With more despairing sorts of madrigals, With more enchanted fits of lunacy, Than I, whom Love, whom sweet and bitter Love Now lorn with liking overmuch my love, DITTY. OBSCURE and dark is all the gloomy air, The curtain of the night is overspread; * An empty-headed foolish fellow-from a peascod shell, called, in some country dialects, a swad. E Disquiet thoughts the minutes of her watch. For showers of gold, there Discontent in black SONNET. IN Cyprus sat fair Venus by a fount, She kissed the wag, her darling of account; The boy 'gan blush, which when his lover see, She smiled, and told him love might challenge debt, And he was young, and might be wanton yet. The boy waxed bold, fired by fond desire, That woo he could and court her with conceit: Reason spied this, and sought to quench the fire With cold disdain; but wily Adon straight Cheered up the flame, and said, 'Good sir, what let? I am but young, and may be wanton yet.' Reason replied, that beauty was a bane To such as feed their fancy with fond love, Where Venus strikes with beauty to the quick, It little 'vails sage Reason to reply; Few are the cares for such as are love-sick, But love: then, though I wanton it awry, And play the wag, from Adon this I get, I am but young, and may be wanton yet. SONNET. IN ANSWER TO THE PRECEDING. THE Siren Venus nourished in her lap Fair Adon, swearing whiles he was a youth The guerdon that such lawless lust ensu'th; Mars in his youth did court this lusty dame, He won her love; what might his fancy let He was but young? at last, unto his shame, Vulcan entrapped them slily in a net, And called the Gods to witness as a truth, A lecher's fault was not excused by youth. If crooked age accounteth youth his spring, The spring, the fairest season of the year, Enriched with flowers, and sweets, and many a thing, That fair and gorgeous to the eyes appear; It fits that youth, the spring of man, should be 'Riched with such flowers as virtue yieldeth thee. SONNET. AIR is my love, for April in her face, FAIR Her lovely breasts September claims his part, And lordly July in her eyes takes place, But cold December dwelleth in her heart: Blest be the months, that set my thoughts on fire, Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes; As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death: In pomp sits mercy seated in her face; Love'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint Her eyes shine favour, courtesy, and grace; But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. SONNET. PHILLIS kept sheep along the western plains, A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire, Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, He little knew to paint a tale of love, Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say: Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove What uncouth grief poor Coridon did pay; She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care. The shepherd blushed when Phillis questioned so, And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks; "Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe, My thoughts are trapped within thy lovely locks, Thine eye hath pierced, thy face hath set on fire; 'Can shepherds love?' said Phillis to the swain; 'Such saints as Phillis,' Coridon replied; 'Men when they lust can many fancies feign,' Said Phillis; this not Coridon denied, "That lust had lies, but love,' quoth he, 'says truth; Thy shepherd loves,-then, Phillis, what ensu'th?' Phillis was won, she blushed and hung the head; This love begun and ended both in one; FROM PANDOSTO.* THE PRAISE OF FAWNIA. AH, were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand, That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, Then knew I where to seat me in a land, Under wide heavens, but yet [I know] not such. Pandosto. The Triumph of Time. Wherein is discovered by a pleasant history, that although by the means of sinister fortune truth may be concealed, yet by time, in spite of fortune, it is most manifestly revealed. Pleasant for age to avoid drowsy thoughts, profitable for youth to eschew other wanton pastimes, and bringing to both a desired content. Temporis filia veritas. By Robert Greene, Master of Arts in Cambridge. Omne tulit punctura qui miscuit utile dulci. 1588. |