Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE ENTREATING HIM ... IN THE CONTINUATION OF BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS, by NICHOLAS BRETON


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ODE ENTREATING HIM ... IN THE CONTINUATION OF BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Willy, see but how the swains
Last Line: Thy muse keeps his, not her own holiday.
Subject(s): Browne, William (1591-1645)


WILLY, see but how the swains
Mourn thy silence on the plains,
And do sadly pace along,
'Cause they cannot hear thy song;
Roget grieves: these notes would hear
Fain which ravish'd erst his ear,
And to hear thy song alway
In his prison would he stay
With most willingness than be
Depriv'd thereof, though set free.
He and Cuddy, that blithe swain,
Whose flocks feed on yonder plain,
Would be glad their skill to try
At your opportunity,
And though sent to be one tome,
They would undergo thy doom,
And be glad to yield to thee,
To whom is due all victory.
'Tis their wish each place could tell
Thy conquests like Saint Dunstan's well,
And that thy pipe would sound so well,
As 't whilom did in thick same dell.
Doridon mourns 'cause his sweet
Guided is not by thy feet
To her haven of wish'd joy,
But is left to all annoy
By thy cruelty; he fears
Lest by this she's drown'd in tears.
Old swains would die, could they have
Thee but write upon their grave
Sith afford thou wilt not all
Once to hear thy pastoral.
Each shepherdess doth lament,
'Cause thou art their discontent,
And had it been another lad
Which their wakes thus hinder'd had
They'd revenge it, and with speed
Discard his silent oaten reed,
But thy former lays have got
Thee praises ne'er to be forgot,
Therefore they forbear to spoil
Thy pipe which hath given the foil
To opposers; nor would be
Cruel to thy pipe or thee.
All the swains are yonder set
On the hillock, and are met
To celebrate Pan's festival
With some pleasing madrigal;
But they're dumb, and so will be,
'Less that thou augment their glee;
For their custom's at this feast,
Here 'mongst shepherds that the best
Must begin, and then each one
Follows till they all have done.
Why dost then thy music linger,
And suppress theirs? they would finger
Willingly their pipes; they stay
But till thou thy lesson play.
Hie thee, Willy, hie apace,
With all speed to the place
Where the shepherds are set round,
Waiting there till thy pipe sound
At thy tuning; when thy lay
Thou hast ended, they will play;
For which art brave Thetis shall
Crown with praise thy madrigal,
And Pan himself shall always be
A patron to thy Muse and thee,
When that he knows in this her matchless lay
Thy Muse keeps his, not her own holiday.





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