The Poetry of George Wither Edited by Frank Sidgwick |
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| 2. | SONNET 2. |
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 | The Poetry of George Wither |  |
155
SONNET 2.
You gentle nymphs that on these meadows play,
And oft relate the loves of shepherds young,
Come, sit you down; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth passion sung.
A lad there is, and I am that poor groom,
That['s] fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And oft relate the loves of shepherds young,
Come, sit you down; for, if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth passion sung.
A lad there is, and I am that poor groom,
That['s] fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom.
Oh, do not smile at sorrow as a jest;
With others' cares good natures moved be;
And I should weep if you had my unrest;
Then at my grief how can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
With others' cares good natures moved be;
And I should weep if you had my unrest;
Then at my grief how can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
I that have oft the rarest features view'd,
And beauty in her best perfection seen;
I that have laugh'd at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been,
Lo, now at last so cruel is my doom,
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And beauty in her best perfection seen;
I that have laugh'd at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been,
Lo, now at last so cruel is my doom,
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow;
My breast doth burn, but she that lights the fire
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss my fortune keeps me from,
That though I dearly love, I know not whom.
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow;
My breast doth burn, but she that lights the fire
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss my fortune keeps me from,
That though I dearly love, I know not whom.
156
Ere I had twice four springs renewed seen,
The force of beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a song of love,
And little thought I, this day should have come,
Before that I to love had found out whom.
The force of beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a song of love,
And little thought I, this day should have come,
Before that I to love had found out whom.
For on my chin the mossy down you see,
And in my veins well-heated blood doth glow;
Of summers I have seen twice three times three,
And fast my youthful time away doth go,
That much I fear I aged shall become,
And still complain, I love I know not whom.
And in my veins well-heated blood doth glow;
Of summers I have seen twice three times three,
And fast my youthful time away doth go,
That much I fear I aged shall become,
And still complain, I love I know not whom.
Oh! why had I a heart bestow'd on me
To cherish dear affections so inclin'd?
Since I am so unhappy born to be
No object for so true a love to find.
When I am dead it will be missed of some,
Yet, now I live, I love I know not whom.
To cherish dear affections so inclin'd?
Since I am so unhappy born to be
No object for so true a love to find.
When I am dead it will be missed of some,
Yet, now I live, I love I know not whom.
I to a thousand beauteous nymphs am known;
A hundred ladies' favours do I wear;
I with as many half in love am grown;
Yet none of them, I find, can be my dear.
Methinks I have a mistress yet to come,
Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
A hundred ladies' favours do I wear;
I with as many half in love am grown;
Yet none of them, I find, can be my dear.
Methinks I have a mistress yet to come,
Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
157
There lives no swain doth stronger passion prove
For her whom most he covets to possess,
Than doth my heart, that being full of love,
Knows not to whom it may the same profess.
For he that is despis'd hath sorrow some,
But he hath more that loves and knows not whom.
For her whom most he covets to possess,
Than doth my heart, that being full of love,
Knows not to whom it may the same profess.
For he that is despis'd hath sorrow some,
But he hath more that loves and knows not whom.
Knew I my love as many others do,
To some one object might my thoughts be bent,
So they divided should not wandering go
Until the soul's united force be spent.
As his that seeks and never finds a home,
Such is my rest, that love and know not whom.
To some one object might my thoughts be bent,
So they divided should not wandering go
Until the soul's united force be spent.
As his that seeks and never finds a home,
Such is my rest, that love and know not whom.
Those whom the frowns of jealous friends divide
May live to meet and descant on their woe;
And he hath gain'd a lady for his bride
That durst not woo her maid awhile ago.
But oh! what end unto my hopes can come
That am in love, and cannot tell with whom?
May live to meet and descant on their woe;
And he hath gain'd a lady for his bride
That durst not woo her maid awhile ago.
But oh! what end unto my hopes can come
That am in love, and cannot tell with whom?
Poor Colin grieves that he was late disdain'd,
And Chloris doth for Willy's absence pine;
Sad Thirsis weeps, for his sick Phœbe pain'd;
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine.
A greater care, alas! on me is come:
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
And Chloris doth for Willy's absence pine;
Sad Thirsis weeps, for his sick Phœbe pain'd;
But all their sorrows cannot equal mine.
A greater care, alas! on me is come:
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
158
Narcissus-like did I affect my shade,
Some shadow yet I had to dote upon;
Or did I love some image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone,
I might despair, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I love! and cannot tell you whom.
Some shadow yet I had to dote upon;
Or did I love some image of the dead,
Whose substance had not breathed long agone,
I might despair, and so an end would come;
But, oh, I love! and cannot tell you whom.
Once in a dream methought my love I view'd,
But never waking could her face behold;
And doubtless that resemblance was but shew'd
That more my tired heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more griev'd I am become,
And more in love; I cannot tell with whom.
But never waking could her face behold;
And doubtless that resemblance was but shew'd
That more my tired heart torment it should.
For, since that time, more griev'd I am become,
And more in love; I cannot tell with whom.
When on my bed at night to rest I lie,
My watchful eyes with tears bedew my cheek;
And then, oh, would it once were day, I cry;
Yet when it comes I am as far to seek.
For who can tell, though all the earth he roam,
Or when, or where, to find he knows not whom?
My watchful eyes with tears bedew my cheek;
And then, oh, would it once were day, I cry;
Yet when it comes I am as far to seek.
For who can tell, though all the earth he roam,
Or when, or where, to find he knows not whom?
Oh! if she be among the beauteous trains
Of all you nymphs that haunt the silver rills;
Or if you know her, ladies of the plains,
Or you that have your bowers on the hills,
Tell, if you can, who will my love become,
Or I shall die, and never know for whom.
Of all you nymphs that haunt the silver rills;
Or if you know her, ladies of the plains,
Or you that have your bowers on the hills,
Tell, if you can, who will my love become,
Or I shall die, and never know for whom.
| The Poetry of George Wither | |