 | The Poems of James VI. of Scotland |  |
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[Not orientall Indus cristall streames]
Not orientall Indus cristall streames;
Nor frutfull Nilus, that no bankes can thole;
Nor golden Tagus; wher bright Titans beam[e]s,
Ar headlongst hurled, to vew the Antartike Pole;
Nor Ladon (which sweet Sidney dothe extole)
While it, th'Arcadian Beauties did embrace:
All thease cannot, thee, nameless thee, controle;
But, with good right, must rander & giue place:
For, whilst sweete she, voutsafest to show her face,
And, with her presence, honnors thee ilke day;
Thou slyding, seemest, to haue a slower pace,
Against thy will, as if thou went away,
And, loathe to leaue, the sight of such a one
Thou still imparts, thy plaints, to euery stone.
Nor frutfull Nilus, that no bankes can thole;
Nor golden Tagus; wher bright Titans beam[e]s,
Ar headlongst hurled, to vew the Antartike Pole;
Nor Ladon (which sweet Sidney dothe extole)
While it, th'Arcadian Beauties did embrace:
All thease cannot, thee, nameless thee, controle;
But, with good right, must rander & giue place:
For, whilst sweete she, voutsafest to show her face,
And, with her presence, honnors thee ilke day;
Thou slyding, seemest, to haue a slower pace,
Against thy will, as if thou went away,
And, loathe to leaue, the sight of such a one
Thou still imparts, thy plaints, to euery stone.
Faire famous Isle, where Agathocles rang;
Where sometymes, statly Siracusa stood;
Whos fertill feelds, were bathed in bangsters blood,
When Rome, & ryuall Carthage, straue so lang;
Great Ladie Mistriss, all the Isles amang,
Which stands in Neptunes, circle mouuing, flood;
No, nather for thy frutefull ground nor good;
I chuse the, for the subject of my sang;
Nor, for the owld report, of scarce trew fame;
Nor heeretofore, for farelies in the found;
But, for the sweet resemblance of that Name,
To whom thou seemest, so sibb, at least in sound;
If then, for seeming so, thy prays bee such;
Sweet she her selfe, dothe merit more then much.
Where sometymes, statly Siracusa stood;
Whos fertill feelds, were bathed in bangsters blood,
When Rome, & ryuall Carthage, straue so lang;
Great Ladie Mistriss, all the Isles amang,
Which stands in Neptunes, circle mouuing, flood;
No, nather for thy frutefull ground nor good;
I chuse the, for the subject of my sang;
Nor, for the owld report, of scarce trew fame;
Nor heeretofore, for farelies in the found;
But, for the sweet resemblance of that Name,
To whom thou seemest, so sibb, at least in sound;
If then, for seeming so, thy prays bee such;
Sweet she her selfe, dothe merit more then much.
| The Poems of James VI. of Scotland | |