قراءة كتاب The Affectionate Shepherd

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‏اللغة: English

The Affectionate Shepherd

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المؤلف:

Barnfield Richard

دار النشر: Project Gutenberg

الصفحة رقم: 2

too,
That in his age began to doate againe;
Her would he often pray, and often woo,
When through old age enfeebled was his braine:
But she before had lov'd a lustie youth,
That now was dead, the cause of all her ruth.

And thus it hapned, Death and Cupid met
Upon a time at swilling Bacchus house,
Where daintie cates upon the boord were set,
And goblets full of wine to drinke carouse:
Where Love and Death did love the licor so,
That out they fall and to the fray they goe.

And having both their quivers at their backe
Fild full of arrows; th' one of fatall steele,
The other all of gold; Deaths shaft was black,
But Loves was yellow: Fortune turnd her wheele,
And from Deaths quiver fell a fatall shaft,
That under Cupid by the winde was waft.

And at the same time by ill hap there fell
Another arrow out of Cupids quiver,
The which was carried by the winde at will,
And under Death the amorous shaft did shiver:
They being parted, Love tooke up Deaths dart,
And Death tooke up Loves arrow for his part.

Thus as they wandred both about the world,
At last Death met with one of feeble age:
Wherewith he drew a shaft and at him hurld
The unknowne arrow with a furious rage,
Thinking to strike him dead with Deaths blacke dart;
But he, alas, with Love did wound his hart!

This was the doting foole, this was the man
That lov'd faire Guendolena, Queene of Beautie;
Shee cannot shake him off, doo what she can,
For he hath vowd to her his soules last duety:
Making him trim upon the holydaies,
And crownes his love with garlands made of baies.

Now doth he stroke his beard, and now againe
He wipes the drivel from his filthy chin;
Now offers he a kisse, but high Disdaine
Will not permit her hart to pity him:
Her hart more hard than adamant or steele,
Her hart more changeable than Fortunes wheele.

But leave we him in love up to the eares,
And tell how Love behav'd himselfe abroad;
Who seeing one that mourned still in teares,
A young man groaning under Loves great load,
Thinking to ease his burden, rid his paines,
For men have griefe as long as life remaines.

Alas, the while that unawares he drue
The fatall shaft that Death had dropt before,
By which deceit great harme did then insue,
Stayning his face with blood and filthy goare:
His face, that was to Guendolen more deere
Than love of lords, or any lordly peere.

This was that faire and beautifull young man,
Whom Guendolena so lamented for;
This is that Love whom she doth curse and ban,
Because she doth that dismall chaunce abhor:
And if it were not for his mothers sake,
Even Ganimede himselfe she would forsake.

Oh would shee would forsake my Ganimede,
Whose sugred love is full of sweete delight,
Upon whose forehead you may plainely reade
Loves pleasure grav'd in yvorie tables bright:
In whose faire eye-balls you may clearely see
Base Love still staind with foule indignitie.

Oh would to God he would but pitty mee,
That love him more than any mortall wight!
Then he and I with love would soone agree,
That now cannot abide his sutors sight.
O would to God, so I might have my fee,
My lips were honey, and thy mouth a bee!

Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower,
That now is ripe and full of honey-berries;
Then would I leade thee to my pleasant bower,
Fild full of grapes, of mulberries, and cherries:
Then shouldst thou be my waspe or else my bee,
I would thy hive, and thou my honey, bee.

I would put amber bracelets on thy wrests,
Crownets of pearle about thy naked armes:
And when thou sitst at swilling Bacchus feasts
My lips with charmes should save thee from all harmes:
And when in sleepe thou tookst thy chiefest pleasure,
Mine eyes should gaze upon thine eyelids treasure.

And every morne by dawning of the day,
When Phœbus riseth with a blushing face,
Silvanus chappel-clarkes shall chaunt a lay,
And play thee hunts-up in thy resting place:
My coote thy chamber, my bosome thy bed
Shall be appointed for thy sleepy head.

And when it pleaseth thee to walke abroad,
Abroad into the fields to take fresh ayre,
The meades with Floras treasure should be strowde,
The mantled meaddowes, and the fields so fayre.
And by a silver well with golden sands
Ile sit me downe, and wash thine yvory hands.

And in the sweltring heate of summer time,
I would make cabinets for thee, my love;
Sweet-smelling arbours made of eglantine
Should be thy shrine, and I would be thy dove.
Cool cabinets of fresh greene laurell boughs
Should shadow us, ore-set with thicke-set eughes.

Or if thou list to bathe thy naked limbs
Within the cristall of a

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