The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
|
|
 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
A Solemne Fancy.
Sorrow in my heart breedeth
A cocatrices neast,
Where euery young bird feedeth
Vpon my Hearts vnrest.
A cocatrices neast,
Where euery young bird feedeth
Vpon my Hearts vnrest.
Where euery pecke they giue mee,
(Which euery houre they doe,)
Vnto such paine they driue mee,
I knowe not what to doe.
(Which euery houre they doe,)
Vnto such paine they driue mee,
I knowe not what to doe.
Oh, broode vnhapp'ly hatched
Of such a cursed kinde,
Where Death and Sorrowe matched,
Liue, but to kill the minde.
Of such a cursed kinde,
Where Death and Sorrowe matched,
Liue, but to kill the minde.
Wordes torments are but trifles,
That but conceits confounde;
And Natures griefes but nifles
Vnto the Spirits wounde.
That but conceits confounde;
And Natures griefes but nifles
Vnto the Spirits wounde.
They are but Cares good morrowes
That passions can declare;
While my Hearts inward sorrowes
Are all without compare.
That passions can declare;
While my Hearts inward sorrowes
Are all without compare.
Fortune, she seekes to sweare mee
To all may discontent mee;
Yet sayes, she doth forbeare mee,
She doth no more torment mee.
To all may discontent mee;
Yet sayes, she doth forbeare mee,
She doth no more torment mee.
8
Beauty she doth retaine mee
In scarce a fauours tittle;
And though she doe disdeigne mee,
She thinkes my griefe too little.
In scarce a fauours tittle;
And though she doe disdeigne mee,
She thinkes my griefe too little.
Loue falles into a laughing
At Reasons little good,
While Sorrow, with her quaffing,
Is drunke with my heart blood.
At Reasons little good,
While Sorrow, with her quaffing,
Is drunke with my heart blood.
But let her drinke and spare not,
Vntill my heart be dry;
And let Love laugh, I care not;
My hope is, I shall dy.
Vntill my heart be dry;
And let Love laugh, I care not;
My hope is, I shall dy.
And Death shall only tell
My froward fortunes fashion,
That nearest vnto hell
Was found the Lovers passion.
My froward fortunes fashion,
That nearest vnto hell
Was found the Lovers passion.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |