 | The Poems of James VI. of Scotland |  |
6
Constant Loue in all Conditions
Now doeth disdainfull Saturne sadd and olde
With ycie bearde enioye his frosen raigne
His hoarie haires and snowie mantle colde
Ou'rcouers hills and euerie pleasant plaine
Whiles deaz'd with frost, whiles droun'd with rapping raine
Doe beasts and birds bewaile there carefull cace
With longsume lookes in houpe to see againe
Sweete sauoured Flora showe her aimeled face.
With ycie bearde enioye his frosen raigne
His hoarie haires and snowie mantle colde
Ou'rcouers hills and euerie pleasant plaine
Whiles deaz'd with frost, whiles droun'd with rapping raine
Doe beasts and birds bewaile there carefull cace
With longsume lookes in houpe to see againe
Sweete sauoured Flora showe her aimeled face.
And looke how long they are in this estate,
This dolent season so there courage dants
That now no Cupide with his golden bate
Darr make there harts his harbour where he hants
Bot rather deade as are the trees and plants,
There spirits of life must hide them at the hart
Wherethrough there kindlie courage daylie scants
Whill mounting Phœbus make them to reuert.
This dolent season so there courage dants
That now no Cupide with his golden bate
Darr make there harts his harbour where he hants
Bot rather deade as are the trees and plants,
There spirits of life must hide them at the hart
Wherethrough there kindlie courage daylie scants
Whill mounting Phœbus make them to reuert.
And shall I then like birde or beast forgett
For anie stormes that threatning heauen can send
That obiect sweete, wheron my hart is sett
Whome for to serue my senses all I bend
My inward flame with colde it dothe contend
The more it burnes, the more restrain'd it be
No winters frost, nor sommers heate can end
Or staye the course of constant loue in me
For anie stormes that threatning heauen can send
That obiect sweete, wheron my hart is sett
Whome for to serue my senses all I bend
My inward flame with colde it dothe contend
The more it burnes, the more restrain'd it be
No winters frost, nor sommers heate can end
Or staye the course of constant loue in me
| The Poems of James VI. of Scotland | |