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 |  |
At doore expecting him his Mother sate,
Wondring her Boy should stay from her so late;
Framing for him vnto her selfe excuses,
And with such thoughts gladly her selfe abuses:
As that her sonne, since day grew old and weake,
Staid with the Maids to runne at Barlibreake:
Or that he cours'd a Parke with females fraught,
Which would not run except they might be caught.
Or in the thickets layd some wily snare
To take the Rabbet, or the pourblinde Hare.
Or taught his Dogge to catch the climbing Kid:
Thus Shepheards doe; and thus she thought he did.
“In things expected meeting with delay,
“Though there be none, we frame some cause of stay.
And so did she, (as she who doth not so?)
Coniecture Time vnwing'd he came so slow.
But Doridon drew neere, so did her griefe:
“Ill lucke, for speed, of all things else is chiefe.
For as the Blinde-man sung, Time so prouides,
That Ioy goes still on foot, and sorrow rides.
Now when she saw (a wofull sight) her sonne,
Her hopes then fail'd her, and her cries begun
To vtter such a plaint, that scarce another,
Like this, ere came from any loue-sicke mother.
Wondring her Boy should stay from her so late;
Framing for him vnto her selfe excuses,
And with such thoughts gladly her selfe abuses:
As that her sonne, since day grew old and weake,
Staid with the Maids to runne at Barlibreake:
Or that he cours'd a Parke with females fraught,
Which would not run except they might be caught.
Or in the thickets layd some wily snare
To take the Rabbet, or the pourblinde Hare.
Or taught his Dogge to catch the climbing Kid:
Thus Shepheards doe; and thus she thought he did.
“In things expected meeting with delay,
“Though there be none, we frame some cause of stay.
And so did she, (as she who doth not so?)
Coniecture Time vnwing'd he came so slow.
But Doridon drew neere, so did her griefe:
“Ill lucke, for speed, of all things else is chiefe.
For as the Blinde-man sung, Time so prouides,
That Ioy goes still on foot, and sorrow rides.
Now when she saw (a wofull sight) her sonne,
Her hopes then fail'd her, and her cries begun
To vtter such a plaint, that scarce another,
Like this, ere came from any loue-sicke mother.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |