You gentle Nymphs! that on these meadows play,
And oft relate the loves of Shepherds young;
Come, sit you down! For if you please to stay,
Now may you hear an uncouth Passion sung!
A Lad there is, and I am that poor Groom;
That's fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom!
O do not smile at sorrow, as a jest!
With others' cares, good natures movèd be;
And I should weep, if you had my unrest!
Then, at my grief, how can you merry be?
Ah, where is tender pity now become?
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!
I, that have oft, the rarest features viewed,
And Beauty in her best perfection seen;
I, that have laughed at them that love pursued,
And ever free from such affections been:
Lo, now at last, so cruel is my doom!
I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!
My heart is full nigh bursting with Desire;
Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:
My breast doth burn, but She that lights the fire,
I never saw, nor can I come to know.
So great a bliss, my fortune keeps me from;
That though I dearly love, I know not whom!
Ere I had twice four Springs renewed seen,
The force of Beauty I began to prove;
And ere I nine years old had fully been,
It taught me how to frame a Song of Love,
And little thought I, this day should have come,
Before that I, to love had found out whom!
For on my chin, the mossy down you see!
And in my veins, well heated blood doth glow!
Of Summers I have seen twice three times three;
And fast, my youthful time away doth go!
That much I fear, I agèd shall become,
And still complain, I love, I know not whom!
O, why had I a heart bestowed on me,
To cherish dear affections, so inclined?
Since I am so unhappy born to be
No Object, for so true a Love to find.
When I am dead, it will be missed of some;
Yet, now I live, I love, I know not whom!
I to a thousand beauteous Nymphs am known!
A hundred Ladies' favours do I wear!
I, with as many, half in love am grown;
Yet none of them, I find, can be my Dear!
Methinks, I have a Mistress yet to come!
Which makes me sing, I love, I know not whom!
There lives no Swain doth stronger Passion prove
For her, whom most he covets to possess;
Than doth my heart, that being full of love
Knows not to whom it may the same profess!
For he that is despised, hath sorrow some;
But he hath more, that loves, and knows not whom!
Knew I my Love, as many others do,
To some one object might my thoughts be bent!
So they divided, should not wandering go
Until the Soul's united force be spent.
As his, that seeks and never finds a home,
Such is my rest, that love, and know not whom!