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The plays & poems of Robert Greene

Edited with introductions and notes by J. Churton Collins

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 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XL. 
 XLI. 
 XLII. 
 XLIII. 
 XLIV. 
 XLV. 
 XLVI. 
 XLVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 LI. 
 LII. 
 LIII. 
 LIV. 
LIV The Palmers Ode.
 LV. 
 LVI. 
 LVII. 
 LVIII. 
 LIX. 
 LX. 
 LXI. 
 LXII. 
 LXIII. 
 LXIV. 
 LXV. 
 LXVI. 
 LXVII. 
 LXVIII. 
 LXIX. 
 LXX. 
 LXXII. 
 LXXIII. 
 LXXIV. 
 LXXV. 
 LXXVI. 
 LXXVII. 
 LXXVIII. 
 LXXIX. 
 LXXX. 
 LXXXI. 
 LXXXII. 
 LXXXIII. 
 LXXXIV. 
 LXXXV. 
 LXXXVI. 
 LXXXVII. 
 LXXXVIII. 

LIV
The Palmers Ode.

Olde Menalcas on a day,
As in field this shepheard lay,
Tuning of his oten pipe,
Which he hit with manie a stripe;
Said to Coridon that hee
Once was yong and full of glee,
Blithe and wanton was I then:
Such desires follow men.
As I lay and kept my sheepe,
Came the God that hateth sleepe,
Clad in armour all of fire,
Hand in hand with Queene Desire:
And with a dart that wounded nie,
Pearst my heart as I did lie:
That when I wooke I gan sweare,
Phillis beautie palme did beare.
Vp I start, foorth went I,
With hir face to feede mine eye:
Then I saw Desire sit,
That my heart with Loue had hit,
Laying foorth bright Beauties hookes.
To intrap my gazing lookes.
Loue I did and gan to woe;
Pray and sigh, all would not doe:
Women when they take the toy
Couet to be counted coy.
Coy she was, and I gan court,
She thought Loue was but a sport.
Profound Hell was in my thought,
Such a paine Desire had wrought,

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That I sued with sighes and teares,
Still ingrate she stopt her eares,
Till my youth I had spent,
Last a passion of Repent,
Tolde me flat that Desire,
Was a brond of Loues fire,
Which consumeth men in thrall,
Vertue, youth, wit, and all.
At this sawe backe I start,
Bet Desire from my hart,
Shooke of Loue and made an oth,
To be enemie to both.
Olde I was when thus I fled,
Such fond toyes as cloyde my head.
But this I learn'd at Vertues gate,
The way to good is neuer late.
Nunquam sera est ad bonos mores via.