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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 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
192
VII. WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.
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It is from the following stanzas that Shakespeare has taken his song of the Willow, in his Othello, A. 4. s. 3. though somewhat varied and applied by him to a female character. He makes Desdemona introduce it in this pathetic and affecting manner,
“My mother had a maid call'd Barbarie:
“She was in love; and he, she lov'd, forsook her,
“And she prov'd mad. She had a Song of Willow.
“An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune;
“And she dyed singing it.”
“She was in love; and he, she lov'd, forsook her,
“And she prov'd mad. She had a Song of Willow.
“An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune;
“And she dyed singing it.”
This is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, thus intitled, “A lovers complaint, being forsaken of his “love. To a pleasant tune.”
[Part the First.]
A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
O willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
O willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
193
He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,
Come willow, &c.
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
Come willow, &c.
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:
O willow, &c.
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O pitty me (cried he) ye lovers, each one;
O willow, &c.
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
O willow, &c.
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones:
O willow, &c.
The salt tears fell from him, which softned the stones.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
O willow, &c.
The salt tears fell from him, which softned the stones.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
194
Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
O willow, &c.
She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
O willow, &c.
She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!
Sing willow, &c.
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Sing willow, &c.
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Let love no more boast him in palace, or bower;
O willow, &c.
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:
O willow, &c.
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
O willow, &c.
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
195
The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;
O willow, &c.
A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
O willow, &c.
A Garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
Part the Second.
Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine;
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her too cruell, still still I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her too cruell, still still I complaine,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd!
O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart!
O willow, &c.
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, willow, willow! the willow garlànd,
O willow, &c.
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
196
As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,
O willow, &c.
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
O willow, &c.
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view
O willow, &c.
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
O willow, &c.
“Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet.”
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
“Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet.”
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
O willow, &c.
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, &c.
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name:
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
197
The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,
O willow, &c.
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
O willow, &c.
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;
O willow, &c.
It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
O willow, &c.
It now brings me anguish, then brought me reliefe.
O willow, &c.
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
Farewell, faire false hearted: plaints end with my breath!
O willow, willow, willow!
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
O willow, willow, willow!
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garlànd.
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |