Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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XIII. | XIII. DULCINA. |
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||
XIII. DULCINA.
[_]
Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys collection; the other in the editor's folio MS. The fourth stanza is not found in MS, and seems redundant.
This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler, chap. 2. It is more ancient than the song of Robin Good-Fellow printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson.
As at noone Dulcina rested
In her sweete and shady bower;
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lappe to sleep an hour.
But from her looke
A wounde he tooke
So deepe, that for a further boone
The nymphe he prayes:
Whereto she sayes,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
In her sweete and shady bower;
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lappe to sleep an hour.
152
A wounde he tooke
So deepe, that for a further boone
The nymphe he prayes:
Whereto she sayes,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
But in vayne shee did conjure him
To departe her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe;
Where lippes invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,
Persuade delay;
What boots to say,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone?
To departe her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe;
Where lippes invite,
And eyes delight,
And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june,
Persuade delay;
What boots to say,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone?
He demands what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now:
She sayes, night gives love that leisure,
Which the day doth not allow.
He sayes, the sight
‘Improves delight:
‘Which shee denies; nights mirkie noone
In Venus' playes
Makes bold, she sayes;
Foregoe me now, come to mee soone.
Can there be more fit than now:
She sayes, night gives love that leisure,
Which the day doth not allow.
He sayes, the sight
‘Improves delight:
‘Which shee denies; nights mirkie noone
In Venus' playes
Makes bold, she sayes;
Foregoe me now, come to mee soone.
153
But what promise or profession
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beautye for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Foregoe the present joyes of noone?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beautye for a hope?
Or for the sight
Of lingering night
Foregoe the present joyes of noone?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
How, at last, agreed these lovers?
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,
Or he relent;
Accepts hee night, or grants shee noone;
Left he her mayd,
Or not; she sayd
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,
Or he relent;
Accepts hee night, or grants shee noone;
Left he her mayd,
Or not; she sayd
Foregoe me now, come to me soone.
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||