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قراءة كتاب Pastoral Poems by Nicholas Breton, Selected Poetry by George Wither, and Pastoral Poetry by William Browne (of Tavistock)
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Pastoral Poems by Nicholas Breton, Selected Poetry by George Wither, and Pastoral Poetry by William Browne (of Tavistock)
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Shall we go dance the hay? The hay?
Never pipe could ever play
Better shepherd's roundelay.
Shall we go sing the song? The song?
Never Love did ever wrong.
Fair maids, hold hands all along.
Shall we go learn to woo? To woo?
Never thought came ever to[o](?)
Better deed could better do.
Shall we go learn to kiss? To kiss?
Never heart could ever miss
Comfort where true meaning is.
Thus at base they run, They run,
When the sport was scarce begun;
But I waked, and all was done.
Another of the Same
Say that I should say I love ye,
Would you say 'tis but a saying?
But if Love in prayers move ye,
Will ye not be moved with praying?
Think I think that Love should know ye,
Will you think 'tis but a thinking?
But if Love the thought do show ye,
Will ye loose your eyes with winking?
Write that I do write you blessed,
Will you write 'tis but a writing?
But if Truth and Love confess it,
Will ye doubt the true inditing?
No, I say, and think, and write it,
Write, and think, and say your pleasure;
Love, and truth, and I indite it,
You are blessèd out of measure.
A Shepherd's Dream
A silly shepherd lately sat
Among a flock of sheep;
Where musing long on this and that,
At last he fell asleep.
And in the slumber as he lay,
He gave a piteous groan;
He thought his sheep were run away,
And he was left alone.
He whoop'd, he whistled, and he call'd,
But not a sheep came near him;
Which made the shepherd sore appall'd
To see that none would hear him.
But as the swain amazèd stood,
In this most solemn vein,
Came Phyllida forth of the wood,
And stood before the swain.
Whom when the shepherd did behold
He straight began to weep,
And at the heart he grew a-cold,
To think upon his sheep.
For well he knew, where came the queen,
The shepherd durst not stay:
And where that he durst not be seen,
The sheep must needs away.
To ask her if she saw his flock,
Might happen patience move,
And have an answer with a mock,
That such demanders prove.
Yet for because he saw her come
Alone out of the wood,
He thought he would not stand as dumb,
When speech might do him good;
And therefore falling on his knees,
To ask but for his sheep,
He did awake, and so did leese
The honour of his sleep.
A Quarrel with Love
Oh that I could write a story
Of love's dealing with affection!
How he makes the spirit sorry
That is touch'd with his infection.
But he doth so closely wind him,
In the plaits of will ill-pleased,
That the heart can never find him
Till it be too much diseased.
'Tis a subtle kind or spirit
Of a venom-kind of nature,
That can, like a coney-ferret,
Creep unawares upon a creature.
Never eye that can behold it,
Though it worketh first by seeing;
Nor conceit that can unfold it,
Though in thoughts be all its being.
Oh! it maketh old men witty,
Young men wanton, women idle,
While that patience weeps, for pity
Reason bite not nature's bridle.
What it is, in conjecture;
Seeking much, but nothing finding;
Like to fancy's architecture
With illusions reason blinding.
Yet, can beauty so retain it,
In the profit of her service,
That she closely can maintain it
For her servant chief on office?
In her eye she chiefly breeds it;
In her cheeks she chiefly hides it;
In her servant's faith she feeds it,
While his only heart abides it.
A Sweet Contention between Love, his Mistress, and Beauty
Love and my mistress were at strife
Who had the greatest power on me:
Betwixt them both, oh, what a life!
Nay, what a death is this to be!
She said, she did it with her eye;
He said, he did it with his dart;
Betwixt them both (a silly wretch!)
'Tis I that have the wounded heart.
She said, she only spake the word
That did enchant my peering sense;
He said, he only gave the sound
That enter'd heart without defence.
She said, her beauty was the mark
That did amaze the highest mind;
He said, he only made the mist
Whereby the senses grew so blind.
She said, that only for her sake,
The best would venture life and limb:
He said, she was too much deceiv'd;
They honour'd her because of him.
Long while, alas, she would not yield,
But it was she that rul'd the roost;[1]
Until by proof, she did confess,
If he were gone, her joy was lost.
And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love,
I now do find it is for thee,
That I am lov'd and honour'd both,
And thou hast power to conquer me."
But, when I heard her yield to love,
Oh! how my heart did leap for joy!
That now I had some little hope
To have an end to mine annoy!
But, as too soon, before the field
The trumpets sound the overthrow,
So all too soon I joy'd too much,
For I awaked, and nothing saw.[2]
Love
Foolish love is only folly;
Wanton love is too unholy;
Greedy love is covetous;
Idle love is frivolous;
But the gracious love is it
That doth prove the work of it.
Beauty but deceives the eye;
Flattery leads the ear awry;
Wealth doth but enchant the wit;
Want, the