And give them for a gift to any swain but Alexis: Half so dear as true Rosamond belov'd her Alexis. willows; And with those forsaken twigs go make thee a chaplet, Mournful sit, and sigh by the springs, by the brooks, by the rivers, Till thou turn for grief, as did Niobe to a marble; Melt to tears, pour out thy plaints, let Echo reclaim them, Once beloved, forsaken late of faithless Alexis: PHILADOR'S ODE THAT HE LEFT WITH THE DESPAIRING LOVER. From the same. WHEN merry Autumn in her prime, Had fill'd Ceres' lap with store Of vines and corn, and mickle more, From Terra's bosom here below; With heart's grief and eyes gree; A chaplet that did shroud the beams, So fair a nymph as was she; For, viewing from the East to West, Fair Galate did like him best: Her face was like to Welkin's shine; Crystal brooks, such were his eyne; And yet within those brooks were fires, That scorched youth and his desires. Galate did much impair Venus' honour for her fair: For stately stepping Juno's pace, By Galate did take disgrace; And Pallas' wisdom bear no prize, Where Galate would shew her wise. This gallant girl thus passeth by Where Tityrus did sighing lie: More than sighs from Lover's veins, Here lies he that here must die: For Love is death, if Love not gain, Lover's salve for Lover's pain. Winters seven and more are past, Since on thy face my thoughts I cast: When every eye did stand at gaze, When heart and thought did both amaze: When heart from body would asunder, On Galate's fair face to wonder: Then amongst them all did I Catch such a wound as I must die: If Galate oft say not thus, I love the shepherd Tityrus. 'Tis Love, fair Nymph, that doth pain Tityrus thy truest swain; True, for none more true can be, Then still to love, and none but thee. "Twere pity Love should have a nay: Or with a piercing frown reply, I cannot live, and then I die, For Lover's nay, is Lover's death! And heart-break frowns doth stop the breath. Galate at this arose, And with a smile away she goes, As one that little car'd to ease Tityrus, pain'd with Love's disease. At her parting, Tityrus Sighed amain, and said thus: "O that women are so fair, To trap mens' eyes in their hair, With beauteous eyes, Love's fires, Venus' sparks that heats desires: But, oh! that women have such hearts, Such thoughts, and such deep piercing darts, As in the beauty of their eye, Harbour nought but flattery: Their tears are drawn that drop deceit, Their faces calends of all sleight, Their smiles are lures, their looks guile, And all their love is but a wile! With that he hied him to the flocks, And counted Love but Venus' mocks. THE SONG OF A COUNTRY SWAIN AT THE RETURN OF PHILADOR. From the same. THE silent shade had shadowed every tree, And Phoebus in the west was shrouded low: When thus, All things did from their weary labour lin, Menalcas sate and thought him of his sin. |