University of Virginia Library

LI
PHILADORS ODE THAT HE LEFT WITH THE DESPAIRING LOVER

When merry Autumne in her prime,
Fruitfull mother of swift time,
Had filled Ceres lappe with store
Of Vines and Corne, and mickle more,
Such needfull fruites as do growe
From Terras bosome here belowe,
Tytirus did sigh and see
With hearts griefe and eyes greee,
Eyes and heart both full of woes
Where Galate his louer goes,
Her mantle was vermillion red,
A gawdy Chaplet on her head,
A Chaplet that did shrowd the beames,
That Phoebus on her beauty streames
For Sunne it selfe desired to see
So faire a Nymph as was shee;
For, viewing from the East to West,
Faire Galate did like him best:
Her face was like to Welkins shine,
Crystall brookes such were his eyne:
And yet within those brookes were fires,
That scorched youth and his desires.
Galate did much impaire
Venus honour for her faire.
For stately stepping Iunoes pace,
By Galate did take disgrace:
And Pallas wisedome bare no prise,
Where Galate would shew her wise.
This gallant Girle thus passeth by
Where Tityrus did sighing lye:
Sighing sore for Loue straines
More then sighes from Louers vaines,
Teares in eye, thought in heart,
Thus his griefe he did impart.
Faire Galate but glance thine eye,
Here lyes he that here must dye:
For loue is death, if loue not gaine
Louers salue for Louers paine.
Winters seuen and more are past,
Since on thy face my thoughts I cast:
When Galate did haunt the Plaines,
And fed her sheepe amongst the Swaines:
When euery shepheard left his flockes,
To gaze on Galates faire lockes.
When euery eye did stand at gaze:
When heart and thought did both amaze,
When heart from body would asunder,
On Galates faire face to wonder:
Then amongst them all did I
Catch such a wound as I must dye
If Galate oft say not thus,
I loue the shepheard Tityrus.
Tis loue (faire nymph) that doth paine
Tytirus thy truest Swaine;
True, for none more true can be,
Then still to loue, and none but thee.
Say Galate, oft smile and say,
Twere pitty loue should haue a nay:
But such a word of comfort giue
And Tytirus thy Loue shall liue
Or with a piercing frowne reply
I cannot liue, and then I dye,
For Louers nay, is Louers death,
And heart breake frownes doth stop the breath.
Galate at this arose,
And with a smile away she goes,
As one that little carde to ease
Tytir, pain'd with Loues disease.
At her parting, Tytirus
Sighed amaine, and sayed thus:
Oh that women are so faire,
To trap mens eyes in their haire,
With beauteous eyes Loues fires,
Venus sparkes that heates desires:
But, oh that women haue such hearts,
Such thoughts, and such deep piercing darts,
As in the beauty of their eye,
Harbor nought but flattery:
Their teares are drawne that drop deceit,
Their faces, Calends of all sleight,
Their smiles are lures, their lookes guile,
And all their loue is but a wyle.
Then Tytir leaue leaue Tytirus
To loue such as scornes you thus:
And say to loue, and women both,
What I liked, now I do loath.
With that he hyed him to the flockes,
And counted loue but Venus mockes.