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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A04673 The affectionate shepheard Containing the complaint of Daphnis for the loue of Ganymede. Barnfield, Richard, 1574-1627. 1594 (1594) STC 1480; ESTC S114397 18,807 58

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The Affectionate Shepheard Containing the Complaint of Daphnis for the loue of Ganymede Amor plus mellis quam fellis est LONDON Printed by Iohn Danter for T. G. and E. N. and are to bee sold in Saint Dunstones Church-yeard in Fleetstreet 1594. To the Right Excellent and most beautifull Lady the Ladie PENELOPE RITCH FAyre louely Ladie vvhose Angelique eyes Are Uestall Candles of sweet Beauties Treasure Whose speech is able to inchaunt the wise Conuerting Ioy to Paine and Paine to Pleasure Accept this simple Toy of my Soules Dutie Which I present vnto thy matchles Beautie And albeit the gift be all too meane Too meane an Offring for thine Iuorie Shrine Yet must thy Beautie my iust blame susteane Since it is mortall but thy selfe diuine Then Noble Ladie take in gentle vvorth This new-borne Babe which here my Muse brings forth Your Honours most affectionate and perpetually deuoted Shepheard DAPHNIS The Teares of an affectionate Shepheard sicke for Loue. OR The Complaint of Daphnis for the Loue of Ganimede SCarce had the morning Starre hid from the light Heauens crimson Canopie with stars bespangled But I began to rue th' vnhappy sight Of that faire Boy that had my hart intangled Cursing the Time the Place the sense the sin I came I saw I viewd I slipped in If it be sinne to loue a sweet-fac'd Boy Whoseamber locks trust vp in golden tramels Dangle adowne his louely cheekes with ioy When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels If it be sinne to loue a louely Lad Oh then sinne I for whom my soule is sad His Iuory-white and Alablaster skin Is staind throughout with rare Vermillion red Whose twinckling starrie lights doe neuer blin To shine on louely Uenus Beauties bed But as the Lillie and the blushing Rose So white and red on him in order growes Vpon a time the Nymphs bestird them-selues To trie who could his beautie soonest win But he accounted them but all as Elues Except it were the saire Queene Guendolen Her he embrac'd of her was beloued With plaints he proued and with teares he moued But her an Old-Man had beene sutor too That in his age began to doate againe Her would he often pray and often woo When through old-age enfeebled was his Braine But she before had lou'd a lustie youth That now was dead the cause of all her ruth And thus it hapned Death and Cupid met Vpon a time at swilling Bacchus house Where daintie cates vpon the Boord were set And Goblets full of wine to drinke carouse Where Loue and Death did loue the licor so That out they fall and to the fray they goe And hauing both their Quiuers at their backe ●ild full of Arrows Th' one of fatall steele The other all of gold Deaths shaft was black But Loues was yellow Fortune turnd her wheele And from Deaths Quiuer fell a fatall shaft That vnder Cupid by the winde was waft And at the same time by ill hap there fell Another Arrow out of Cupids Quiuer The which was carried by the winde at will And vnder Death the amorous shaft did shiuer They being parted Loue tooke vp Deaths dart And Death tooke vp Loues Arrow for his part Thus as they wandred both about the world At last Death met with one of feeble age Wherewith he drew a shaft and at him hurld The vnknowne Arrow with a furious rage Thinking to strike him dead with Deaths blacke dart But he alas with Loue did wound his hart This was the doting foole this was the man That lou'd faire Guendolena Queene of Beautie Shee cannot shake him off doo what she can For he hath vowd to her his soules last duety Making him trim vpon the holy-daies And crownes his Loue with Garlands made of Baies Now doth he stroke his Beard and now againe He wipes the driuel from his filthy chin Now offers he a kisse but high Disdaine Will not permit her hart to pity him Her hart more hard than Adamant or steele Her hart more changeable than Fortunes wheele But leaue we him in loue vp to the eares And tell how Loue behau'd himselfe abroad Who seeing one that mourned still in teares a young-man groaning vnder Loues great Load Thinking to ease his Burden rid his paines For men haue griefe as long as life remaines Alas the while that vnawares he drue The fatall shaft that Death had dropt before By which deceit great harme did then insue Stayning his face with blood and filthy goare His face that was to Guendolen more deere Than loue of Lords or any lordly Peere This was that faire and beautifull young-man Whom Guendolena so lamented for This is that Loue whom she doth curse and ban Because she doth that dismall chaunce abhor And if it were not for his Mothers sake Euen Ganimede himselfe she would forsake Oh would shee would forsake my Ganimede Whose sugred loue is full of sweete delight Vpon whose fore-head you may plainely reade Loues Pleasure grau'd in yuorie Tables bright In whose faire eye-balls you may clearely see Base Loue still staind with foule indignitie O would to God he would but pitty mee That loue him more than any mortall wight Then he and I with loue would soone agree That now cannot abide his Sutors sight O would to God so I might haue my fee My lips were honey and thy mouth a Bee Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower That now is ripe and full of honey-berries Then would I leade thee to my pleasant Bower Fild full of Grapes of Mulberries and Cherries Then shouldst thou be my Waspe or else my Bee I would thy hiue and thou my honey bee I would put amber Bracelets on thy wrests Crownets of Pearle about thy naked Armes And when thou sitst at swilling Bacchus feasts My lips with charmes should saue thee from all harmes And when in sleepe thou tookst thy chiefest Pleasure Mine eyes should gaze vpon thine eye-lids Treasure And euery Morne by dawning of the day When Phoebus riseth with a blushing face Siluanus Chappel-Clarkes shall chaunt a Lay And play thee hunts-vp in thy resting place My Coote thy Chamber my bosome thy Bed Shall be appointed for thy sleepy head And when it pleaseth thee to walke abroad Abroad into the fields to take fresh ayre The Meades with Floras treasure should be strowde The mantled meaddowes and the fields so fayre And by a siluer Well with golden sands I le sit me downe and wash thine yuory hands And in the sweltring heate of summer time I would make Cabinets for thee my Loue Sweet-smelling Arbours made of Eglantine Should be thy shrine and I would be thy Doue Coole Cabinets of fresh greene Laurell boughs Should shadow vs ore-set with thicke-set Eughes Or if thou list to bathe thy naked limbs Within the Christall of a Pearle-bright brooke Paued with dainty pibbles to the brims Or cleare wherein thy selfe thy selfe mayst looke Wee le goe to Ladon whose still trickling noyse Will lull thee fast asleepe
blind-seeing Boy How canst thou hit their harts and yet not see If thou be blinde as thou art faind to bee A Shepheard loues no ill but onely thee He hath no care but onely by thy causing Why doost thou shoot thy cruell shasts at mee Giue me some respite some short time of pausing Still my sweet Loue with bitter lucke th' art sawcing Oh if thou hast a minde to shew thy might Kill mightie Kings and not a wretched wight Yet O Enthraller of infranchizd harts At my poore hart if thou wilt needs be ayming Doo me this fauour show me both thy Darts That I may chuse the best for my harts mayming A free consent is priuiledgd from blaming Then pierce his hard hart with thy golden Arrow That thou my wrong that he may rue my sorrow But let mee feele the force of thy lead Pyle What should I doo with loue when I am old I know not how to flatter fawne or smyle Then stay thy hand O cruell Bow-man hold For if thou strik'ft me with thy dart of gold I sweare to thee by Ioues immortall curse I haue more in my hart than in my purse The more I weepe the more he bends his Brow For in my hart a golden Shaft I finde Cruell vnkinde and wilt thou leaue me so Can no remorce nor pittie moue thy minde Is Mercie in the Heauens so hard to finde Oh then it is no meruaile that on earth Of kinde Remorce there is so great a dearth How happie were a harmles Shepheards life If he had neuer knowen what Loue did meane But now fond Loue in euery place is rife Staining the purest Soule with spots vncleane Making thicke purses thin fat bodies leane Loue is a fiend a fire a heauen a hell Where pleasure paine and sad repentance dwell There are so manie Danaes now a dayes That loue for lucre paine for gaine is sold No true affection can their fancie please Except it be a Ioue to raine downe gold Into their laps which they wyde open hold If legempone comes he is receau'd When Uix haud habeo is of hope bereau'd Thus haue I showed in my Countrey vaine The sweet Content that Shepheards still inioy The mickle pleasure and the little paine That euer doth awayte the Shepheards Boy His hart is neuer troubled with annoy He is a King for he commaunds his Sheepe He knowes no woe for he doth seldome weepe He is a Courtier for he courts his Loue He is a Scholler for he sings sweet Ditties He is a Souldier for he wounds doth proue He is the same of Townes the shame of Citties He scornes false Fortune but true Vertue pitties He is a Gentleman because his nature Is kinde and affable to euerie Creature Who would not then a simple Shepheard bee Rather than be a mightie Monarch made Since he inioyes such perfect libertie As neuer can decay nor neuer fade He seldome sits in dolefull Cypresse shade But liues in hope in ioy in peace in blisse Ioying all ioy with this content of his But now good-fortune lands my little Boate Vpon the shoare of his desired rest Now must I leaue awhile my rurall noate To thinke on him whom my soule loueth best He that can make the most vnhappie blest In whose sweete lap I le lay me downe to sleepe And neuer wake till Marble-stones shall weepe FINIS SONNET Loe here behold these tributarie Teares Paid to thy faire but cruell tyrant Eyes Loe here the blossome of my youthfull yeares Nipt with the fresh of thy Wraths winter dyes Here on Loues Altar I doo offer vp This burning hart for my Soules sacrifice Here I receaue this deadly-poysned Cu Of Circe charm'd wherein deepe Magickelyes Then Teares if you be happie Teares indeed And Hart if thou be lodged in his brest And Cup if thou canst helpe despaire with speed Teares Hart and Cup conioyne to make me blest Teares moue Hart win Cup cause ruth loue desire In word in deed by moane by zeale by fire FINIS THE COMPLAINT OF CHASTITIE Briefely touching the cause of the death of Matilda Fitzwalters an English Ladie sometime loued of King Iohn after poysoned The Storie is at large written by Michael Dreyton YOV modest Dames inricht with Chastitie Maske your bright eyes with Vestaes sable Vaile Since few are left so faire or chast as shee Matter for me to weepe you to bewaile For manie seeming so of Vertue faile Whose louely Cheeks with rare vermilion tainted Can neuer blush because their faire is painted O faire-foule Tincture staine of Woman-kinde Mother of Mischiefe Daughter of Deceate False traitor to the Soule blot to the Minde Vsurping Tyrant of true Beauties seate Right Cousner of the eye lewd Follies baite The flag of filthines the sinke of shame The Diuells dye dishonour of thy name Monster of Art Bastard of bad Desier Il-worshipt Idoll false Imagerie Ensigne of Vice to thine owne selfe a lier Silent Inchaunter mindes Anatomie Sly Bawd to Lust Pandor to Infamie Slaunder of Truth Truth of Difsimulation Staining our Clymate more than anie Nation What shall I say to thee thou scorne of Nature Blacke spot of sinne vylde lure of lecherie Iniurious Blame to euerie faemale creature Wronger of time Broker of trecherie Trap of greene youth false Womens witcherie Hand-maid of pride high-way to wickednesse Yet path-way to Repentance nerethelesse Thou dost entice the minde to dooing euill Thou setst dissention twixt the man and wife A Saint in show and yet indeed a deuill Thou art the cause of euerie common strife Thou art the life of Death the death of Life Thou doost betray thy selfe to Infamie When thou art once discerned by the eye Ah little knew Matilda of thy being Those Times were pure from all impure complection Then Loue came of Desert Desire of seeing Then Vertue was the mother of Affection But Beautie now is vnder no subiection Then women were the same that men did deeme But now they are the same they doo not seeme What faemale now intreated of a King With gold and iewels pearles and precious stones Would willingly refuse so sweete a thing Onely for a little show of Vertue ones Women haue kindnes grafted in their bones Gold is a deepe-perswading Orator Especially where few the fault abhor But yet shee rather deadly poyson chose Oh cruell Bane of most accursed Clime Than staine that milke-white Mayden-virgin Rose Which shee had kept vnspotted till that time And not corrupted with this earthly slime Her soule shall liue inclosd eternally In that pure shrine of Immortality This is my Doome and this shall come to passe For what are Pleasures but still-vading ioyes Fading as flowers brittle as a glasse Or Potters Clay crost with the least annoyes All things in this life are but trifling Toyes But Fame and Vertue neuer shall decay For Fame is Toomblesse Vertue liues for aye FINIS Hellens Rape OR A light Lanthorne for light Ladies Written in English Hexameters LOuely a Lasse so loue da Lasse