THE TWELFTH SATYRE.
[OF DISDAINE.]
Melonomus a worthie shepheard swaine,
Besotted with faire Cynthia's amorous face,
Beseeched Her to loue for loue againe,
And take compassion on his wofull case;
Which she halfe-yeelding to, dissembling too,
Did moue the swaine more eagerly to woo.
And that with gifts most powerfull to ensnare
The minds of maids, whose curious appetite,
Desires as they be faire to haue things faire,
To adde fresh fuell vnto loues delight;
Which to effect, each morne a flowrie wreath,
Compos'd the swaine, to breath on Cynthia's breath.
Fine comely bracelets of refined Amber,
Vsed this Shepheard swaine to tender her,
And euery morne resorting to her chamber,
Would there appeare ere Phœbus could appeare,
Where telling tales as shepheards vse to tell,
She forc'd a smile, as though she lik'd Him well.
Thus poore Melonomus continued long,
Thus at Loues barre this Client doubtfull stands, And weepes, & wipes, & wrings and wreathes his hands.
Hoping for resolution at her hands,
Whilest with delayes He mixed gifts among,
Which (as He thought) were fancies strongest bands;
And still He craues dispatch of his request,
And to performe what she in show profest.
But she, from day to day puts off, replying,
She scarce resolued was to marrie yet:
But when his gifts surceast, she flat denying,
Answer'd, A swaine was for a Queene vnfit;
He rurall, homely, bred of meane descent,
She royall-borne, of purer Element.
Melonomus thus answer'd, wisely fram'd
This graue reply: And is it so indeed?
Be all those gifts I gaue (all which He nam'd)
To no effect? why then returne and feed
A sudden resolution requiting her sudden disdaine.
Thy want on flocke, surceasse thy bootlesse suite,
Since she consum'd thy flocke with all their fruite.
Aged Alomænon who my father was,
I cānot trull is I, nor fancie all I see, if she be faire, wise and an heire, that girle liketh me.
And as I guesse knew well the shepheards guise,
Thought scorne to set his loue on euery lasse,
Aye me vnhappie, of a sire so wise;
But this disdaine that lowres on beauties brow,
Shall teach me, swaines with swaines know best to do.
The skipping Rams that butt with ragged hornes,
And brouz vpon each banke with sweeter repast,
Shall not my iealous head with wreathes adorne,
(But heauen forgiue my follie that is past;)
I will not fancie Cynthia, since she
In my distresse scornes to conuerse with me.
