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.
Hasten, o hasten, for my loues sake haste:
The Spring alreadye hath your Beachworth grac'd.
What need you longer stay to grace it more;
Or adde to that which had enough before?
The heauens admit no suns: why should your Seate
Haue two, then, equall good & as complete?
Hasten, o hasten then; for till I see
Whom most I loue, 'tis Winter still with mee.
I feele no Spring; nor shall I, till your light
Repell my too too long and lonely Night:
Till you haue quicken'd with your happy shine
A drooping discontented hart of mine,
No mirth, but what is forc'd, shall there be plac'd.
Hasten, o hasten then: for loues sake haste.
The Spring alreadye hath your Beachworth grac'd.
What need you longer stay to grace it more;
Or adde to that which had enough before?
The heauens admit no suns: why should your Seate
Haue two, then, equall good & as complete?
296
Whom most I loue, 'tis Winter still with mee.
I feele no Spring; nor shall I, till your light
Repell my too too long and lonely Night:
Till you haue quicken'd with your happy shine
A drooping discontented hart of mine,
No mirth, but what is forc'd, shall there be plac'd.
Hasten, o hasten then: for loues sake haste.
Soe longing Hero oftentymes was wont
Vpon the flowry bankes of Hellespont
To walke, expecting when her loue should land,
As I haue done on siluer Isis strand.
Vpon the flowry bankes of Hellespont
To walke, expecting when her loue should land,
As I haue done on siluer Isis strand.
I aske the snowy swans, that swim along,
Seeking some sad place for their sadder song,
Whether they came from Mole, or heard her tell
What worth doth neere her wanton riuer dwell;
And naming you, the gentle spotlesse birds,
As if they vnderstood the power of words,
To bend their stately necks doe straight agree;
And honoring the name, so answer me.
Seeking some sad place for their sadder song,
Whether they came from Mole, or heard her tell
What worth doth neere her wanton riuer dwell;
And naming you, the gentle spotlesse birds,
As if they vnderstood the power of words,
To bend their stately necks doe straight agree;
And honoring the name, so answer me.
Those being gone, I aske the christall brooke,
Since pert of it vnwillinglie had took
An euer leaue of that more happy place
Then pleasant Tempe, which the gods did grace;
The streame I ask'd, if when it lately left
Those daisyed banks, & grieu'd to be berefte
So sweet a channell, you did meane to stay
Still in that vale, whence they were forc'd away;
Hereat the waue a little murmur makes,
And then another waue that overtakes;
And then a third comes on, & then another,
Rowling themselues vp closely each to other—
(As little lads, to know their fellowes minde,
While he is talking, closely steale behinde;)
I aske them all, & each like murmur keepes;
I aske another, & that other weepes.
What they should meane by this, I doe not know,
Except the mutterings & the teares they showe
Be from the dear remembrance of that scite
Where, when they left you, they forsooke delight.
Since pert of it vnwillinglie had took
An euer leaue of that more happy place
Then pleasant Tempe, which the gods did grace;
The streame I ask'd, if when it lately left
Those daisyed banks, & grieu'd to be berefte
So sweet a channell, you did meane to stay
Still in that vale, whence they were forc'd away;
Hereat the waue a little murmur makes,
And then another waue that overtakes;
And then a third comes on, & then another,
Rowling themselues vp closely each to other—
(As little lads, to know their fellowes minde,
While he is talking, closely steale behinde;)
I aske them all, & each like murmur keepes;
I aske another, & that other weepes.
297
Except the mutterings & the teares they showe
Be from the dear remembrance of that scite
Where, when they left you, they forsooke delight.
That this the cause was, I perceiued plaine;
For going thence, I thither came againe,
What time it had bin flood, a pretty while;
And then the dimpled waters seem'd to smile;
As if they did reioice, & were full faine,
That they were turning back to Mole againe.
For going thence, I thither came againe,
What time it had bin flood, a pretty while;
And then the dimpled waters seem'd to smile;
As if they did reioice, & were full faine,
That they were turning back to Mole againe.
In such like thoughts, I spend the tedious day;
But when the night doth our half-Globe array
In mournfull black, I leaue the curled streame,
And by the kindnes of a happy dreame,
Enioy what most I wish; your selfe & such,
Whose worth, whose loue, could I as highly touch
As I conceiue, some houres should still be spent
To raise your more then earthly Monument.
In sleepe I walk with you, & doe obtayne
A seeming conference: but, alas, what paine
Endures that man, which euermore is taking
His ioyes in sleepe, & is most wretched waking?
But when the night doth our half-Globe array
In mournfull black, I leaue the curled streame,
And by the kindnes of a happy dreame,
Enioy what most I wish; your selfe & such,
Whose worth, whose loue, could I as highly touch
As I conceiue, some houres should still be spent
To raise your more then earthly Monument.
In sleepe I walk with you, & doe obtayne
A seeming conference: but, alas, what paine
Endures that man, which euermore is taking
His ioyes in sleepe, & is most wretched waking?
To make me happy then, be you my Sun,
And with your presence cleere all clouds begun;
My mists of Melancholy will outweare,
By your appearing in our Hemispheare;
Till which, within a vale as full of woe,
As I haue euer sung, or eye can knowe,
Or you can but imagine, reading this,
Inthralled lyes the heart of him that is
And with your presence cleere all clouds begun;
My mists of Melancholy will outweare,
By your appearing in our Hemispheare;
Till which, within a vale as full of woe,
As I haue euer sung, or eye can knowe,
Or you can but imagine, reading this,
Inthralled lyes the heart of him that is
Careles of all others' loue without your respect, W. B.
From an Inner Temple, then ye Inner Temple, May the third 1615.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |