The Penguin Book of English Verse
Page 17
And gazd on her, as they were wood,
Wil.
woode as he, that did them keepe.
25
Per.
As the bonilasse passed bye,
Wil.
hey ho bonilasse,
Per.
She rovde at me with glauncing eye,
Wil.
as cleare as the christall glasse:
Per.
All as the Sunnye beame so bright,
30
Wil.
hey ho the Sunne beame,
Per.
Glaunceth from Phœbus face forthright,
Wil.
so love into thy hart did streame:
Per.
Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,
Wil.
hey ho the Thonder,
35
Per.
Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes,
Wil.
so cleaves thy soule a sonder:
Per.
Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye
Wil.
hey ho the Moonelight,
Per.
Upon the glyttering wave doth playe:
40
Wil.
such play is a pitteous plight.
Per.
The glaunce into my heart did glide,
Wil.
hey ho the glyder,
Per.
Therewith my soule was sharply gryde,
Wil.
such woundes soone wexen wider.
45
Per.
Hasting to raunch the arrow out,
Wil.
hey ho Perigot,
Per.
I left the head in my hart roote:
Wil.
it was a desperate shot.
Per.
There it ranckleth ay more and more,
50
Wil.
hey ho the arrowe,
Per.
Ne can I find salve for my sore:
Wil.
love is a curelesse sorrowe.
Per.
And though my bale with death I bought,
Wil.
hey ho heavie cheere,
55
Per.
Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought:
Wil.
so you may buye gold to deare.
Per.
But whether in paynefull love I pyne,
Wil.
hey ho pinching payne,
Per.
Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine.
60
Wil.
but if thou can her obteine.
Per.
And if for gracelesse greefe I dye,
Wil.
hey ho gracelesse griefe,
Per.
Witnesse, shee slewe me with her eye:
Wil.
let thy follye be the priefe.
65
Per.
And you, that sawe it, simple shepe,
Wil.
hey ho the fayre flocke,
Per.
For priefe thereof, my death shall weepe,
Wil.
and mone with many a mocke.
Per.
So learnd I love on a hollye eve,
70
Wil.
hey ho holidaye,
Per.
That ever since my hart did greve.
Wil.
now endeth our roundelay.
1580 EDMUND SPENSER Iambicum Trimetrum
Unhappie Verse, the witnesse of my unhappie state,
Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying thought,
And fly forth unto my Love, whersoever she be:
Whether lying reastlesse in heavy bedde, or else,
Sitting so cheerelesse at the cheerfull boorde, or else
Playing alone carelesse on hir heavenlie Virginals.
If in Bed, tell hir, that my eyes can take no reste:
If at Boorde, tell hir, that my mouth can eate no meate:
If at hir Virginals, tel hir, I can heare no mirth.
Asked why? say: Waking Love suffereth no sleepe:
Say, that raging Love dothe appall the weake stomacke:
Say, that lamenting Love marreth the Musicall.
Tell hir, that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me asleepe:
Tell hir, that hir beautie was wonte to feede mine eyes:
Tell hir, that hir sweete Tongue was wonte to make me mirth.
Nowe doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindely reste:
Nowe doe I dayly starve, wanting my lively foode:
Nowe doe I alwayes dye, wanting thy timely mirth.
And if I waste, who will bewaile my heavy chaunce?
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end?
And if I dye, who will saye: this was, Immerito?
JASPER HEYWOOD from the Latin of Seneca [Chorus from Hercules Furens] 1581
Goe hurtles soules, whom mischiefe hath opprest
Even in first porch of life but lately had,
And fathers fury goe unhappy kind
O litle children, by the way ful sad
Of journey knowen.
Goe see the angry kynges.
THOMAS WATSON My Love is Past 1582
Ye captive soules of blindefold Cyprians boate,
Marke with advise in what estate yee stande,
Your Boteman never whistles mearie noate,
And Folly keeping sterne, still puttes from lande,
And makes a sport to tosse you to and froe
Twixt sighing windes, and surging waves of woe.
On Beawties rocke she runnes you at her will,
And holdes you in suspense twixt hope and feare,
Where dying oft, yet are you living still,
But such a life, as death much better were;
Be therefore circumspect, and follow me,
When Chaunce, or chaunge of maners sets you free.
Beware how you returne to seas againe:
Hang up your votive tables in the quyre
Of Cupids Church, in witnesse of the paine
You suffer now by forced fond desire:
Then hang your throughwett garmentes on the wall,
And sing with me, that Love is mixt with gall.
ANONYMOUS A new Courtly Sonet, of the Lady Greensleeves. 1584
To the new tune of Greensleeves
Alas my love, ye do me wrong,
to cast me off discurteously:
And I have loved you so long,
Delighting in your companie.
Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight:
Greensleeves was my heart of gold, –
And who but my ladie Greensleeeves.
I have been readie at your hand,
to grant what ever you would crave.
I have both waged life and land,
your love and good will for to have.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.,
I bought thee kerchers to thy head,
that were wrought fine and gallantly:
I kept thee both at boord and bed,
Which cost my purse wel favouredly,
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
I bought thee peticotes of the best,
the cloth so fine as fine might be:
I gave thee jewels for thy chest,
and all this cost I spent on thee.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy smock of silk, both faire and white,
with gold embrodered gorgeously:
Thy peticote of Sendall right:
and thus I bought thee gladly.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy girdle of gold so red,
with pearles bedecked sumptuously:
The like no other lasses had,
and yet thou wouldst not love me,
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy purse and eke
thy gay guilt knives,
thy pincase gallant to the eie:
No better wore the Burgesse wives,
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy crimson stockings all of silk,
with golde all wrought above the knee,
Thy pumps as white as was the milk,
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy gown was of the grassie green,
thy sleeves of Satten hanging by:
Which made thee be our harvest Queen,
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thy garters fringed with the golde,
And silver aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to beholde,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
My gayest gelding I thee gave,
To ride where ever liked thee,
No Ladie ever was so brave,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee:
Al this was gallant to be seen,
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
They set thee up, they took thee downe,
they served thee with humilitie,
Thy foote might not once touch the ground
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
For everie morning when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties orderly:
To cheare thy stomack from all woes,
and yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
But stil thou hadst it readily:
Thy musicke still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
And who did pay for all this geare,
that thou didst spend when pleased thee
Even I that am rejected here,
and thou disdainst to love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Wel, I wil pray to God on hie,
that thou my constancie maist see:
And that yet once before I die,
thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
Greensleeves now farewel adue,
God I pray to prosper thee:
For I am stil thy lover true,
come once againe and love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, etc.
1586 CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE
My prime of youth is but a froste of cares:
My feaste of joy, is but a dishe of payne:
My cropp of corne, is but a field of tares:
And all my good is but vaine hope of gaine:
The daye is gone, and yet I sawe no sonn:
And nowe I live, and nowe my life is donn
The springe is paste, and yet it hath not sprong
The frute is deade, and yet the leaves are greene
My youth is gone, and yet I am but yonge
I sawe the woorld, and yet I was not seene
My threed is cutt, and yet it was not sponn
And nowe I lyve, and nowe my life is donn.
I saught my death, and founde it in my wombe
I lookte for life, and sawe it was a shade.
I trode the earth and knewe it was my Tombe
And nowe I die, and nowe I am but made
The glasse is full, and nowe the glass is rune
And nowe I live, and nowe my life is donn
ANONYMOUS 1588
Constant Penelope, sends to thee carelesse Ulisses,
write not againe, but come sweet mate, thy self to revive me.
Troy we do much envie, we desolate lost ladies of Greece:
Not Priamus, nor yet all Troy can us recompence make.
Oh, that he had when he first toke shipping to Lacedemon,
that adulter I meane, had ben o’rewhelmed with waters:
Then had I not lien now all alone, thus quivering for cold,
nor used this complaint, nor have thought the day to be so long.
ANONYMOUS from Sixe Idillia… chosen out of… Theocritus
[Adonis]
When Venus first did see
Adonis dead to be,
With woeful tatterd heare
And cheekes so wan and seare,
The winged Loves she bad,
The Bore should straight be had.
Forthwith like birdes thay flie,
And through the wood thay hie,
The woefull beast thay finde,
And him with cordes thay binde.
One with a rope before
Doth lead the captive Bore.
Another on his backe
Doth make his bow to cracke.
The beast went wretchedly,
For Venus horribly
Hee fearde, who thus him curst:
Of all the beasts the wurst,
Didst thou this thigh so wounde?
Didst thou my Love confounde?
The beast thus spake in feare;
Venus, to thee I sweare,
By thee, and husband thine,
And by these bands of mine,
And by these hunters all,
Thy husband faire and tall
I minded not to kill,
But as an image still,
I him beheld for love,
Which made me forward shove
His thigh, that naked was,
Thinking to kisse, alas,
And that hath hurt me thus.
Wherfore these teeth, Venus,
Or punish, or cut out.
Why beare I in my snowt
These needlesse teeth about?
If this maie not suffise,
Cut off my chaps likewise.
To ruth he Venus moves,
And she commands the Loves
His bands for to untie.
After, he came not nie
The wood, but at her wil,
He followde Venus still.
And cumming to the fire,
He burnt up his desire.
1589 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
My true love hath my hart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other giv’ne.
I holde his deare, and myne he cannot misse:
There never was a better bargaine driv’ne.