University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Pandora

The Musyque of the beautie of his Mistresse Diana. Composed by John Soowthern ... and dedicated to the right Honorable, Edward Deuer, Earle of Oxenford, &c
  
  

expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 

Ode.

Come , come Simonid, and Anacreon,
Come and laye your money to mine:
And let vs goe and finde out Corydon:
And be once dronke with new wine.
Boye: bring hyther the greatest glasse,
And fyll, though it runne tyll to morrowe.
Heere holde my Anacre-on quasse,
When we are droonke, we haue no sorrowe.
But first I would thy Bathyll were
Come with her Lute, that we might daunce.
And that our olde Ronsard of Fraunce,
With his Cassandra too were here.
And what sayst Simon'd shall we send,
For our Wenches, now at beginning:
, he that loues not Wine, and Women,
Will neuer make a holsome ende.


Odellet.

[Dian, if it might come to passe]

Dian, if it might come to passe:
Or that I might haue my desire:
I would to the Gods that I were,
Turned into thy looking Glasse.
Or to the pillowe of this head:
Whereon thou layst thy daintie head.
Or to water, that I might wash thee:
Or to thy roabe, that thou mightst weare mee:
Or that hang here on thy teatine,
I would I were these pearles of thine.
Or my Dian, to tell thee true,
I would I could be but thy shew.

Odellet.

[Some will sing the great feates of Armes]

Some will sing the great feates of Armes
of Rome: some other the alarmes
of Thebs: and some other of Troye,
And both the siedge, and the efroye.
But what haue I to doo with warriers:
Meddle I then with those that fit:
No, no, I nere hurt any yet:
Nor nere men to come among soldiers.
I care not for the Thracian God:
I am no man that seeketh blood:
But like the olde Poët Annacron,
It pleases mee well to be Biberon.
And thus in a Sellor to quaffe,
So that some Wench be by to lauffe.
And with Bacchus, and Citherais,
I meane to spend all my whole dayes.


Odellet.

[Boy: reach hyther the bottle, that]

Boy : reach hyther the bottle, that
I may taste of thy crimson lycor:
For when I am in any dolor,
It onelie reioyces my heart.
The deuill made money I thinke:
For without money, what a liuing,
Haue we that serue couetous women:
And without it we can not drinke.
Learning is not now woorth a penny,
And these wiues care for no fayre lookes,
And what shall a man doo with Bookes.
Faith hang, if he can get no mony.

Odellet.

[But why since, death will not retard]

But why since, death will not retard,
For any gift that we her offer:
My Dyolle, what helpes it to gard,
This golde, a rousting in a coffer.
Is't not better that whiles we liue,
We giue our selues to learning: when
Better then ought else we can giue,
(Dead) it makes vs to reuiue agen.
FINIS.