The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton For the First Time Collected and Edited: With Memorial-Introduction, Notes and Illustrations, Glossarial Index, Facsimilies, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In Two Volumes |
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| 17. | 17. [Olden Love-making.] |
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 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton |  |
17. [Olden Love-making.]
In time of yor when Shepperds dwelt
Vpon the mountaine rockes;
And simple people neuer felte
The paine of louers mockes;
But litle birdes wowld cary tales
Twixte Susen and her Sweetinge;
And all the dainty Nightingals
Dyd singe at louers meetinge.
Then might you see what lookes did pas
Where shepperds dyd assemble;
And wher the life of true loue was,
When hartes could not dissemble.
Vpon the mountaine rockes;
And simple people neuer felte
The paine of louers mockes;
But litle birdes wowld cary tales
Twixte Susen and her Sweetinge;
And all the dainty Nightingals
Dyd singe at louers meetinge.
Then might you see what lookes did pas
Where shepperds dyd assemble;
And wher the life of true loue was,
When hartes could not dissemble.
Then yea and nay was thought an oathe
That was not to be dowted;
And when it came to faith & troathe
We were not to be flowted.
Then did they talke of Curds & creame,
Of butter cheese and milke:
There was no speach of sonny beame,
Nor of the golden silke.
Then for a guifte a rowe of pinnes,
A purse, a paire of Knyves;
Was all the waie that love begins,
And so the shepperd wyves.
But now we haue so muche adoe
And are so sore agreuèd;
That when we goe aboute to woe
We cannot be beleuèd.
Such choise of Jewells, ringes & chaines
That maie but fauor move;
And suche Intollerable paines
Ere one can hitt on love.
That if I still shall bide this life
Twixt loue and deadly hate;
I wyll goe learne the countrey life
or leave the louers state.
That was not to be dowted;
And when it came to faith & troathe
We were not to be flowted.
Then did they talke of Curds & creame,
Of butter cheese and milke:
There was no speach of sonny beame,
Nor of the golden silke.
Then for a guifte a rowe of pinnes,
A purse, a paire of Knyves;
Was all the waie that love begins,
And so the shepperd wyves.
But now we haue so muche adoe
And are so sore agreuèd;
That when we goe aboute to woe
We cannot be beleuèd.
Such choise of Jewells, ringes & chaines
That maie but fauor move;
And suche Intollerable paines
Ere one can hitt on love.
That if I still shall bide this life
Twixt loue and deadly hate;
I wyll goe learne the countrey life
or leave the louers state.
Finis.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton | |