Rosalynde Euphues golden Legacie, found after his death in his Cell at Silexedra. Bequeathed to Philavtvs Sonnes, noursed vp with their Father in England. Fetcht from the Canaries by T. L. Gent [i.e. Thomas Lodge] |
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 | Rosalynde |  |
The contents of the Scedule which Sir Iohn of Bourdeaux gaue to his Sonnes.
My
Sonnes, behold what portion I do giue,
I leaue you goods, but they are quickly lost:
I leaue aduise, to schoole you how to liue:
I leaue you wit, but wonne with little cost:
But keepe it well, for counsaile still is one,
When Father, friends, and worldly goods are gone.
I leaue you goods, but they are quickly lost:
I leaue aduise, to schoole you how to liue:
I leaue you wit, but wonne with little cost:
But keepe it well, for counsaile still is one,
When Father, friends, and worldly goods are gone.
In choice of thrift let honour be your gaine,
Winne it by vertue and by manly might;
In dooing good esteeme thy toyle no paine,
Protect the fatherlesse and widowes right:
Fight for thy faith, thy Country, and thy King,
For why? this thrift wil proue a blessed thing.
Winne it by vertue and by manly might;
In dooing good esteeme thy toyle no paine,
Protect the fatherlesse and widowes right:
Fight for thy faith, thy Country, and thy King,
For why? this thrift wil proue a blessed thing.
In choise of wife, preferre the modest chast,
Lillies are faire in shew but foule in smell:
The sweetest lookes by age are soone defast:
Then choose thy wife by wit and liuing well.
Who brings thee wealth and many faults with all,
Presents the hony mixt with bitter gall.
Lillies are faire in shew but foule in smell:
The sweetest lookes by age are soone defast:
Then choose thy wife by wit and liuing well.
Who brings thee wealth and many faults with all,
Presents the hony mixt with bitter gall.
In choise of friends, beware of light beliefe,
A painted tongue may shroud a subtill heart:
The Syrens teares doe threaten mickle griefe,
Foresee my sonnes, for feare of sodaine smart:
Chuse in your wants, and he that friends you then,
When richer growne, befriend you him agen.
A painted tongue may shroud a subtill heart:
The Syrens teares doe threaten mickle griefe,
Foresee my sonnes, for feare of sodaine smart:
Chuse in your wants, and he that friends you then,
When richer growne, befriend you him agen.
Learne with the Ant in summer to prouide,
Driue with the Bee the Droane from out the hiue:
Buyld lyke the Swallow in the summer tyde:
Spare not too much (my sonnes) but sparing thriue:
Be poore in folly, rich in all but sinne,
So by your death your glory shall beginne.
Driue with the Bee the Droane from out the hiue:
Buyld lyke the Swallow in the summer tyde:
Spare not too much (my sonnes) but sparing thriue:
Be poore in folly, rich in all but sinne,
So by your death your glory shall beginne.
[Two Sunnes at once from one faire heauen there shinde]
Two Sunnes at once from one faire heauen there shinde,
Ten braunches from two boughes tipt all with roses,
Pure lockes more golden than is golde refinde,
Two pearled rowes that Natures pride incloses.
Ten braunches from two boughes tipt all with roses,
Pure lockes more golden than is golde refinde,
Two pearled rowes that Natures pride incloses.
Two mounts faire marble white, downe-soft and dainty,
A snow died orbe: where loue increast by pleasure
Full wofull makes my heart and body faintie:
Hir faire (my woe) exceeds all thought and measure.
A snow died orbe: where loue increast by pleasure
Full wofull makes my heart and body faintie:
Hir faire (my woe) exceeds all thought and measure.
In lines confusde my lucklesse harme appeareth,
Whom sorrow clowdes, whom pleasant smiling cleareth.
Whom sorrow clowdes, whom pleasant smiling cleareth.
Rosalynds Madrigall.
Loue in my bosome like a Bee
doth sucke his sweete:
Now with his wings he playes with me,
now with his feete.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender brest,
My kisses are his dayly feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah wanton, will ye?
doth sucke his sweete:
Now with his wings he playes with me,
now with his feete.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender brest,
My kisses are his dayly feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah wanton, will ye?
And if I sleepe, then pearcheth he
with pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
the liuelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
He musicke playes if so I sing,
He lends me euery louely thing:
Yet cruell he my heart doth sting:
Whist wanton still ye?
with pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee
the liuelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
He musicke playes if so I sing,
He lends me euery louely thing:
Yet cruell he my heart doth sting:
Whist wanton still ye?
Else I with roses euery day
will whip you hence:
And binde you when you long to play,
for your offence.
Ile shut mine eyes to keepe you in,
Ile make you fast it for your sinne,
Ile count your power not worth a pinne,
Alas what hereby shall I winne,
If he gain say me?
will whip you hence:
And binde you when you long to play,
for your offence.
Ile shut mine eyes to keepe you in,
Ile make you fast it for your sinne,
Ile count your power not worth a pinne,
Alas what hereby shall I winne,
If he gain say me?
What if I beate the wanton boy
with many a rod?
He wel repay me with annoy,
because a God.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosome be;
Lurke in mine eies I like of thee:
O Cupid so thou pittie me,
Spare not but play thee.
with many a rod?
He wel repay me with annoy,
because a God.
Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosome be;
Lurke in mine eies I like of thee:
O Cupid so thou pittie me,
Spare not but play thee.
Montanus passion.
Hadst
thou been borne wheras perpetuall cold
Makes Tanais hard, and mountaines siluer old:
Had I complainde vnto a marble stone,
Or to the flouds bewraide my bitter mone,
I then could beare the burthen of my griefe:
But euen the pride of Countries at thy birth,
Whilste heauens did smile did new aray the earth
with flowers chiefe.
Yet thou the flower of beautie blessed borne,
Hast pretie lookes, but all attirde in scorne.
Makes Tanais hard, and mountaines siluer old:
Had I complainde vnto a marble stone,
Or to the flouds bewraide my bitter mone,
I then could beare the burthen of my griefe:
But euen the pride of Countries at thy birth,
Whilste heauens did smile did new aray the earth
with flowers chiefe.
Yet thou the flower of beautie blessed borne,
Hast pretie lookes, but all attirde in scorne.
Had I the power to weep sweet Mirrhas teares,
Or by my plaints to pearce repining eares:
Hadst thou the heart to smile at my complaint,
To scorne the woes that doth my hart attaint,
I then could beare the burthen of my griefe:
But not my teares, but truth with thee preuailes,
And seeming sowre my sorowes thee assailes:
yet small reliefe.
For if thou wilt thou art of marble hard:
And if thou please my suite shall soone be heard.
Or by my plaints to pearce repining eares:
Hadst thou the heart to smile at my complaint,
To scorne the woes that doth my hart attaint,
I then could beare the burthen of my griefe:
But not my teares, but truth with thee preuailes,
And seeming sowre my sorowes thee assailes:
yet small reliefe.
For if thou wilt thou art of marble hard:
And if thou please my suite shall soone be heard.
[First shall the heauens want starry light]
First shall the heauens want starry light,
The seas be robbed of their waues:
The day want sunne, and sunne want bright,
The night want shade, the dead mens graues.
The April, flowers and leafe and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.
The seas be robbed of their waues:
The day want sunne, and sunne want bright,
The night want shade, the dead mens graues.
The April, flowers and leafe and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.
First shall the tops of highest hils
By humble plaines be ouerpride:
And Poets scorne the Muses quils,
And fish forsake the water glide.
And Iris loose her coloured weed,
Before I faile thee at thy need.
By humble plaines be ouerpride:
And Poets scorne the Muses quils,
And fish forsake the water glide.
And Iris loose her coloured weed,
Before I faile thee at thy need.
First direful hate shall turne to peace,
And loue relent in deepe disdaine:
And Poets scorne the Muses quils,
And fish forsake the water glide,
And Iris loose her coloured weed,
Before I faile thee at thy need.
And loue relent in deepe disdaine:
And fish forsake the water glide,
And Iris loose her coloured weed,
Before I faile thee at thy need.
First direfull hate shall turn to peace,
And loue relent in deep disdain:
And death his fatall stroake shall cease,
And enuy pitie euery paine.
And pleasure mourn, and sorow smile,
Before I talke of any guile.
And loue relent in deep disdain:
And death his fatall stroake shall cease,
And enuy pitie euery paine.
And pleasure mourn, and sorow smile,
Before I talke of any guile.
First time shall stay his staylesse race,
And winter blesse his browes with corne:
And snow bemoysten Iulies face,
And winter spring, and sommer mourn,
Before my pen by helpe of fame,
Cease to recite thy sacred name.
And winter blesse his browes with corne:
And snow bemoysten Iulies face,
And winter spring, and sommer mourn,
Before my pen by helpe of fame,
Cease to recite thy sacred name.
Montanus.
A pleasant Eglog betweene Montanus and Coridon.
Coridon.
Say
shepheards boy, what makes thee greet so sore?
Why leaues thy pipe his pleasure and delight?
Yoong are thy yeares, thy cheeks with Roses dight:
Then sing for ioy (sweet swain) and sigh no more.
Why leaues thy pipe his pleasure and delight?
Yoong are thy yeares, thy cheeks with Roses dight:
Then sing for ioy (sweet swain) and sigh no more.
This milk-white Poppy and this climbing Pine
Both promise shade, then sit thee downe and sing,
And make these woods with pleasant notes to ring,
Till Phœbus daine all Westward to decline.
Both promise shade, then sit thee downe and sing,
Till Phœbus daine all Westward to decline.
Montanus.
Ah (Coridon) vnmeet is melody
To him whom proud contempt hath ouerborn,
Slain are my ioyes by Phœbus bitter scorn,
Far hence my weale and nere my ieopardy.
To him whom proud contempt hath ouerborn,
Slain are my ioyes by Phœbus bitter scorn,
Far hence my weale and nere my ieopardy.
Loues burning brand is couched in my brest,
Making a Phœnix of my faintfull hart:
And though his fury doo inforce my smart,
Ay blyth am I to honour his behest.
Making a Phœnix of my faintfull hart:
And though his fury doo inforce my smart,
Ay blyth am I to honour his behest.
Preparde to woes since so my Phœbe wils,
My lookes dismaid since Phœbe will disdain,
I banish blisse and welcome home my pain,
So stream my tears as showers from Alpine hils
My lookes dismaid since Phœbe will disdain,
I banish blisse and welcome home my pain,
So stream my tears as showers from Alpine hils
In errors maske I blindfold iudgements eye,
I fetter reason in the snares of lust,
I seeme secure, yet know not how to trust,
I liue by that, which makes me liuing dye.
I fetter reason in the snares of lust,
I seeme secure, yet know not how to trust,
I liue by that, which makes me liuing dye.
Deuoyd ofrest, companion of distresse,
Plague to my selfe, consumed by my thought,
How may my voyce or pipe in tune be brought?
Since I am reft of solace and delight.
Plague to my selfe, consumed by my thought,
How may my voyce or pipe in tune be brought?
Since I am reft of solace and delight.
Coridon.
Ah Lorrell lad, what makes thee Herry loue?
A sugred harme, a poyson full of pleasure,
A painted shrine ful-fild with rotten treasure,
A heauen in shew, a hell to them that proue.
A sugred harme, a poyson full of pleasure,
A painted shrine ful-fild with rotten treasure,
A heauen in shew, a hell to them that proue.
Againe, in seeming shadowed stil with want,
A broken staffe which follie doth vpholde,
A flower that fades with euerie frostie colde,
An orient Rose sprong from a withred plant.
A broken staffe which follie doth vpholde,
A flower that fades with euerie frostie colde,
An orient Rose sprong from a withred plant.
A minutes ioy to gaine a world of griefe,
A subtil net to snare the idle minde,
A seeing Scorpion, yet in seeming blinde,
A poore reioyce, a plague without reliefe.
A subtil net to snare the idle minde,
A seeing Scorpion, yet in seeming blinde,
A poore reioyce, a plague without reliefe.
For thy Montanus follow mine arreede,
(Whom age hath taught the traines that fancy vseth)
Leaue foolish loue, for beautie wit abuseth,
And drownes (by folly) vertues springing seede.
(Whom age hath taught the traines that fancy vseth)
Leaue foolish loue, for beautie wit abuseth,
And drownes (by folly) vertues springing seede.
Montanus.
So blames the childe the flame, because it burnes,
And bird the snare, because it doth intrap,
And fooles true loue, because of sorry hap,
And saylers cursse the ship that ouerturnes.
And bird the snare, because it doth intrap,
And fooles true loue, because of sorry hap,
And saylers cursse the ship that ouerturnes.
But would the childe forbeare to play with flame,
And birds beware to trust the flowlers gin,
And fooles foresee before they fall and sin,
And maisters guide their ships in better frame.
And birds beware to trust the flowlers gin,
And fooles foresee before they fall and sin,
And maisters guide their ships in better frame.
The childe would praise the fire, because it warmes,
And birds reioyce, to see the fowler faile,
And fooles preuent, before their plagues preuaile,
And saylers blesse the barke that saues from harmes.
And birds reioyce, to see the fowler faile,
And fooles preuent, before their plagues preuaile,
And saylers blesse the barke that saues from harmes.
Ah Coridon, though many be thy yeares;
And crooked elde hath some experience left,
Yet is thy mind of iudgement quite bereft,
In view of loue, whose power in me appeares.
And crooked elde hath some experience left,
Yet is thy mind of iudgement quite bereft,
In view of loue, whose power in me appeares.
The ploughman litle wots to turn the pen,
Or bookeman skils to guide the ploughmans cart,
Nor can the cobler count the tearmes of Art,
Nor base men iudge the thoughts of mighty men.
Or bookeman skils to guide the ploughmans cart,
Nor can the cobler count the tearmes of Art,
Nor base men iudge the thoughts of mighty men.
Nor withered age (vnmeet for beauties guide,
Vncapable of loues impressien)
Discourse of that, whose choyce possession
May neuer to so base a man be tied.
Vncapable of loues impressien)
May neuer to so base a man be tied.
But I (whom nature makes of tender mold,
And youth most pliant yeelds to fancies fire)
Do build my hauen and heauen on sweet desire,
On sweet desire more deere to me than gold.
And youth most pliant yeelds to fancies fire)
Do build my hauen and heauen on sweet desire,
On sweet desire more deere to me than gold.
Thinke I of loue, O how my lines aspire?
How hast the Muses to imbrace my browes,
And hem my temples in with lawrell bowes,
And fill my braines with chast and holy fire?
How hast the Muses to imbrace my browes,
And hem my temples in with lawrell bowes,
And fill my braines with chast and holy fire?
Then leaue my lines their homely equipage,
Mounted beyond the circle of the Sunne:
Amazd I read the stile when I haue done,
And Herry Loue that sent that heauenly rage.
Mounted beyond the circle of the Sunne:
Amazd I read the stile when I haue done,
And Herry Loue that sent that heauenly rage.
Of Phœbe then, of Phœbe then I sing,
Drawing the puritie of all the spheares,
The pride of earth, or what in heauen appeares,
Her honoured face and fame to light to bring.
Drawing the puritie of all the spheares,
The pride of earth, or what in heauen appeares,
Her honoured face and fame to light to bring.
In fluent numbers and in pleasant vaines,
I robbe both sea and eath of all their state,
To praise her parts: I charme both time and fate,
To blesse the Nymph that yeelds me loue sicke paines.
I robbe both sea and eath of all their state,
To praise her parts: I charme both time and fate,
To blesse the Nymph that yeelds me loue sicke paines.
My sheepe are turnd to thoughts, whom froward will
Guydes in the restles Laborynth of Loue,
Feare lends them pasture where so ere they moue,
And by their death their life renueth still.
Guydes in the restles Laborynth of Loue,
Feare lends them pasture where so ere they moue,
And by their death their life renueth still.
My sheepehooke is my pen, mine oaten reed,
My paper, where my many woes are written:
Thus silly swaine (with loue and fancie bitten)
I trace the plaines of paine in wofull weed.
My paper, where my many woes are written:
Thus silly swaine (with loue and fancie bitten)
I trace the plaines of paine in wofull weed.
Yet are my cares, my broken sleepes, my teares,
My dreames, my doubts, for Phœbe sweet to me:
Who wayteth heauen in sorrowes vale must be,
And glory shines where daunger most appeares.
My dreames, my doubts, for Phœbe sweet to me:
Who wayteth heauen in sorrowes vale must be,
And glory shines where daunger most appeares.
Then Coridon although I blith me not,
Blame me not man since sorrow is my sweet:
So willeth Loue, and Phœbe thinkes it meet,
And kind Montanus liketh well his lot.
Blame me not man since sorrow is my sweet:
So willeth Loue, and Phœbe thinkes it meet,
And kind Montanus liketh well his lot.
Coridon.
Oh staylesse youth, by errour so misguided,
Where will prescribeth lawes to perfect wits,
Where reason mournes, and blame in triumph sits,
And folly poysoneth all that time prouided.
Where will prescribeth lawes to perfect wits,
Where reason mournes, and blame in triumph sits,
And folly poysoneth all that time prouided.
With wilfull blindnesse bleard, prepard to shame,
Prone to neglect Occasion when she smiles:
Alas that Loue by fond and froward guiles,
Should make thee tract the path to endlesse blame.
Prone to neglect Occasion when she smiles:
Alas that Loue by fond and froward guiles,
Should make thee tract the path to endlesse blame.
Ah (my Montanus) cursed is the charme,
That hath bewitched so thy youthfull eyes?
Leaue off in time to like these vanities,
Be forward to thy good, and fly thy harme.
That hath bewitched so thy youthfull eyes?
Leaue off in time to like these vanities,
Be forward to thy good, and fly thy harme.
As many bees as Hibla daily shields,
As many frie as fleet on Oceans face,
As many heards as on the earth do trace,
As many flowers as decke the fragrant fields.
As many frie as fleet on Oceans face,
As many heards as on the earth do trace,
As many flowers as decke the fragrant fields.
As many stars as glorious heauen contains,
As many storms as wayward winter weepes,
As many plagues as hell inclosed keepes:
So many griefs in loue, so many pains.
As many storms as wayward winter weepes,
As many plagues as hell inclosed keepes:
So many griefs in loue, so many pains.
Suspitions, thoughts, desires, opinions, prayers;
Mislikes, misdeeds, fondioies, and fained peace,
Illusions, dreames, great paines, and small increase,
Vowes, hope, acceptance, scorns, and deepe despaires.
Mislikes, misdeeds, fondioies, and fained peace,
Vowes, hope, acceptance, scorns, and deepe despaires.
Truce, warre, and wo do wait at beauties gate:
Time lost, laments, reports, and priuy grudge,
And last, fierce Loue is but a partiall Iudge,
Who yeelds for seruice shame, for friendship hate.
Time lost, laments, reports, and priuy grudge,
And last, fierce Loue is but a partiall Iudge,
Who yeelds for seruice shame, for friendship hate.
Montanus.
All adder-like I stop mine eares (fond swaine)
So charme no more, for I will neuer change.
Call home thy flocks betime that stragling range:
For loe, the Sunne declineth hence amaine.
So charme no more, for I will neuer change.
Call home thy flocks betime that stragling range:
For loe, the Sunne declineth hence amaine.
Terentius.
In amore hæc insunt vitia: induciæ, inimicitia, bellum, pax rursum: incerta hæc situ postules, ratione cert a fieri nihilo plus agas, quam fides operam, vt cum ratione insanias.
Montanus Sonnet.
Phœbe sate,
Sweet she sate,
Sweet sate Phœbe when I saw her,
White her brow,
Coy her eye;
Brow end eye how much you please me?
Words I spent,
Sighes I sen
Sighs and words could neuer draw hir.
Oh my loue,
Thou art lost.
Since no sight could euer ease thee.
Sweet she sate,
Sweet sate Phœbe when I saw her,
White her brow,
Coy her eye;
Brow end eye how much you please me?
Words I spent,
Sighes I sen
Sighs and words could neuer draw hir.
Oh my loue,
Thou art lost.
Since no sight could euer ease thee.
Phœbe sat
By a fount,
Sitting by a fount I spide her:
Sweet her touch,
Rare hir voyce:
Touch & voice what may distain you?
As she sung,
I did sigh,
And by sighs whilst that I tride her,
Oh mine eyes
You did loose
Hir first sight whose want did pain you.
By a fount,
Sitting by a fount I spide her:
Sweet her touch,
Rare hir voyce:
Touch & voice what may distain you?
As she sung,
I did sigh,
And by sighs whilst that I tride her,
Oh mine eyes
You did loose
Hir first sight whose want did pain you.
Phœbes flockes,
White as wooll,
Yet were Phœbes locks more whiter,
Phœbes eyes,
Douelike mild,
Douelike eyes, both mild and cruell.
Montan sweares,
In your lampes
He will die for to delight her:
Phœbe yeeld,
Or I die:
Shall true hearts be fancies fuell?
White as wooll,
Yet were Phœbes locks more whiter,
Phœbes eyes,
Douelike eyes, both mild and cruell.
Montan sweares,
In your lampes
He will die for to delight her:
Phœbe yeeld,
Or I die:
Shall true hearts be fancies fuell?
Sonnetto.
Of all chast birdes the Phœnix doth excell,
Of all strong beastes the Lyon beares the bell,
Of all sweet flowers the Rose doth sweetest smel
Of all faire maydes my Rosalynd is fairest.
Of all strong beastes the Lyon beares the bell,
Of all sweet flowers the Rose doth sweetest smel
Of all faire maydes my Rosalynd is fairest.
Of all pure mettals gold is onely purest,
Of all high trees the Pine hath highest crest,
Of all soft sweets, I like my mistris brest,
Of all chast thoughts my mistris thoughts are rarest.
Of all high trees the Pine hath highest crest,
Of all soft sweets, I like my mistris brest,
Of all chast thoughts my mistris thoughts are rarest.
Of all proud birds the Eagle pleaseth Ioue,
Of pretie fowles kind Venus likes the Doue,
Of trees Minerua doth the Oliue loue,
Of all sweet Nimphs I honour Rosalynd.
Of pretie fowles kind Venus likes the Doue,
Of trees Minerua doth the Oliue loue,
Of all sweet Nimphs I honour Rosalynd.
Of all her gifts her wisedome pleaseth most,
Of all her graces vertue she doth boast:
For all these gifts my life and ioy is lost,
If Rosalynde proue cruell and vnkind.
For all these gifts my life and ioy is lost,
If Rosalynde proue cruell and vnkind.
Rosalyndes description.
Like to the cleere in highest spheare,
Where all imperiall glorie shines,
Of selfe same colour is her haire
Whether vnfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho faire Rosalynde.
Her eyes are Saphires set in snow,
Refining heauen by euery wincke:
The gods do feare when as they glow,
And I doo tremble when I thinke.
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Where all imperiall glorie shines,
Of selfe same colour is her haire
Whether vnfolded or in twines:
Heigh ho faire Rosalynde.
Her eyes are Saphires set in snow,
Refining heauen by euery wincke:
The gods do feare when as they glow,
And I doo tremble when I thinke.
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Her chekes are lyke the blushing clowde
That bewtifies Auroraes face,
Or lyke the siluer Crimsin shrowde.
That Phoebus smiling lookes doth grace:
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynd.
Her lippes are like two budded roses,
Whome ranckes of lillies neighbour nie,
Within which bounds she balme incloses,
Apt io intice a Deitie:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
That bewtifies Auroraes face,
Or lyke the siluer Crimsin shrowde.
That Phoebus smiling lookes doth grace:
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynd.
Her lippes are like two budded roses,
Whome ranckes of lillies neighbour nie,
Within which bounds she balme incloses,
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Her necke like to a stately tower,
Where Loue himselfe imprisoned lies,
To watch for glaunces euery houre,
From her deuine and sacred eyes,
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynd.
Her pappes are centers of delight,
Her pappes are orbes of heauenly frame,
Where Nature molds the deaw of light,
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Where Loue himselfe imprisoned lies,
To watch for glaunces euery houre,
From her deuine and sacred eyes,
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynd.
Her pappes are centers of delight,
Her pappes are orbes of heauenly frame,
Where Nature molds the deaw of light,
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
With Orient pearle, with Rubie red.
With Marble white, with Saphire blew,
Her body euery way is fed,
Yet soft in touch; and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynde.
Nature her selfe her shape admires,
The Gods are wounded in her sight,
And Loue forsakes his heauenly fires,
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
With Marble white, with Saphire blew,
Her body euery way is fed,
Yet soft in touch; and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynde.
Nature her selfe her shape admires,
The Gods are wounded in her sight,
And Loue forsakes his heauenly fires,
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine.
Then muse not Nymphes thouh I bemone
The absence of faire Rosalynde,
Since for her faire there is fairer none,
Nor for her vertues so deuine.
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynde.
Heigh ho my heart, would God that she were mine.
The absence of faire Rosalynde,
Since for her faire there is fairer none,
Nor for her vertues so deuine.
Heigh ho, faire Rosalynde.
Heigh ho my heart, would God that she were mine.
Periit, quia deperibat.
Rosaders Sonnet.
In sorowes cell I layd me downe to sleepe,
But waking woes were iealous of mine eyes,
They made them watch, and bend themselues to weepe,
But weeping teares their want could not suffice:
Yet since for her they wept who guides my hart,
They weeping smile, and triumph in their smart.
But waking woes were iealous of mine eyes,
They made them watch, and bend themselues to weepe,
But weeping teares their want could not suffice:
Yet since for her they wept who guides my hart,
They weeping smile, and triumph in their smart.
Of these my teares a fountaine fiercely springs,
Where Venus baynes her selfe incenst with loue,
Where Cupid bow seth his faire featbredwings:
But I behold what paines I must approue.
Care drinkes it drie: but when on her I thinke,
Loue makes me weepe it full vnto the brinke.
Where Venus baynes her selfe incenst with loue,
Where Cupid bow seth his faire featbredwings:
But I behold what paines I must approue.
Care drinkes it drie: but when on her I thinke,
Loue makes me weepe it full vnto the brinke.
Meane while my sighes yeeld truce vnto my teares,
By them the windes increast and fiercely blow:
Yet when I sigh the flame more plaine appeares,
And by their force with greater power doth glow:
Amids these paines, all Phœnix like I thriue,
Since Loue that yeelds me death, may life reuiue.
By them the windes increast and fiercely blow:
Yet when I sigh the flame more plaine appeares,
And by their force with greater power doth glow:
Amids these paines, all Phœnix like I thriue,
Since Loue that yeelds me death, may life reuiue.
Rosader en esperance.
Rosaders second Sonetto.
Turne I my lookes vnto the Skies,Loue with his arrows wounds mine eies,
If so I gaze vpon the ground,
Loue then euery floure is found.
Search I the shade to flie my paine,
He meets me in the shade againe:
Wend I to walke in secret groue,
Euen there I meet with sacred Loue.
If so I bayne me in the spring,
Euen on the brinke I heare him sing:
If so I meditate alone,
He will be partner of my mone.
If so I mourn, he weeps with me,
And where I am, there will he be.
When as I talke of Rosalynd,
The God from coynesse waxeth kind,
Because he loues as wel as I.
Sweet Rosalynd for ptity rue,
For why, then Loue I am more true:
He if he speed will quickly flie,
But in thy loue I liue and die.
Rosaders third Sonnet.
Of vertuous Loue my self may boast alone,
Since no suspect my seruice may attaint:
For perfect faire she is the only one,
Whom I esteem for my beloued Saint.
Thus for my faith I only beare the bell,
And for her faire she only doth excell.
Since no suspect my seruice may attaint:
For perfect faire she is the only one,
Whom I esteem for my beloued Saint.
Thus for my faith I only beare the bell,
And for her faire she only doth excell.
Then let fond Petrarch shrowd his Lawraes praise,
And Tasso cease to publish his affect,
Since mine the faith confirmd at all assaies,
And hers the faire, which all men do respect.
My lines hir faire, hir faire my faith assures,
Thus I by Loue, and Loue by me indures.
And Tasso cease to publish his affect,
Since mine the faith confirmd at all assaies,
And hers the faire, which all men do respect.
My lines hir faire, hir faire my faith assures,
Thus I by Loue, and Loue by me indures.
The wooing Eglogue betwixt Rosalynde and Rosader.
Rosader.I pray thee Nymph by all the working words,
By all the teares and sighs that Louers know,
Or what our thoughts or faltring tongue affords,
I craue for mine in ripping vp my woe.
Sweet Rosalynd my loue (would God my loue)
My life (would God my life) aye pitie me:
And but with beautie pitie wil not be.
Looks on mine eyes made red with rufull teares,
From whence the raine of true remorse descendeth,
All pale in lookes, and I though yoong in yeares,
And nought but loue or death my dayes befriendeth.
Oh let no stormy rigour knit thy browes,
Which Loue appointed for his mercy seat:
The tallest tree by Boreas breath it bowes,
The yron yeels with hammer, and to heat.
Oh Rosalynd then be thou pitifull,
For Rosalynd is only beautifull.
Rosalynde.
Loues want ons arme their traitrous sutes with teares,
With vows, with oaths, with lookes, with showers of gold:
But when the fruit of their affects appeares,
The simple heart by subtil sleights is sold.
Thus sucks the yeelding eare the poysoned bait,
Thus feeds the hart vpon his endles harmes,
Thus glut the thoughts themselues on self deceit,
Thus blind the eyes their sight by subtil charmes.
The louely lookes, the sighs that storme so sore,
The deaw of deep dissembled doublenesse:
These may attempt, but are of power no more,
Where beauty leanes to wit and soothfastnesse.
Oh Rosader then be thou wittifull,
For Rosalynd scorns foolish pitifull.
Rosader.
I pray thee Rosalynd by those sweet eyes
That stain the Sun in shine, the morn in cleare,
By those sweet cheeks where Loue incamped lyes
To kisse the Roses of the springing yeare.
I tempt thee Rosalynd by ruthfull plaints,
Not seasoned with deceipt or fraudfull guile,
But firm in payn, far more than toong depaints,
Sweet Nymph be kind, and grace me with a smile.
So may the heauens preserue from hurtfull food
The pride of all her riches and her good,
To fat thy sheepe (the Cittizens of field.)
Oh leaue to arme thy louely browes with scorne:
The birds their beake, the Lyon hath his taile,
And Louers nought but sighs and bitter mourne,
The spotlesse fort of fancie to assaile.
Oh Rosalynde then be thou pittifull:
For Rosalynde is onely beautifull.
Rosalynde.
The hardned steele by fire is brought in frame:
Rosader.
And Rosalynde my loue that any wooll more softer:
And shall not sighes her tender hart inflame?
Rosalynde.
Were Louers true, maydes would beleeue them ofter.
Rosader.
Truth and regard, and honour guid my loue.
Rosalynde.
Faine would I trust, but yet I dare not trie,
Rosader.
Oh pittie me sweet Nymph, and do but proue.
Rosalynde.
I would resist, but yet I know not why.
Rosader.
Oh Rosalynde be kinde, for times will change,
Thy lookes ay nill he faire as now they be,
Thine age from beautie may thy lookes estrange:
Ah yeeld in time sweet Nimph and pittie me.
Rosalynde.
Oh Rosalynde thou must be pittifull:
For Rosader is yong and beautifull.
Rosader,
Oh gaine more great than kingdomes or a crowne.
Rosalynde.
Oh trust betraid if Rosader abuse me.
First let the heauens conspire to pull me downe,
And heauen and earth as abiect quite refuse me:
Let sorrowes streame about my hatefull bower,
And retchlesse horror hatch within my brest,
Let beauties eye afflict me with a lower,
Let deepe despaire pursue me without rest:
Ere Rosalynde my loyaltie disproue,
Ere Rosalynde accuse me for vnkind.
Rosalynde.
Then Rosalynde will grace thee with her loue,
Then Rosalynde will haue thee still in mind.
Rosader.
Then let me triumph more than Tithons deere,
Since Rosalynde will Rosader respect:
Then let my face exile his sorry cheere,
And frolike in the comfort of affect:
And say that Rosalynde is onely pittifull,
Since Rosalynde is onely beautifull.
Montanus Sonnet.
A Turtle sate vpon a leauelesse tree,
Mourning her absent pheare,
With sad and sorry cheare:
About her wondring stood
The Citizens of Wood,
And whilest her plumes she rents,
And for her loue laments,
The stately trees complaine them,
The birds with sorrow paine them:
Each one that doth her view,
Her paine and sorrowes rue,
But were the sorrowes knowne,
That me hath ouerthrowne,
Oh how would Phœbe sigh, if shee did looke on me?
Mourning her absent pheare,
With sad and sorry cheare:
About her wondring stood
The Citizens of Wood,
And whilest her plumes she rents,
And for her loue laments,
The stately trees complaine them,
The birds with sorrow paine them:
Each one that doth her view,
Her paine and sorrowes rue,
But were the sorrowes knowne,
That me hath ouerthrowne,
Oh how would Phœbe sigh, if shee did looke on me?
The loue sicke Polypheme that could not see,
Who on the barraine shore,
His fortunes doth deplore,
And melteth all in moue,
For Galatea gone:
And with his piteous cries,
Afflicts both earth and skies:
And to his woe betooke,
Doth breake both pipe and hooke:
For whom complaines the Morne,
For whom the Sea Nymphs mourne.
Alas his paine is nought:
For were my woe but thought,
Oh how would Phœbe sigh, if shee did looke on me?
Who on the barraine shore,
His fortunes doth deplore,
And melteth all in moue,
For Galatea gone:
And with his piteous cries,
Afflicts both earth and skies:
And to his woe betooke,
Doth breake both pipe and hooke:
For whom complaines the Morne,
For whom the Sea Nymphs mourne.
Alas his paine is nought:
For were my woe but thought,
Oh how would Phœbe sigh, if shee did looke on me?
Beyond compare my paine
yet glad am I,
If gentle Phœbe daine
to see her Montan die.
yet glad am I,
If gentle Phœbe daine
to see her Montan die.
Phœbes Sonnet, a replie to Montanus passion.
Downe a downe,
Thus Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed:
Who so by foolish loue are stung,
are worthily oppressed,
And so sing I. With a downe, downe, &c.
Thus Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed:
Who so by foolish loue are stung,
are worthily oppressed,
And so sing I. With a downe, downe, &c.
When Loue was first begot,
And by the mouers will
Did fall to humane lot
His solace to fulfill.
Deuoid of all deceipt,
A chast and holy fire
Did quicken mans conceipt,
And womens brest inspire.
The Gods that saw the good
That mortalls did approue,
With kind and holy mood,
Began to talke of Loue.
Downe a downe,
Thus Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed, &c.
And by the mouers will
Did fall to humane lot
His solace to fulfill.
Deuoid of all deceipt,
A chast and holy fire
Did quicken mans conceipt,
And womens brest inspire.
The Gods that saw the good
That mortalls did approue,
With kind and holy mood,
Began to talke of Loue.
Downe a downe,
Thus Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed, &c.
But during this accord,
A wonder strange to heare:
Whilest Loue in deed and word
Most faythfull did appeare.
False semblance came in place,
By iealousie attended,
And with a double face
Both loue and fancie blended.
Which make the Gods forsake,
And men from fancie flie,
And maidens scorne a make,
For sooth and so will I.
Downe a downe.
Thas Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed:
Who so by foolish loue are stung
are worthily oppressed.
And so sing I, with downe, a downe, a downe a.
A wonder strange to heare:
Whilest Loue in deed and word
Most faythfull did appeare.
False semblance came in place,
By iealousie attended,
And with a double face
Both loue and fancie blended.
Which make the Gods forsake,
And men from fancie flie,
And maidens scorne a make,
For sooth and so will I.
Downe a downe.
Thas Phyllis sung
by fancie once distressed:
Who so by foolish loue are stung
are worthily oppressed.
And so sing I, with downe, a downe, a downe a.
Saladynes Sonnet.
If it be true that heauens eternall course
With restlesse sway and ceaselesse turning glides,
If aire inconstant be, and swelling sourse
Turne and returns with many fluent tides,
If earth in winter summers pride estrange,
And Nature seemeth onely faire in change.
With restlesse sway and ceaselesse turning glides,
If aire inconstant be, and swelling sourse
Turne and returns with many fluent tides,
If earth in winter summers pride estrange,
And Nature seemeth onely faire in change.
If it be true that our immortall spright
Deriude from heauenly pure, in wandring still
In noueltie and strangenesse doth delight,
And by discouerent power discerneth ill,
And if the body for to worke his best
Doth with the seasons change his place of rest.
Deriude from heauenly pure, in wandring still
In noueltie and strangenesse doth delight,
And by discouerent power discerneth ill,
And if the body for to worke his best
Doth with the seasons change his place of rest.
Whence comes it that (inforst by furious Skies)
I change both place and soyle, but not my hart?
Yet salue not in this change my maladies?
Whence growes it that each obiect workes my smart?
Alas I see my faith procures my misse,
And change in loue against my nature is.
I change both place and soyle, but not my hart?
Yet salue not in this change my maladies?
Whence growes it that each obiect workes my smart?
Alas I see my faith procures my misse,
And change in loue against my nature is.
Et florida pungunt.
Sonnetto.
My boate doth passe the straights
of seas incenst with fire,
Filde with forgetfulnesse:
amidst the winters night,
A blind and carelesse boy
(brought vp by fond desire.)
Doth guide me in the sea
of sorrow and despight.
of seas incenst with fire,
Filde with forgetfulnesse:
amidst the winters night,
A blind and carelesse boy
(brought vp by fond desire.)
Doth guide me in the sea
of sorrow and despight.
For euery oare, he sets
a ranke of foolish thoughts,
And cuts (instead of waue)
a hope without distresse:
The winds of my deepe sighes
(that thunder still for noughts)
Haue split my sayles with feare,
with care and heauinesse.
a ranke of foolish thoughts,
And cuts (instead of waue)
a hope without distresse:
The winds of my deepe sighes
(that thunder still for noughts)
Haue split my sayles with feare,
with care and heauinesse.
A mightie storme of teares,
A blacke and hideous cloude,
A thousand fierce disdaines
doe slacke the haleyards oft:
Till ignorance doe pull,
and errour hale the shrowds,
No starre for safetie shines,
no Phœbe from aloft.
Time hath subdued art, and ioy is slaue to woe:
Alas (Loues guid) be kind, what shall I perish so?
A blacke and hideous cloude,
A thousand fierce disdaines
doe slacke the haleyards oft:
Till ignorance doe pull,
and errour hale the shrowds,
No starre for safetie shines,
no Phœbe from aloft.
Time hath subdued art, and ioy is slaue to woe:
Alas (Loues guid) be kind, what shall I perish so?
Montanus first Sonnet.
Alas how wander I amidst these woods,
Whereas no day bright shine doth finde accesse:
But where the melancholy fleeting floods
(Darke as the night) my night of woes expresse,
Disarmde of reason, spoilde of natures goods,
Without redresse to salue my heauinesse
I walke, whilest thought (too cruell to my harmes)
With endles grief my heedles iudgement charmes.
Whereas no day bright shine doth finde accesse:
But where the melancholy fleeting floods
Disarmde of reason, spoilde of natures goods,
Without redresse to salue my heauinesse
I walke, whilest thought (too cruell to my harmes)
With endles grief my heedles iudgement charmes.
My silent tongue assailde by secret feare,
My traitrous eyes imprisoned in their ioy,
My fatall peace deuourd in fained cheare,
My heart inforst to harbour in annoy,
My reason robde of power by yeelding eare,
My fond opinions slaue to euery toy.
Oh Loue thou guide in my vncertaine way,
Woe to thy bow, thy fire, the cause of my decay.
My traitrous eyes imprisoned in their ioy,
My fatall peace deuourd in fained cheare,
My heart inforst to harbour in annoy,
My reason robde of power by yeelding eare,
My fond opinions slaue to euery toy.
Oh Loue thou guide in my vncertaine way,
Woe to thy bow, thy fire, the cause of my decay.
Et florida pungunt.
Montanus second Sonnet.
When the DogFull of rage,
With his irefull eyes
Frownes amidst the skies
The Shepheard to asswage
The fury of the heat,
Himselfe doth safely seat
By afount
Full of faire,
Where a gentle breath
(Mounting from beneath)
Tempreth the aire.
There his flocks
Drinke their fill,
Whilest sweet sleep doth close
Eyes from toylsome ill.
But I burne
Without rest,
No defensive power
Shields from Phoebes lower:
Sorrow is my best.
Gentle Loue
Lowre no more,
If thou wilt inuade,
In the secret shade,
Labour not so sore.
I my selfe
And my flocks
They their loue to please,
I my selfe to ease,
Both leaue the shadie oakes:
Content to burne in fire
Saith Loue doth so desire.
Et florida pungunt.
Coridons Song.
A blyth and bonny country Lasse,
heigh ho the bonny Lasse:
Sate sighing on the tender grasse,
and weeping faid, will none come woo mee?
A smicker boy, a lyther Swaine,
heigh ho a smicker Swaine:
That in his Loue was wanton faine,
with smiling looks straight came vnto her.
heigh ho the bonny Lasse:
Sate sighing on the tender grasse,
and weeping faid, will none come woo mee?
A smicker boy, a lyther Swaine,
heigh ho a smicker Swaine:
That in his Loue was wanton faine,
with smiling looks straight came vnto her.
When as the wanton wench espide,
heigh ho when she espide
The meanes to make her selfe a bride,
she simpred smooth like bonny bell:
The Swaine that saw her squint eied kind
heigh ho squint eyed kind,
His armes about her body twind,
and faire Lasse, how fare ye, well?
heigh ho when she espide
The meanes to make her selfe a bride,
she simpred smooth like bonny bell:
The Swaine that saw her squint eied kind
heigh ho squint eyed kind,
His armes about her body twind,
and faire Lasse, how fare ye, well?
The country kit said well sorsooth,
heigh ho well forsooth,
But that I haue a longing tooth,
a longing tooth that makes me crie:
Alas said he what garres thy griefe?
heigh ho what garres thy griefe?
A wound quoth she without reliefe,
I feare a maid that I shall die.
heigh ho well forsooth,
But that I haue a longing tooth,
a longing tooth that makes me crie:
Alas said he what garres thy griefe?
heigh ho what garres thy griefe?
A wound quoth she without reliefe,
I feare a maid that I shall die.
If that be all the shepheard said,
heigh ho the shepheard said,
He make thee wine it gentle mayd,
and so recure thy maladie.
Hereon they kist with many a oath,
heigh ho with many a oath,
And fore God Pan did plight their troath,
and to the Church they hied them fast.
heigh ho the shepheard said,
He make thee wine it gentle mayd,
and so recure thy maladie.
Hereon they kist with many a oath,
heigh ho with many a oath,
And fore God Pan did plight their troath,
and to the Church they hied them fast.
And God send euery pretie peate,
heigh ho the prety peate:
That feares to die of this conceate,
so kind a friend to helpe at last.
heigh ho the prety peate:
That feares to die of this conceate,
so kind a friend to helpe at last.
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