he grieved in every part,
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,

Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

The wanton smiled, father wept,
Mother cried, baby leapt;

More he crowed, more we cried,
Nature could not sorrow hide:
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss,
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.

Samela

Like to Diana in her summer weed,
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela.

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed

When washed by Arethusa fount they lie, Is fair Samela.

As fair Aurora in her morning gray, Decked with the ruddy glister of her love Is fair Samela.

Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy

move,

Shines fair Samela.

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,

Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela.

Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams;

Her brows bright arches framed of ebony: Thus fair Samela

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,

And Juno in the show of majesty:
For she's Samela.

Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,
Yield to Samela.

Doron and
Carmela

Doron. Sit down, Carmela; here are cobs

for kings,

Sloes black as jet or like my

Christmas shoes,

Sweet cider which my leathern bottle brings;

Sit down, Carmela, let me kiss thy toes.

Carmela. Ah Doron! ah my heart! thou art as white

As is my mother's calf or

brinded cow;

Thine eyes are like the slowworms in the night;

Thine hairs resemble thickest

of the snow.

The lines within thy face are deep and clear

Like to the furrows of my father's wain;