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Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle * both her eyes;
As air perfum'd with amber is her breath; Like swelling waves, her lovely teats do rise; As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death: Aye me, poor man, that on the earth do live, When unkind earth death and despair doth give!
In pomp sits mercy seated in her face;
Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint;
Her eyes shine \ favour, courtesy, and grace; But touch her heart, ah, that is fram'd of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; The rock will wear, wash'd with a winter's rain.
Phillis kept sheep along the western plains,
And Coridon did feed his flocks hard by:
This shepherd was the flower of all the swains
That trac'd the downs of fruitful Thessaly,
And Phillis, that did far her flocks surpass
In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass.
A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire,
Was lovely Phillis, Coridon swore so;
Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire,
He left his lambs, and he began to woo;
He look'd, he sigh'd, he courted with a kiss,
No better could the silly swad J than this.
* sparkle] The 4to. " sparkles.
t shine] The 4to. "shines."
t swad] See note t p. 236.
He little knew to paint a tale of love,
Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say:
Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove
What uncouth grief poor Coridon did pay;
She ask'd him how his flocks or he did fare.
Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care.
The shepherd blush'd when Phillis question'd so,
And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks ;*
Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe,
My thoughts are trapt within thy lovely locks,
Thine eye hath pierc'd, thy face hath set on fire;
Fair Phillis kindleth Coridon's desire.
Can shepherds love? said Phillis to the swain;
Such saints as Phillis, Coridon replied;
Men when they lust can many fancies feign,
Said Phillis; this not Coridon denied,
That lust had lies, but love, quoth he, says truth,
Thy shepherd loves, then, Phillis, what ensu'th?
Phillis was won, she blush'd and hung the head;
The swain stept to, and cheer'd her with a kiss;
With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead;
So used they when men thought not amiss:
This love begun and ended both in one;
Phillis was lov'd, and she lik'd Coridon.
* flocks] The 4to. "flock."
FROM PANDOSTO, THE TRIUMPH OF TIME, (ED. 1694.•)
Dorastus in love-passion writes these few lines in praise of his loving and best-beloved Fawnia.
Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair,
Or but as mild as she is seeming so,
Then were my hopes greater than my despair,
Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.
Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand,
That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, Then knew I where to seat me in a land,
Under wide heavens. but yet [there is] not such. So as she shews, she seems the budding rose,
Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower, Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows,
Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd flower,f Yet were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn.
Ah, when she sings, all music else be still,
For none must be compared to her note; Ne'er breath'd such glee from Philomela's bill,
Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat. Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed,
She comforts all the world, as doth the sun,
And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled;
When she is set, the gladsome day is done.
O glorious sun, imagine me the west,
Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!
* I find this " love-passion" on the back of the title of some of the latest editions of this tract, when it was put forth under the name of Dorastus and Fawnia: in none of the earlier editions have I ever met with it.
t flower] Qy. "power," or "stoure."
Here lies entomb'd Bellaria fair.
Falsely accus'd to be unchaste;
Clear'd by Apollo's sacred doom,
Yet slain by jealousy at last.
Whate'er thou be that passest by,
Curse him that caus'd this Queen to die.
FROM NEVER TOO LATE.
Down the valley 'gan he track,
Bag and bottle at his back,
In a surcoat all of gray;
Such wear palmers on the way,
When with scrip and staff they see
Jesus' grave on Calvary.
A hat of straw, like a swain,
Shelter for the sun and rain,
With a scallop shell before;
Sandals on his feet he wore;
Legs were bare, arms unclad;
Such attire this Palmer had.
His face fair like Titan's shine;
Gray and buxom were his eyne,
Whereout dropt pearls of sorrow;
Such sweet tears love doth borrow,
When in outward dews she plains
Heart's distress that lovers pains;
Ruby lips, cherry cheeks;
Such rare mixture Venus seeks,
When to keep her damsels quiet
Beauty sets them down their diet.
Adon was not thought more fair:
Curled locks of amber hair,
Locks where love did sit and twine
Nets to snare the gazer's eyne.
Such a Palmer ne'er was seen,
'Less Love himself had palmer been.
Yet, for all he was so quaint,
Sorrow did his visage taint:
Midst the riches of his face,
Grief decypher'd high disgrace.
Every step strain'd a tear;
Sudden sighs shew'd his fear;
And yet his fear by his sight
Ended in a strange delight;
That his passions did approve,
Weeds and sorrow were for love.
THE PALMER'S ODE.
Old Menalcas, on a day,
As in field this shepherd lay,
Tuning of his oaten pipe,
Which he hit with many a stripe,
Said to Coridon that he
Once was young and full of glee.
Blithe and wanton was I then:
Such desires follow men.
As I lay and kept my sheep,
Came the God that hateth sleep,