« 이전계속 »
And then may chaunce thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent,
To cause thy lovers sighe and swone;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast,
And ended is that we begonne;
Now is this song both song and past:
My lute, be still; for I have done.
PRISONER IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.
BY HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.*
uo cruell prison howe could betyde, aks!
As proude Windsor; where I, in lust and joy,
Wythe aKynges sonne,my chyldyshyeres dyd paste.
In greater feast than Priams sonhes of Troye;
Where eche swete place resurnes a tasl full sower: 5
The large grene court where we were wont to' hove,'
Wyth eyes cast up into the maydens tower,
And easy sighes, such as folkes draw in love;
The stately seates, the ladies brighte of hewe;
The daunces short, long tales of greate delight, 1 o
Wyth woordes and lookes, that tygers could but rewe,
Where eche of us dyd please the others ryghte;
The palme play, where despoyled for the game,
With dared eyes oft we by gleames of love,
Have myst the ball, and gote sighte of our dame, 15
To bayte her eyes, whyche kept the leads above;
The gravel ground, wythe sieves tyde on the helme
On fomyng horse, with swordes and friendly hartes;
Wythe chere as though one should another whelme,
Where we have fought, and chased oft with dartes; 29
* Born 15..; heheaded 1.546.
V. 6. tiove.
With silver droppes the meade yet spreade for ruthe, in active games of nimbleness and strength, Where we did strayne, trayned wyth swarmes of
Our tender limmes, that yet shot up in lengthe;
The secrete groves which ofte we made refounde,
Of pleasant playnte, and os our ladies pray fe, 26
Recordyng oft what grace eche one had founde,
What hope of spede, what dreade of long delayes;
The wylde forreste, the clothed * holtes' with grene,
With raynes availed, and swiftly breathed horse; 30
Wyth cry of houndes and merry Wastes betwene,
Where we did chase the feareful hart of force;
The wyde vales eke, that harborde us eche nyghte:
Wherewyth (alas) reviveth in my breste,
The swete accorde, such slepes as yet delyght; 35
The pleasant dreames, the quyet bed of reste;
The secret thoughtes imparted with such trust;
The wanton talke, the dyvers chaunge of playe;
The friendship sworne, eche promise kept so fast;
Wherewith we past the winter nyghte away. 40
And wyth thys thoughte, the bloud forsakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe,
The whyche as soone as sobbyng sighes (alas!)
Upsupped have, thus I my playnt renewe:
O place of blisse! renewer of my woes! 45
Give me accompt where is my noble fere,
Whom in thy walles thou doest eche nyghte enclose,
To other ' leefe,' but unto me most ' deere:'
V. sg. holes. V. 48. luse. clccrc.
Eccho (alas!) that doth my sorrow rewe,
Returns thereto a hollowe sounde of playnt; 59
Thus I alone, where all my freedome grewe,
In pryson pyne, wythe bondage and restraynt:
And with remembrance of the greater griefe
To banishe the lesle I fynd my chief reliefe.
DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE GERALDINE.
BY THE SAME.
s1 R o M Tuscane came my ladies worthy race,
Faire Florence was sometyme her auncient feate;
The Western yle whose pleasant more doth face
Wild Cambers cliss, did geve her lyuely heate;
Fostered she was with milke of Irishe brest; 5
Her sire, an erle, her dame, of princes blood;
From tender yeres in Britaine she doth rest,
With Kinges childe, where she tasteth costly foode.
Honsdon did sirst present her to myne yien:
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight; 10
Hampton me taught to wishe her sirst for mine,
And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her sight.
Her beauty of kinde, her vertue from above j
Happy is he that can obtain her love!
BY EDMUND SPENSER.*
J'N thisAeglogue, Colin Clout, a fbepheards boy. complaineth . himselfe of his .unfortunate loue, heeing hut newly fas it feemeth) enamoured of a countrey lajse called Rosalind: with ivhich strong ajseftion heing verie fore trauelled, hee compareth his cares ull cafe to the fad season of the yeere, to tkefroftie ground, to the frozen trees, and to his oiune Tvintcr-heaten f/ocke. And lastly, finding himfelfe rohhed of all former pleafance and delight, he hreaketh his pipe in peeces, and casteth himselfe to the ground.
A. Shepheards boy (no better doe him call), When Winters wastefull spight was almost spent,
All in a sunshine day, as did befall,
Led forth his flocke, that had been long ypent.
So faint they woxe, and feeble in the fold, 5
That now vnnethes their feet could them vphold.
• Born 1553; dyed 1598.