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 | ||
Yet as when I with other Swaines haue beene
Invited by the Maidens of our greene
To wend to yonder Wood, in time of yeare
When Cherry-trees inticing burdens beare,
He that with wreathed legs doth vpwards goe,
Pluckes not alone for those which stand below;
But now and then is seene to picke a few
To please himselfe as well as all his crew:
Or if from where he is he doe espie
Some Apricocke vpon a bough thereby,
Which ouerhangs the tree on which he stands,
Climbs vp and striues to take it with his hands:
So if to please my selfe I somewhat sing,
Let it not be to you lesse pleasuring.
No thirst of glory tempts me: for my straines
Befit poore Shepherds on the lowly Plaines;
The hope of riches cannot draw from me
One line that tends to seruile flatterie,
Nor shall the most in titles on the earth
Blemish my Muse with an adulterate birth,
Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground
Where nought substantiall can be euer found.
No; such as sooth a base and dunghill spirit,
With attributes fit for the most of merit,
Cloud their free Muse; as when the Sun doth shine
On straw and durt mixt by the sweating Hyne,
It nothing gets from heapes so much impure
But noysome steames that doe his light obscure.
Invited by the Maidens of our greene
To wend to yonder Wood, in time of yeare
When Cherry-trees inticing burdens beare,
He that with wreathed legs doth vpwards goe,
Pluckes not alone for those which stand below;
But now and then is seene to picke a few
To please himselfe as well as all his crew:
Or if from where he is he doe espie
Some Apricocke vpon a bough thereby,
Which ouerhangs the tree on which he stands,
Climbs vp and striues to take it with his hands:
So if to please my selfe I somewhat sing,
Let it not be to you lesse pleasuring.
No thirst of glory tempts me: for my straines
Befit poore Shepherds on the lowly Plaines;
The hope of riches cannot draw from me
One line that tends to seruile flatterie,
Nor shall the most in titles on the earth
Blemish my Muse with an adulterate birth,
Nor make me lay pure colours on a ground
Where nought substantiall can be euer found.
No; such as sooth a base and dunghill spirit,
With attributes fit for the most of merit,
68
On straw and durt mixt by the sweating Hyne,
It nothing gets from heapes so much impure
But noysome steames that doe his light obscure.
The Whole Works of William Browne | ||