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Thro' the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gain passage find,
That the lover (sick to death)
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air (quoth he) thy cheeks may blow;
Air ! would I might triumph so!
But (alas !) my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy throne;
Vow, (alack !) for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet;
Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear
JUNO but an ÆTHIOP were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.
MY flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
My rams speed not; all is amiss,
Love is dying, faith's defying.
Heart's denying, causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost (God wot)
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd, without remove.
One silly cross wrought all my loss ;
O! frowning Fortune, cursed fickle dame!
For now I see inconstancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me living in thrall ;
Heart is bleeding, all help needing;
0! cruel speeding, fraughted with gall !
My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell,
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid.
With sighs so deep, procures to weep
In howling wise to see my doleful plight;
How sighs resound thro' heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight.
Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye;
Herds stand weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs black peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains ;
All our merry meetings on the plains ;
All our evening sport from us is fled;
All our love is lost, for love is dead,
Fai el, sweet love, thy like ne'er was,
For a sweet content, of all my woe the cause;
Poor CORIDON must live alone,
Other help for him, I see, that there is none.
WHEN as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike;
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy (partly all might)
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com’st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk;
Lest she some subtle practice smell :
A cripple soon can find a balt.
But plainly say, thou lov’st her well,
And set a person forth to sale.
What tho’ her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then tuo late she will repent,
That thus dissembling her delight:
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban, and brawl, and say thee nay;
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.
And to her will frame all thy ways,
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there,
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear :
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Please never thou to chuse a-new.
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, tho' she put it back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward shew
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know,
not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?
Think women still to strive with men
To sin, and never for to saint:
There is no heaven (by holy then)
When time with age shall them attaint,
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But soft, enough, too much I fear,
Lest that my mistress hear my song,
She will not stick to round me on th' ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long.
Yet will she blush, here be it said
To hear her secrets so bewraid.
SIN of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is, as mine ;
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shews me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity ;