The Poetry of George Wither Edited by Frank Sidgwick |
 | I. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| II. |
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
 | The Poetry of George Wither |  |
154
So movingly these lines he did express,
And to a tune so full of heaviness,
As if, indeed, his purpose had been past
To live no longer than the song did last,
Which in the nymphs such tender passion bred,
That some of them did tears of pity shed.
And to a tune so full of heaviness,
As if, indeed, his purpose had been past
To live no longer than the song did last,
Which in the nymphs such tender passion bred,
That some of them did tears of pity shed.
This she perceiving, who first craved the song,
“Shepherd,” she said, “although it be no wrong
Nor grief to you those passions to recall,
Which heretofore you have been pain'd withal,
But comforts rather, since they now are over,
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover,
Yet some young nymphs among us I do see
Who so much moved with your passions be,
That if my aim I taken have aright,
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.
“Shepherd,” she said, “although it be no wrong
Nor grief to you those passions to recall,
Which heretofore you have been pain'd withal,
But comforts rather, since they now are over,
And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover,
Yet some young nymphs among us I do see
Who so much moved with your passions be,
That if my aim I taken have aright,
Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.
“I dare not, therefore, beg of you again
To sing another of the selfsame strain,
For fear it breed within them more unrest
Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
Yet in your measures such content you have,
That one song more I will presume to crave.
And if your memory preserves of those
Which you of your affections did compose
Before you saw this mistress, let us hear
What kind of passions then within you were.”
To sing another of the selfsame strain,
For fear it breed within them more unrest
Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
Yet in your measures such content you have,
That one song more I will presume to crave.
And if your memory preserves of those
Which you of your affections did compose
Before you saw this mistress, let us hear
What kind of passions then within you were.”
To which request he instantly obey'd,
And this ensuing song both sung and play'd.
And this ensuing song both sung and play'd.
| The Poetry of George Wither | |