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 |  |
Limos with his sweet theft full slily rushes
Through sharp-hook'd brambles, thornes, & tangling bushes,
Whose tenters sticking in her garments, sought
(Poore shrubs) to helpe her, but auailing nought,
As angry (best intents miss'd best proceeding)
They scratch'd his face & legs, cleere water bleeding.
Not greater haste a fearefull schoole-boy makes
Out of an Orchard whence by stealth he takes
A churlish Farmers Plums, sweet Peares or Grapes,
Then Limos did, as from the thicke he scapes
Downe to the shore. Where resting him a space,
Restlesse Marina gan intreat for grace
Of one whose knowing it as desp'rate stood,
As where each day to get supply of food.
O! had she (thirsty) such intreaty made
At some high Rocke, proud of his euening shade,
He would haue burst in two, and from his veines
(For her auaile) vpon the vnder Plaines
A hundred Springs a hundred wayes should swim,
To shew her teares inforced floods from him.
Had such an Oratresse beene heard to plead
For faire Polixena, the Murthrers head
Had beene her pardon, and so scap'd that shocke,
Which made her louers tombe her dying blocke.
Not an inraged Lion, surly, wood,
No Tyger reft her young, nor sauage brood;
No, not the foaming Boare, that durst approue
Louelesse to leaue the mighty Queene of Loue,
But her sad plaints, their vncouth walkes among
Spent, in sweet numbers from her golden tongue,
So much their great hearts would in softnes steepe,
They at her foot would groueling lye, and weepe.
Yet now (alas!) nor words, nor floods of teares
Did ought auaile. The belly hath no eares.
Through sharp-hook'd brambles, thornes, & tangling bushes,
Whose tenters sticking in her garments, sought
(Poore shrubs) to helpe her, but auailing nought,
As angry (best intents miss'd best proceeding)
They scratch'd his face & legs, cleere water bleeding.
Not greater haste a fearefull schoole-boy makes
Out of an Orchard whence by stealth he takes
A churlish Farmers Plums, sweet Peares or Grapes,
Then Limos did, as from the thicke he scapes
Downe to the shore. Where resting him a space,
Restlesse Marina gan intreat for grace
Of one whose knowing it as desp'rate stood,
As where each day to get supply of food.
182
At some high Rocke, proud of his euening shade,
He would haue burst in two, and from his veines
(For her auaile) vpon the vnder Plaines
A hundred Springs a hundred wayes should swim,
To shew her teares inforced floods from him.
Had such an Oratresse beene heard to plead
For faire Polixena, the Murthrers head
Had beene her pardon, and so scap'd that shocke,
Which made her louers tombe her dying blocke.
Not an inraged Lion, surly, wood,
No Tyger reft her young, nor sauage brood;
No, not the foaming Boare, that durst approue
Louelesse to leaue the mighty Queene of Loue,
But her sad plaints, their vncouth walkes among
Spent, in sweet numbers from her golden tongue,
So much their great hearts would in softnes steepe,
They at her foot would groueling lye, and weepe.
Yet now (alas!) nor words, nor floods of teares
Did ought auaile. The belly hath no eares.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |