Selected quad for the lemma: love_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A12603
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An excellent sonnet: or, The swaines complaint whose cruell doome, it was to love hee knew not whom. To the tune of, Bodkins Galiard.
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Wither, George, 1588-1667.
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1633
(1633)
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STC 22925; ESTC S102999
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1,741
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2
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An Excellent Sonnet OR The Swaines complaint whose cruell doome It was to love hee knew not whom To the tune of Bodkins Galiard YOu gentle Nimphs that on the Meddowes play and oft relate the Loves of Shepheards young Come sit you downe if that you please to stay now may you heare an uncouth passion Song A Lad there is and I am that poore groome That 's fal'n in love and cannot tell with whom Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a jest with others cares good natures moved be And I should wéepe if you had my unrest then at my griefe how can you merry be Ah where is tender pitty now become I am in love and cannot tell with whom I that have oft the rarest features view'd and beauty in her best perfection séene I that have laugh't at them that love pursu'd and ever frée from such perfections béene Loe now at last so cruell is my doome I am in love and cannot tell with whom My heart is full nigh bursting with desire yet cannot tell from whence these longings flow My brest doth burne but she that light the fire I never saw nor can I come to know So great a blisse my fortune kéepes me from That though I dearely love I know not whom Ere I had twice foure Springs renewed séene the force of beauty I began to probe And ere I nine yéeres old had fully beene it taught me how to frame a sound 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 downe you sée and in my vaines well heated blood doth gloe Of Summers I have séene twice thrée times thrée and fast my youthfull time away doth goe That much I feare I aged shall become And still complaine I love I know not whom Oh why had I a heart bestow'd on me to cherish deare affections so inclin'd Since I am so unhâ—ppy borne to be no object for so true a love to find When I am dead it will be mist of some Yet now I live I love I know not whom I to a thousand beauteous Nimphs am knowne a hundred Ladies favours doe I sweare I with as many halfe in love am growne yet none of them I find can be my deare Me thinkes I have a Mistresse yet to come Which makes me sing I love I know not whom The second part To the same tune THere lives no swaine doth stronger passion probe for her whom most he covets to possesse Then doth my heart that being full of love knowes not to whom it may the same professe For he that is despisâ—d hath sorrow some But he hath more that loves knowes not whom Knew I my Love as many others doe to some one object might my thoughts be bent So they divided wandring should not goe untill the soules united force be spent As he that séekes and never findes a home Such is my rest that love and know not whom Those whom the frownes of jealous friends divide may live to méet and descant of their woe And he hath gain'd a Lady for his Bride that durst not wooe his Maide a while agoe But oh what ends unto my hopes can come That am in love and cannot tell with whom Poore Collin grieves that he was late disdain'd and Clores doth for Willies absence pine Sad Thirthes wéepes for his sicke Phebe pain'd but all their sorrowes cannot equall mine A greater care on me alas is come I am in love and cannot tell with whom Narcissus-like did I affect my shade some shadow yet I had to dote upon Or did I love some Image of the dead whose substance had not breathed long agoe I might despaire and so an end would come But oh I love and cannot tell with whom Once in a dreame me thought my love I view'd but never waking could her face behold And doubtlesse that resemblance was but shew'd that more my tired heart torment it should For since that time more griev'd I am become And more in love I cannot tell with whom When on my bed at night to rest I lye my watchfull eyes with teares bedew my chéekes And then oh would it once were day I cry yet when it comes I am as farre to séeke For who can tell though all the earth he rome Or when or where to finde he knowes not whom Oh if she be amongst the beauteous traines of all the Nimphs that haunt the severall Kills Or if you know her Ladies of the plaines or you that have your Bowers on the Hills Tell if you can who will my love become Or I shall die and never know for whom Printed at London for I. Wright dwelling in Gilt-spurre street neere New-gate FINIS