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 |
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A Strange Description of a Rare Garden
Plot. Written by N. B. Gent. |
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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
A Strange Description of a Rare Garden Plot. Written by N. B. Gent.
My garden ground of griefe; where selfewils seeds are sowne,
Whereof comes vp the weedes of wo, that ioies haue ouergrown:
With patience palèd round, to keep in secret spright;
And quickset round about with care, to keepe out all delight.
Whereof comes vp the weedes of wo, that ioies haue ouergrown:
With patience palèd round, to keep in secret spright;
And quickset round about with care, to keepe out all delight.
Foure quarters squarèd out, I finde in sundrie sort;
Whereof according to their kindes, I meane to make report:
The first, the knot of loue, drawne euen by desier,
Like as it were two harts in one, and yet both would be nier.
Whereof according to their kindes, I meane to make report:
The first, the knot of loue, drawne euen by desier,
Like as it were two harts in one, and yet both would be nier.
The herbe is calde Isop, the iuice of such a taste,
As with the sowre, makes sweete conceits to flie away too fast:
The borders round about, are set with priuie sweete,
Where nueer bird but nightingale, presumde to set hir feete.
As with the sowre, makes sweete conceits to flie away too fast:
The borders round about, are set with priuie sweete,
Where nueer bird but nightingale, presumde to set hir feete.
From this I stept aside, vnto the knot of care,
Which so was crost with strange cōceits, as tong cannot declare:
The herbe was callèd Time, which set out all that knot.
And like a Maze me thought it was, when in the crookes I got.
Which so was crost with strange cōceits, as tong cannot declare:
The herbe was callèd Time, which set out all that knot.
And like a Maze me thought it was, when in the crookes I got.
The borders round about, are Sauerie vnsweete:
An herbe not much, in my conceit, for such a knot vnmeete:
From this to friendships knot, I stept and tooke the view,
How it was drawne, and then againe, in order how it grew.
An herbe not much, in my conceit, for such a knot vnmeete:
From this to friendships knot, I stept and tooke the view,
How it was drawne, and then againe, in order how it grew.
The course was not vnlike, a kinde of hand in hand:
But many fingers were away, that there should seeme to stand:
The herbe that set the knot, was Pennie Riall round:
And as me seem'd, it grew full close, and nere vnto the ground.
But many fingers were away, that there should seeme to stand:
The herbe that set the knot, was Pennie Riall round:
And as me seem'd, it grew full close, and nere vnto the ground.
And parchèd heere and there, so that it seemèd not
Full as it should haue been in deed, a perfect friendship knot:
Heerat I pawsd awhile, and tooke a little view
Of an od quarter drawne in beds, where herbs and flowers grew.
Full as it should haue been in deed, a perfect friendship knot:
Heerat I pawsd awhile, and tooke a little view
Of an od quarter drawne in beds, where herbs and flowers grew.
The flowres were buttons fine, for batchelors to beare,
And by those flowres ther grew an herb, was callèd maiden hear.
And by those flowres ther grew an herb, was callèd maiden hear.
Amid this garden ground, a Condit strange I found,
Which water fetcht from sorows spring, to water al the ground:
To this my heauie house, the dungeon of distresse,
Where fainting hart lies panting still, despairing of redresse.
Which water fetcht from sorows spring, to water al the ground:
To this my heauie house, the dungeon of distresse,
Where fainting hart lies panting still, despairing of redresse.
Where from this window loe, this sad prospect I haue,
A piece of ground whereon to gaze, would bring one to his graue:
Lo thus the welcome spring, that others landes delight,
Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drownèd in despight.
A piece of ground whereon to gaze, would bring one to his graue:
Lo thus the welcome spring, that others landes delight,
Doth make me die, to thinke I lie, thus drownèd in despight.
4
That vp I cannot rise, and come abrode to thee,
My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee:
And thus in haste, adieu, my hart is growne so sore;
And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
My fellow sweet, with whom God knowes, how oft I wish to bee:
And thus in haste, adieu, my hart is growne so sore;
And care so crookes my fingers ends, that I can write no more.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |