XV. On a day (alack the day!), Love, whose month was ever May, Through the velvet leaves the wind, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. My flocks feed not, Heart's denying, Causer of this. XVI. 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. 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, Heart is bleeding, Fraughted with gall. My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd, With sighs so deep, Procures to weep, In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. How sighs resound Through heartless ground, Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! 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. Thy like ne'er was For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Poor Coridon Must live alone, Other help for him I see that there is none. XVII. Whenas 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, partial might: Take counsel of some wiser head, And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, But plainly say thou lov'st her well, What though her frowning brows be bent, And twice desire, ere it be day, That which with scorn she put away. What though she strive to try her strength, 'Had women been so strong as men, And to her will frame all thy ways; The strongest castle, tower, and town, Serve always with assured trust, Press never thou to choose anew: When time shall serve, be thou not slack The wiles and guiles that women work, A woman's nay doth stand for nought? Think women still to strive with men, But soft; enough,- too much I fear, Yet will she blush, here be it said, XVIII. Live with me, and be my love, There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks, There will I make thee a bed of roses, A belt of straw and ivy buds, LOVE'S ANSWER. If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. As it fell upon a day, XIX. In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring : Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity: Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, Teru, Teru, by and by: That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shown,* Made me think upon mine own. Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, None take pity on thy pain: Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee. King Pandion, he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; All thy fellow-birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing. Even so, poor bird, like thee, Words are easy like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; Bountiful they will him call: And with such-like flattering, They have him at commandement; SONG. Take, oh, take those lips away, Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, VERSES AMONG THE ADDITIONAL POEMS TO CHESTER'S LOVE'S MARTYR, 1601. LET the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou, shrieking harbinger, Foul pre-currer of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. |