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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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
10. Choridon's Dreame.
Fast by a fountaine sweete and clere
Within a quechy springe;
Mine eyes did see, myne eares did heare,
A heavnely aungell singe.
Within a quechy springe;
Mine eyes did see, myne eares did heare,
A heavnely aungell singe.
Her face to faire was to beholde,
Yet had I oft a glaunce;
But when I sought to be so boulde
I fell into a traunce.
Yet had I oft a glaunce;
But when I sought to be so boulde
I fell into a traunce.
For as vpon the siluer streames
Hath Phœbus fairest grace;
Euen so beholde the sunny beames
That sitt vpon her face.
Hath Phœbus fairest grace;
Euen so beholde the sunny beames
That sitt vpon her face.
And for her voyce, it was no sounde
That humaine creatures make;
For where the eccho did rebounde
Itt makes the earth to shake.
That humaine creatures make;
For where the eccho did rebounde
Itt makes the earth to shake.
And when she gan for to divide
The musicke of her thoughte;
Then Philomelas note was tride
To be a thinge of noughte.
The musicke of her thoughte;
Then Philomelas note was tride
To be a thinge of noughte.
Now when I harde the songe so sweete,
I drewe me somewhat nere her;
And close on handes and feete did creepe,
To sitt where I might heare her.
I drewe me somewhat nere her;
And close on handes and feete did creepe,
To sitt where I might heare her.
17
And secretlie awhile vnseene
Harde by this heavnely springe
I satt, whereas I sawe this Queene,
And harde this Angell singe.
Harde by this heavnely springe
I satt, whereas I sawe this Queene,
And harde this Angell singe.
Ah Phillida, poore Phill, quothe shee
This mourning is but vaine;
Thy ioy is so farre gon fro thee
It cannot come againe.
This mourning is but vaine;
Thy ioy is so farre gon fro thee
It cannot come againe.
Thy Shepperd dead, thy flocke do feede
Vpon the barren hills:
And thy best herb is but a reede
That all thy garden spilles.
Vpon the barren hills:
And thy best herb is but a reede
That all thy garden spilles.
Thy daintie springe is dryed awaye
That dyd thy garden nourishe;
And when thy flowres did all decaye,
How can thy garden flourishe.
That dyd thy garden nourishe;
And when thy flowres did all decaye,
How can thy garden flourishe.
No Phillis, now farewell to love
Thy life is dead and gon;
And all the hope of thy behofe,
Is heavne to thinke vpon.
Thy life is dead and gon;
And all the hope of thy behofe,
Is heavne to thinke vpon.
Base is the riche, blinde are the wise,
Vnfortunate the fayre;
And honor in discomfort dyes
When loue is in dispaire.
Vnfortunate the fayre;
And honor in discomfort dyes
When loue is in dispaire.
But to despight dispaire, quothe shee,
Death shalbe yet a frende;
When with a shrike she wakèd me,
And so my dreame did end.
Death shalbe yet a frende;
When with a shrike she wakèd me,
And so my dreame did end.
Finis.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |