Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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| I. |
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| III. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. | VII. THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
263
VII. THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.
[_]
These beautiful Stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this Volume; see the song intitled, The Shepherds Resolution, p. 190. In our first Edition only a small Fragment of this Sonnet had been recovered, but we are now able to give it more perfect and intire by the insertion of five additional Stanzas: These are extracted from Wither's Pastoral Poem, The Mistress of Philarete; of which this Song makes a part. There were two or three other Stanzas, but as they appeared to be of inferior merit, were not adopted.
Hence away, you Syrens, leave me,
And unclaspe your wanton armes;
Sugred words shall ne'er deceive me,
(Though ‘you’ prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;
No common snare
Could ever my affection chaine:
Your painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
And unclaspe your wanton armes;
Sugred words shall ne'er deceive me,
(Though ‘you’ prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;
No common snare
Could ever my affection chaine:
Your painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
264
I'me no slave to such, as you be;
Neither shall a snowy brest,
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest:
Goe, goe, display
Your beautie's ray
To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine:
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Neither shall a snowy brest,
Wanton eye, or lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest:
Goe, goe, display
Your beautie's ray
To some ore-soone enamour'd swaine:
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away ‘your’ tempting eyes:
Shew not me a naked beautie;
Those impostures I despise:
My spirit lothes
Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine.
Turne away ‘your’ tempting eyes:
Shew not me a naked beautie;
Those impostures I despise:
My spirit lothes
Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine.
Can he prize the tainted posies,
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the spotlesse roses
From their never-touched thorne?
I can goe rest
On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then hold your tongues;
Your mermaid songs
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the spotlesse roses
From their never-touched thorne?
I can goe rest
On her sweet brest,
265
Then hold your tongues;
Your mermaid songs
Are all bestowed on me in vaine.
Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,
Where each peasant mates with him:
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are skar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:
So shall your love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine.
Where each peasant mates with him:
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are skar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:
So shall your love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine.
I doe scorne to vow a dutie,
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto:
Shee, shee it is
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine.
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto:
Shee, shee it is
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine.
Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes:
You labour may
To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine.
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes:
266
To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine.
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |