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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AN EPISTLE. |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
AN EPISTLE.
Deare soule, ye time is come, & we must part,
Yet, ere I goe, in these lynes read my heart;
A heart so iust, so louing, & so true,
So full of sorrow & so full of you.
That all I speake, or write, or pray, or meane,
And (which is all I can) all yt I dreame,
Is not wthout a sigh, a thought for you,
And as your beautyes are, so are they true.
Yet, ere I goe, in these lynes read my heart;
A heart so iust, so louing, & so true,
So full of sorrow & so full of you.
That all I speake, or write, or pray, or meane,
And (which is all I can) all yt I dreame,
Is not wthout a sigh, a thought for you,
And as your beautyes are, so are they true.
Seauen summers now are fully spent & gone,
Since first I lou'd, lov'd you, & you alone;
And should myne eyes as many hundreds see,
Yet none but you should clayme a right in me;
A right so plac'd that time shall neuer heare
Of one so vow'd, or any lov'd so deare.
When I am gone (if euer prayers mov'd you)
Relate to none yt I so well haue lov'd you;
Ffor all that know your beauty & desert,
Would sweare he neuer lov'd, that knew to part.
Since first I lou'd, lov'd you, & you alone;
And should myne eyes as many hundreds see,
Yet none but you should clayme a right in me;
A right so plac'd that time shall neuer heare
Of one so vow'd, or any lov'd so deare.
When I am gone (if euer prayers mov'd you)
Relate to none yt I so well haue lov'd you;
Ffor all that know your beauty & desert,
Would sweare he neuer lov'd, that knew to part.
Why part we then? that spring which but this daye
Met some sweet Riuer, in his bed can playe,
And with a dimple cheek smile at their blisse,
Who never know what separation is.
The amorous vine with wanton interlaces
Clips still the rough Elme in her kind embraces:
Doues with their doues sit billing in ye groues,
And wooe the lesser birds to sing their loues;
Whilst haples we in grieffull absence sit,
Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it.
Met some sweet Riuer, in his bed can playe,
And with a dimple cheek smile at their blisse,
Who never know what separation is.
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Clips still the rough Elme in her kind embraces:
Doues with their doues sit billing in ye groues,
And wooe the lesser birds to sing their loues;
Whilst haples we in grieffull absence sit,
Yet dare not ask a hand to lessen it.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |