Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, UPON THE OCCASION OF READING HIS COMPLETE POEM; TO W. BROWNE, by SAMUEL HARDINGE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

UPON THE OCCASION OF READING HIS COMPLETE POEM; TO W. BROWNE, by                    
First Line: Cease, cease pierian dames
Last Line: Let sheep, birds, trees, winds, flowers, brooks, teach thee melt again.
Subject(s): Browne, William (1591-1645)


1.

CEASE, cease Pierian dames,
Be henceforth mute;
Leave of your wanton games;
Apollo's lute
Hath crack'd a string: it grates my ears,
'Tis harsh, as are the heavenly spheres:
List! Willie sings and tunes his oaten reed,
To whom all hearts, all ears do yield themselves as meed.

2.

Hark, hark, the jolly lad
So sweetly sings,
The vales as proud, as glad
The murmuring springs,
Both join to tell the neighbour hills
That there's no music like to Will's.
Echo enamour'd on the piping swain
Recovers (silly wretch!) her voice, repeats each strain.

3.

The bucksome shepherdess—
Hark! ha! no more?
Ah! what unhappiness
Was 't left us poor,
Bereft by thy neglected songs
Of life, of joy! tell, tell what wrongs,
What sad disaster (Willie) is betide,
That we thy lays (not yet half done) should be denied?

4.

What has some satyr rude,
Wode to those groves
His wily snares bestrew'd
To catch your loves?
To tempt a cred'lous shepherdess,
Who, crying out in her distress,
Has made you break or fling your pipe away,
Oh no! your charms would erst have made the monster stay.

5.

Or is your pipe ybroke,
And 'twill not sound?
Go, go unto the oak
By yonder mound:
Take Colin's pipe (there't hangs) in hand,
Or if not that you may command,
The whilom jolly swain's, Philisides.
But ah! your broken pipe will sound as well as these.

6.

Has subtle Reynard caught
A frisking lamb,
Or the fierce wolf distraught
The bleating dam
And you by rifling of their folds,
Which to regain your sport withholds?
Or has your lagging ewe a lambkin yean'd,
Which makes you cease your notes, and midwif'ry attend?

7.

Or did some shepherd's boy
(Thy lays are good,)
Nod's head or pause and coy,
He understood,
Not that it which he did so taunt
(If there were such), dull ignorant,
Or else despairing e'er to rise so high,
Would work thee, swain, from thy deserv'd supremacy.

8.

Did the round yesterday,
Which thou began'st
So merrily to play,
Thou them entranc'st?
O[r] did they raise thy worth so high,
And made thee blush for modesty?
Did they with garlands girt thy curled locks,
Call'd thee fine piper, while thou look'st all grief, for mocks?

9.

And would th' had woo'd thee too,
A second part,
'Cause from their promis'd vow
They 'gan to start:
In which th' hadst bound their seely swain,
Nor to commend nor praise thy vein,
Yet when they did begin (and who could spare?)
Thou cruel tor'st thy chaplets, and wouldst willow wear.

10.

See, cruel fair, see, see
Each shepherd's brow,
That wont to smile with glee,
Is tear-swoll'n now;
And pris'ning up their pearly wealth,
The straggling drops get out by stealth;
Yet could they hope to win thee for their prize,
To finish up thy song they'd bankrupt all their eyes.

11.

The pretty birds were mute
To hear thee sing;
And see the shepherd youth
All wantoning,
When having ceas'd thy notes all fitty,
They all reserv'd their mournful ditty.
Philomel, fearing 'tis her fate denies
Thy sweeter accents, falls into thy breast and dies.

12.

The winds, that erst were whist,
Begin to roar;
Each tree, your songs being miss'd,
Skreeks as before;
Each sprouting pansy in the mead
For grief begins to hang a head;
The weeping brook in grumbling tones glide[s] down,
Dimples its once sleek cheeks, and thanks you with a frown

13.

Come, come, let's hear your skill;
Ne'er say you can't.
What, are you angry still?
By Pan, you sha'n't.
Ne'er let your modesty deprive
Y' of what will keep your name alive,
Whilst o'er the curl'd-hair'd-Tavy's flowery side
There does on[e] shepherd lodge or seely sheep abide.

14.

Oh let not nice conceit,
You are too young,
That there are lands more feat
I' th' shepherds' throng,
Who better able are to distil
Their soul in sonnets at their will.
If still to me you be obdurate, then
Let sheep, birds, trees, winds, flowers, brooks, teach thee melt again.





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