Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN ECOLOGE BETWEN A SHEPHEARDE AND A HEARDMAN, by ARTHUR GORGES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN ECOLOGE BETWEN A SHEPHEARDE AND A HEARDMAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Cumme gentle heardman sitt with mee
Last Line: Flye from thy carefull headd.
Subject(s): Daphne (mythology)


S

Cumme gentle Heardman sitt with mee
and tune thy Pype by myne
Heare underneth this wyllowe tree
too shylde the hoate sunnshyne
Wheare I have framde my sommers Bowre
for proofe of Phoebus beames
And deckte ytt upp with many a flowre
sweete seatted by thes streames
For Daphne evar once a daye
these flowringe bancks doth walke
And in hir bosome beares awaye
the pryde of many a stalke
Butt leaves the humble harte behynde
that would hir garlonds dyght
And Shee sweete sowle the more unkinde
too sett true love so lyght
Yett thoughe that others beare the Bell
as in hir favoure bleste
Hir Shephearde loveth hyr as well
as those whom Shee loves beste.

H

Alas poore Pastore nowe I fynde
thy love ys lodgd so hye
That of thy flockes thow haste no mynde
butt feadste a wanton Eye.
Yf dayntye Daphnes lookes besott
thy doatynge harts desyre
Bee sure that farr beyonde thy lott
thy lykinge doth aspire
To love so sweete a Nymphe as shee
and looke for love agayne
Is fortune fyttinge hygh degree
nott for a shephearde swayne
For shee of lordly ladds ys coyde
and soughte of greate Estates
Hir favoure scornes to be enjoyde
of us poore lowely mates
I reade the thearefore nowe be wyse
goe with me to our wake
Wheare lovely lasses bee nott nyce
theare lyke and chuse thy make
Wheare are nor Pearles nor golde to veue
nor pryde of sylken syghte
Butt Pettycoats of scarlett hue
that vayles the skynn snow white
And though the muske and ambar fyne
so lady lyke they cannot gett
Yet wyll th[e]y weare the sweete woodbyne
the prymerose and the vyolet
Theare truest Turtles bynn too gett
for love and lyttle coaste
Theare sweete desire ys payde his debte
and laboure seeldome loste

S

No heardman no thow raveste too lowde
our trade so vyle to holde
My weede as hyghe a hart doth shrowd
as his thats cladd in golde
And take for trothe that I the tell
thys songe fayre Daphne synges
That Cupyde will be searvde aswell
of Shepheards as of kynges
And dooth for proofe olde tales recorde
how Venus Queene of love
Woulde sett asyde hir warlyke lorde
and youthfull Pastors prove
How Parys was as well esteemd
a symple Shepheard Boye
As after when that he was deemd
kynge Pryams sonne of Troye
And thearefore have wee better hope
as hadd those laddes of yore
Our curadge takes as lardge a scope
althoughe theyr happ weare more
And for thow shalt nott deame I jeste
nor beare a mynde more base
No meaner hope shall haunte my breste
then dearest Daphnes grace
My mynde no other thoughts retaynes
myne Eye noughte els admyres
My harte no other passion straynes
nor other happ desires
My muse of nothynge els entreats
my Pype noughte els dothe sownde
My vaynes no other fevar heats
such faythe in Shepheards fownde

H

Ah shephearde then I see with greefe
thy care ys paste all cure
No remedye for thy releefe
butt patiently endure
Thy wonted lybertye is fledd
fond fancye breeds thy bane
Thy sence of folly brought abedd
thy witt ys in the wane
I cann butt sorrowe for thy sake
synce love lulls the asleepe
And tyll out of this dreame thow wake
God shylde thy strayinge sheepe
Thy happlesse flocks may rue and cursse
this prowde desyre of thyne
Whose wreched plyght from bad too worsse
thy careles Eye will pyne
And even as they thy selfe lykewise
with them shalt weare and waste
To see the sprynge before thyn eyes
thow thyrstinge canst not taste
Content the thearefore with concayte
whilst others gayne the grace
And thynke thy fortune at the haight
to see butt Daphnes face
For though thy truthe deserveth well
rewarde above the reste
Thy happs shalbee but marks to tell
how other men are bleste
So gentle Shepheard farewell nowe
bee warned by my reade
For I see written in thy browe
thy harte for love doth bleade
Yet longer with the woulde I staye
yf oughte myght do the goode
Butt nothinge cann the heat delaye
wheare love enflames the blood
S

Then Heardman synce it is my lott
and my good lykinge suche
Stryve not to loose the faythfull knott
that thyncks no paynes to muche
For what contents my Daphne best
I nevar will dyspise
So Shee but wishe my sowle good reste
when death shall close myne Eyes
Adyeue good heardgrome once agayne
for nowe the day is fledd

H

So mought thy cares poore Shepheards swayn
flye from thy carefull headd.





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