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 |
 | 1, 2. |
 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
Looke, as two little Brothers who, addrest
To searche the hedges for a Thrushes nest,
And haue no sooner got the leauy Spring,
When mad in lust with fearefull bellowing
A strong-neckt Bull pursues throughout the field,
One climbes a tree, and takes that for his shield,
Whence looking from one pasture to another,
What might betide to his much-loued Brother,
Further then can his ouer-drowned eyes
Aright perceiue, the furious beast he spies
Tosse something on his hornes, he knowes not what,
But one thing feares, and therefore thinkes it that;
When comming nigher he doth well discerne
It of the wondrous-one-night-seeding Ferne
Some bundle was: yet thence he home-ward goes
Pensiue and sad, nor can abridge the throes
His feare began, but still his minde doth moue
Vnto the worst: Mistrust goes still with Loue.
So far'd it with our Shepherd: though he saw
Not ought of Fida's rayment, which might draw
A more suspicion; though the Coller lay
There on the grasse, yet goes he thence away
Full of mistrust, and vowes to leaue that Plaine,
Till he embrace his chastest Loue againe.
Loue-wounded Doridon intreats him then
That he might be his partner, since no men
Had cases liker; he with him would goe,
Weepe when he wept, and sigh when he did so:
I (quoth the Boy) will sing thee songs of loue,
And as we sit in some all-shady groue,
Where Philomela and such sweetned throats
Are for the mastry tuning various notes,
I'le striue with them, and tune so sad a Verse,
That whilst to thee my fortunes I rehearse,
No Bird but shall be mute, her note decline,
And cease her woe, to lend an eare to mine.
I'le tell thee tales of loue, and shew thee how
The Gods haue wandred as we Shepherds now,
And when thou plain'st thy Fida's losse, will I
Eccho the same, and with mine owne supply
Know, Remond, I doe loue, but, well-a-day!
I know not whom; but as the gladsome May
Shee's faire and louely, as a Goddesse she
(If such as hers a Goddesse beauty be)
First stood before me, and inquiring was
How to the Marish she might soonest passe,
When rusht a Villaine in, hell be his lot,
And drew her thence, since when I saw her not,
Nor know I where to search; but if thou please
'Tis not a Forrest, Mountaine, Rockes, or Seas
Can in thy iourney stop my going on.
Fate so may smile on haplesse Doridon,
That he reblest may be with her faire sight,
Though thence his eyes possesse eternall night.
To searche the hedges for a Thrushes nest,
And haue no sooner got the leauy Spring,
When mad in lust with fearefull bellowing
A strong-neckt Bull pursues throughout the field,
One climbes a tree, and takes that for his shield,
Whence looking from one pasture to another,
What might betide to his much-loued Brother,
Further then can his ouer-drowned eyes
Aright perceiue, the furious beast he spies
Tosse something on his hornes, he knowes not what,
But one thing feares, and therefore thinkes it that;
When comming nigher he doth well discerne
It of the wondrous-one-night-seeding Ferne
Some bundle was: yet thence he home-ward goes
Pensiue and sad, nor can abridge the throes
His feare began, but still his minde doth moue
Vnto the worst: Mistrust goes still with Loue.
So far'd it with our Shepherd: though he saw
15
A more suspicion; though the Coller lay
There on the grasse, yet goes he thence away
Full of mistrust, and vowes to leaue that Plaine,
Till he embrace his chastest Loue againe.
Loue-wounded Doridon intreats him then
That he might be his partner, since no men
Had cases liker; he with him would goe,
Weepe when he wept, and sigh when he did so:
I (quoth the Boy) will sing thee songs of loue,
And as we sit in some all-shady groue,
Where Philomela and such sweetned throats
Are for the mastry tuning various notes,
I'le striue with them, and tune so sad a Verse,
That whilst to thee my fortunes I rehearse,
No Bird but shall be mute, her note decline,
And cease her woe, to lend an eare to mine.
I'le tell thee tales of loue, and shew thee how
The Gods haue wandred as we Shepherds now,
And when thou plain'st thy Fida's losse, will I
Eccho the same, and with mine owne supply
Know, Remond, I doe loue, but, well-a-day!
I know not whom; but as the gladsome May
Shee's faire and louely, as a Goddesse she
(If such as hers a Goddesse beauty be)
First stood before me, and inquiring was
How to the Marish she might soonest passe,
When rusht a Villaine in, hell be his lot,
And drew her thence, since when I saw her not,
Nor know I where to search; but if thou please
'Tis not a Forrest, Mountaine, Rockes, or Seas
Can in thy iourney stop my going on.
Fate so may smile on haplesse Doridon,
That he reblest may be with her faire sight,
Though thence his eyes possesse eternall night.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |