The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
Had that chaste Roman Dame beheld his face,
Ere the proud King possest her Husbands place,
Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine
Had won her greater fame, had she beene slaine.
The Larke that many mornes her selfe makes merry
With the shrill chanting of her teery-lerry,
(Before he was transform'd) would leaue the skyes,
And houer o'er him to behold his eyes.
Vpon an Oten-pipe well could he play,
For when he fed his flocke vpon the lay
Maidens to heare him from the Plaines came tripping
And Birds frō bough to bough full nimbly skipping;
His flocke (then happy flocke) would leaue to feed,
And stand amaz'd to listen to his Reed:
Lyons and Tygers, with each beast of game;
With hearing him were many times made tame:
Braue trees & flowers would towards him be bending
And none that heard him wisht his Song an ending:
Maids, Lyons, birds, flocks, trees, each flowre, each spring,
Were wrapt with wōder, whē he vs'd to sing
So faire a person to describe to men
Requires a curious Pencill, not a Pen.
Ere the proud King possest her Husbands place,
Her thoughts had beene adulterate, and this staine
Had won her greater fame, had she beene slaine.
The Larke that many mornes her selfe makes merry
With the shrill chanting of her teery-lerry,
(Before he was transform'd) would leaue the skyes,
And houer o'er him to behold his eyes.
Vpon an Oten-pipe well could he play,
For when he fed his flocke vpon the lay
Maidens to heare him from the Plaines came tripping
And Birds frō bough to bough full nimbly skipping;
His flocke (then happy flocke) would leaue to feed,
And stand amaz'd to listen to his Reed:
Lyons and Tygers, with each beast of game;
With hearing him were many times made tame:
Braue trees & flowers would towards him be bending
And none that heard him wisht his Song an ending:
Maids, Lyons, birds, flocks, trees, each flowre, each spring,
Were wrapt with wōder, whē he vs'd to sing
150
Requires a curious Pencill, not a Pen.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |