The hardest steele with fier doth mend his misse,
Marble is mollifyde with drops of raine;
But thou (more hard than steele or marble is),
Doost scorne my teares, and my true love disdaine,
Which for thy sake shall everlasting bee,
Wrote in the annalls of eternitie.
By this, the night, (with darknes over-spred),
Had drawne the curtaines of her cole-blacke bed;
And Cynthia, muffling her face with a clowd,
(Lest all the world of her should be too proud)
Had taken conge of the sable night,
(That wanting her cannot be halfe so bright.)
When I, poore forlorn man and outcast creature,
(Despairing of my love, despisde of beautie),
Grew malecontent, scorning his lovely feature,
That had disdaind my ever zealous dutie:
I hy'd me homeward by the moone-shine light,
Foreswaring love, and all his fond delight.
FINIS.
THE SHEPHEARDS CONTENT, OR THE HAPPINES OF A HARMLES
LIFE. WRITTEN UPON OCCASION OF THE FORMER
SUBJECT.
Of all the kindes of common countrey life,
Methinkes a shepheards life is most content;
His state is quiet peace, devoyd of strife;
His thoughts are pure from all impure intent,
His pleasures rate sits at an easie rent;
He beares no mallice in his harmles hart,
Malicious meaning hath in him no part.
He is not troubled with th' afflicted minde,
His cares are onely over silly sheepe;
He is not unto jealozie inclinde,
(Thrice happie man) he knowes not how to weepe;
Whilst I the treble in deepe sorrowes keepe.
I cannot keepe the meane; for why (alas)
Griefes have no meane, though I for meane doe passe.
No briefes nor semi-briefes are in my songs,
Because (alas) my griefe is seldome short;
My prick-song's alwayes full of largues and longs,
(Because I never can obtaine the port
Of my desires: hope is a happie fort).
Prick song (indeed) because it pricks my hart;
And song, because sometimes I ease my smart.