|
| | SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC
| I.
| IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
| That liked of her master as well as well might be,
| Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
| Her fancy fell a-turning.
|
| Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
| To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
| To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
| Unto the silly damsel!
|
| But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain
| That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
| For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
| Alas, she could not help it!
|
| Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
| Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:
| Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
| For now my song is ended.
|
| II.
| On a day, alack the day!
| Love, whose month was ever May,
| Spied a blossom passing fair,
| Playing in the wanton air:
| Through the velvet leaves the wind
| All unseen, gan passage find;
| That the lover, sick to death,
| Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
| 'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow;
| Air, would I might triumph so!
| But, alas! my hand hath sworn
| Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
| Vow, alack! for youth unmeet:
| Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
| Thou for whom Jove would swear
| Juno but an Ethiope were;
| Turning mortal for thy love.'
|
| III.
| My flocks feed not,
| My ewes breed not,
| My rams speed not,
| All is amiss:
| Love's denying,
| Faith's defying,
| Heart's renying,
| Causer of this.
| All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
| All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
| Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
| There a nay is placed without remove.
| One silly cross
| Wrought all my loss;
| O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
| For now I see
| Inconstancy
| More in women than in men remain.
| In black mourn I,
| All fears scorn I,
| Love hath forlorn me,
| Living in thrall:
| Heart is bleeding,
| All help needing,
| O cruel speeding,
| Fraughted with gall.
| My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal;
| My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
| My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd
| Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
| My sighs so deep
| Procure to weep,
| In howling wise, to see my doleful plight.
| How sighs resound
| Through heartless ground,
| Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
| Clear wells spring not,
| Sweet birds sing not,
| Green plants bring not
| Forth their dye;
| Herds stand weeping,
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
|