The Arbor of Amitie wherin is comprised pleasant Pohems and pretie Poesies, set foorth by Thomas Howell |
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Describing his lost of libertie and crauing returne of loue.
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 | The Arbor of Amitie |  |
Describing his lost of libertie and crauing returne of loue.
Once
free I was at libertie,
My merrie minde was voyde of woe:
My hart had great felicitie,
I passed not for Cupids bowe.
Thus free most free in ioyfull prime,
I passe the sportes of youthfull time.
My merrie minde was voyde of woe:
My hart had great felicitie,
I passed not for Cupids bowe.
Thus free most free in ioyfull prime,
I passe the sportes of youthfull time.
Untill thy vewe as Goddesse grace
In heauenly shape that did appeere,
Had hent my hart in captiue case,
Such was thy voyce, such was thy cheere.
That thy fine forme of natures frame,
The Gods aboue might well inflame.
In heauenly shape that did appeere,
Had hent my hart in captiue case,
Such was thy voyce, such was thy cheere.
That thy fine forme of natures frame,
The Gods aboue might well inflame.
2
It Venus past in forme and face,
Thy corps thy lims eche part so fine,
Thy cheerefull cheekes thy gentle race,
Thy curteous hart thy wit deuine.
That hart did smart in heauie part,
My freedome fled, bounde was my hart.
Thy corps thy lims eche part so fine,
Thy cheerefull cheekes thy gentle race,
Thy curteous hart thy wit deuine.
That hart did smart in heauie part,
My freedome fled, bounde was my hart.
When first I cast my carelesse eye,
Upon thy hue that drue the dart,
I little thought thou shouldest lye
So deepe sunck downe in my poore hart.
I would full faine forgo my holde,
My free estate by wit to folde.
Upon thy hue that drue the dart,
I little thought thou shouldest lye
So deepe sunck downe in my poore hart.
I would full faine forgo my holde,
My free estate by wit to folde.
As birde alurde in winters sore,
On limed twigges that often bee,
Thinkes he is free as late before,
Untill he sayes his flight to flee,
He cries, he flies, in vaine he tries,
On twigge in bondage there he lies.
On limed twigges that often bee,
Thinkes he is free as late before,
Untill he sayes his flight to flee,
He cries, he flies, in vaine he tries,
On twigge in bondage there he lies.
So I by lure of thy good grace,
That thought my hart at libertie:
Was wrapt vnwares by featurde face
With most extreme captiuitie.
A Beautie hath me bondman made,
By loue sincere that shall not vade.
That thought my hart at libertie:
Was wrapt vnwares by featurde face
With most extreme captiuitie.
A Beautie hath me bondman made,
By loue sincere that shall not vade.
2
Alas my panting hart so sore,
That doth lament in sobbing teares:
Most greedie gripes doe prick and gore,
To groning graue my corps that weares.
My cares and griefes doe rack my vaines,
Consider thou my restlesse paines.
That doth lament in sobbing teares:
Most greedie gripes doe prick and gore,
To groning graue my corps that weares.
My cares and griefes doe rack my vaines,
Consider thou my restlesse paines.
Alas most faire and peerelesse gem,
Haue mercy now, draw pittie neere,
And count me not the least of them
That loue thee best in hart sinceere.
So thou that madste my wound so wyde,
Shalt for the same a salue prouyde.
Haue mercy now, draw pittie neere,
And count me not the least of them
That loue thee best in hart sinceere.
So thou that madste my wound so wyde,
Shalt for the same a salue prouyde.
My Ladie faire, ah Ladie dere,
Perpend in hart my dolors great:
And looke vpon thy prisonere,
Whose chaines hath through his hart yfreat.
And let not want of welth in place,
Retract thy loue to runne his race.
Perpend in hart my dolors great:
And looke vpon thy prisonere,
Whose chaines hath through his hart yfreat.
And let not want of welth in place,
Retract thy loue to runne his race.
| The Arbor of Amitie | |