Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle* both her eyes; 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. SONNET. PHILLIS kept sheep along the western plains, A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire, sparkle] The 4to. "sparkles. t shine] The 4to. "shines." swad] See note † p. 236. He little knew to paint a tale of love, Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say : She ask'd him how his flocks or he did fare, pay; 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.” VOL. II. R 242 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. Ан, were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, 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,† 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, She comforts all the world, as doth the sun, 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. + flower] Qy." power," or "stoure." BELLARIA'S EPITAPH. HERE lies entomb'd Bellaria fair, FROM NEVER TOO LATE. (ED. 1590.) AN ODE. way, Down the valley 'gan he track, When in outward dews she plains Such rare mixture Venus seeks, Locks where love did sit and twine 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. |