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 |  |
Listen! yee gentle wyndes, to my sadd mone;
And, mutt'ring brooks, attend my heavy plaints.
Yee melodists, which in the lowe groves sing,
Strive with your fellowes for sweet skill no more,
But wayle with me! and if my song yee passe
For drery notes, match with the nightingale.
Henceforward with the ruefull nightingale
Noe other but sadd groves shall heare my mone,
And night beare witnes of my dolefull plaints.
Sweet songs of love let others quaintly sing,
For fate decrees I shall be knowne noe more
But by my woes. All pleasures from me passe,
As gliding torrents to the ocean passe,
Nere to come back. The all-voice nightingale
Comforts her fellowes, and makes deare her mone;
But (where I would) regardles are my plaints,
And but for eccho should unansweer'd sing;
Can there in others be affection more
Then is in me, yet be neglected more?
Then such neglect and love shall no man passe.
For voyce she well may mate the nightingale,
And from her syrens song I learnt to mone;
Yet she, as most imperfect deemes my plaints,
Though too-too long I them have us'd to sing,
Yet to noe happyer key she letts me sing.
Shall I then change? O there are others more
(As I heare shepheards wayling, when I passe
In deserts wilde to heare the nightingale)
Whose eares receive noe sounde of any mone,
But heare their praises rather then our plaints.
Then since to flynt I still addresse my plaints,
And my sadd numbers to a deafe eare sing,
My cryes shall beate the subtill ayre noe more,
But all my woes imprison; and soe passe
The poore rest of my dayes. Noe nightingale
Shal be disturb'd in forrests with my mone.
And when through inpent mone I hyde my plaints,
And what I should sing makes me live noe more,
Tell her my woes did passe the nightingale.
And, mutt'ring brooks, attend my heavy plaints.
134
Strive with your fellowes for sweet skill no more,
But wayle with me! and if my song yee passe
For drery notes, match with the nightingale.
Henceforward with the ruefull nightingale
Noe other but sadd groves shall heare my mone,
And night beare witnes of my dolefull plaints.
Sweet songs of love let others quaintly sing,
For fate decrees I shall be knowne noe more
But by my woes. All pleasures from me passe,
As gliding torrents to the ocean passe,
Nere to come back. The all-voice nightingale
Comforts her fellowes, and makes deare her mone;
But (where I would) regardles are my plaints,
And but for eccho should unansweer'd sing;
Can there in others be affection more
Then is in me, yet be neglected more?
Then such neglect and love shall no man passe.
For voyce she well may mate the nightingale,
And from her syrens song I learnt to mone;
Yet she, as most imperfect deemes my plaints,
Though too-too long I them have us'd to sing,
Yet to noe happyer key she letts me sing.
Shall I then change? O there are others more
(As I heare shepheards wayling, when I passe
In deserts wilde to heare the nightingale)
Whose eares receive noe sounde of any mone,
But heare their praises rather then our plaints.
Then since to flynt I still addresse my plaints,
And my sadd numbers to a deafe eare sing,
My cryes shall beate the subtill ayre noe more,
But all my woes imprison; and soe passe
The poore rest of my dayes. Noe nightingale
Shal be disturb'd in forrests with my mone.
And when through inpent mone I hyde my plaints,
And what I should sing makes me live noe more,
135
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |