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The Sheepheard to the flowers.
Sweete Uiolets (Loues Paradise) that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couched beare
Within your palie faces:
Vpon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde
That playes amidst the Plaine,
If by the fauour of propitious starres you gaine
Such grace as in my Ladies bosome place to finde:
Be proude to touch those places.
And when her warmth your moysture foorth dooth weare,
Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed:
Your honours of the flowrie Meades J pray,
You prettie daughters of the earth and Sunne:
With mild and seemely breathing straite display
My bitter sighs, that haue my hart vndone.
Your gracious odours, which you couched beare
Within your palie faces:
Vpon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde
That playes amidst the Plaine,
If by the fauour of propitious starres you gaine
Such grace as in my Ladies bosome place to finde:
Be proude to touch those places.
And when her warmth your moysture foorth dooth weare,
Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed:
Your honours of the flowrie Meades J pray,
You prettie daughters of the earth and Sunne:
With mild and seemely breathing straite display
My bitter sighs, that haue my hart vndone.
Uermillion Roses, that with new dayes rise
Display your crimson folds fresh looking faire,
Whose radiant bright, disgraces
The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne,
Ah if her Virgins hand
Doo pluck [illeg.] pure, ere Phœbus view the land,
And vaile your gracious pompe in louely Natures scorne.
If chaunce my Mistres traces
Fast by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre:
Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes,
To spread their teares, Adonis death reporting,
And tell Loues torments, sorrowing for her friend:
Whose drops of blood within your leaues consorting,
Report faire Venus moanes to haue no end.
Then may remorce, in pittying of my smart:
Drie vp my teares, and dwell within her hart.
Display your crimson folds fresh looking faire,
Whose radiant bright, disgraces
The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne,
Ah if her Virgins hand
Doo pluck [illeg.] pure, ere Phœbus view the land,
If chaunce my Mistres traces
Fast by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre:
Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes,
To spread their teares, Adonis death reporting,
And tell Loues torments, sorrowing for her friend:
Whose drops of blood within your leaues consorting,
Report faire Venus moanes to haue no end.
Then may remorce, in pittying of my smart:
Drie vp my teares, and dwell within her hart.
FINIS.
Ignoto.
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