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“Teru, teru!" by-and-by. That to hear her so complain

15 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 takes pity on thy pain. Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; All thy fellow birds do sing,

25 Careless of thy sor

sorrowing; Even so, poor bird, like thee, None alive will pity me.


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Happy shepherds, sit and see,

With joy,
The peerless wight
For whose sake Pan keeps from ye

And gives delight,
Blessing this pleasant spring.
Her praises must I sing;
List, you swains, list to me,
The whiles your flocks feeding be.
First, her brow a beauteous globe

I deem,
And golden hair;
And her cheek Aurora's robe
Doth seem,

But far more fair.
Her eyes like stars are bright,
And dazzle with their light;
Rubies her lips to see,
But to taste nectar they be.
Orient pearls her teeth, her smile

Doth link
The Graces three;
Her white neck doth eyes beguile
To think

It ivory.
Alas! her lily hand
How it doth me command !
Softer silk none can be,
And whiter milk none can see.
Circe's wand is not so straight


PAYL. Corydon, arise my Corydon !

Titan shineth clear.
Cor. Who is it that calleth Corydon?

Who is it that I hear?
Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love calleth thee, 5

Arise then, arise then;

Arise and keep thy flock with me! Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she ?

I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee.



Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;

Eat them for my sake.
Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,

Sport for thee to make. Puyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,

15 To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk. COR. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,

To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet to withstand the heat. 20

As is

Her body small;

1 Words supposed to resemble the cry of the nightingale.

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When lusty bloods in fresh array

Hear ten months after of the play:

And this is Love, as I hear say. MELI. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain ? Faust. It is a sunshine mix'd with rain,

It is a tooth-ache, or like pain,
It is a game, where none doth gain;

The lass saith no, and would full fain:

And this is Love, as I hear sain.
MELI. Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray?
Faust. It is a yea, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,
It is a thing will soon away,
Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye


And this is Love, as I hear say.
MELI. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show?
Faust. A thing that creeps, it cannot go,

A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for moe,

And he that proves shall find it so:
And, shepherd, this is Love, I trow. 30



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What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod ?
He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid ! so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee.

– Thom. LODGE (15587-1625)




And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sings madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delights each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

- Chr. Marlow (1564-1593)





What pleasure have great princes

More dainty to their choice
Than herdmen wild, who careless

In quiet life rejoice?
And fortune's fate not fearing,
Sing sweet in summer morning.
Their dealings plain and rightful,

Are void of all deceit;
They never know how spiteful

It is to kneel and wait On favourite presumptuous, Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All day their flocks each tendeth,

At night they take their rest,
More quiet than who sendeth

His ship into the east,
Where gold and pearl are plenty,
But getting very dainty.
For lawyers and their pleading,

They 'steem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning,

Is of itself a law;
Where conscience judgeth plainly,
They spend no money vainly.






Oh, happy who thus liveth!

Not caring much for gold; With clothing which sufficeth,

To keep him from the cold. Though poor and plain his diet, Yet merry it is and quiet.


If all 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.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee and be thy love.

ut could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee and be thy love.





Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountains yields.



Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.

If Jove himself be subject unto Love,
And range the woods to find a mortal prey;
If Neptune from the seas himself remove,
And seek on sands with earthly wights to play:

Then may I love my shepherdess by right,
Who far excels each other mortal wight? 6

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear, 891
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling

part: Like soldiers, when their captain once doth

yield, They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

If Pluto could by Love be drawn from hell
To yield himself a silly virgin's thrall;
If Phæbus could vouchsafe on earth to dwell,
To win a rustic maid unto his call:

Then how much more should I adore the sight
Of her in whom the heavens themselves de-

light? If country Pan night follow nymphs in chase, And yet through Love remain devoid of blame; If satyrs were excused for seeking grace To joy the fruits of any mortal dame:

My shepherdess why should not I love still, 17 On whom nor gods nor men can gaze their fill?

- Thom. WATSON (15577-1592)

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no

899 And with that word she spied the hunted boar,



Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:

This way she runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.




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A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain, 910

Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:

Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 870

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,

Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;

And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howl-


When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise, Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, Against the welkin volleys out his voice; 921 Another and another answer him,

Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they


By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shud-

880 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds

Appals her senses and her spirit confounds. For now she knows it is no gentle chase, But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, Because the cry remaineth in one place, Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;

So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.


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