Classic Poem

Once in the shade, when she by sleep repos'd,
And her clear eyes 'twixt her fair lids enclos'd,
The shepherd swain began to hate and curse
That day unfortunate, which was the nurse
Of all his sorrows. He had given breath
And life to her which was his cause of death.
O Æsop's snake, that thirstest for his blood,
From whom thyself receiv'd'st a certain good.
Thus oftentimes unto himself alone
Would he recount his grief, utter his moan;
And after much debating, did resolve
Rather his grandame Earth should clean involve
His pining body, ere he would make known
To her, what tares love in his breast had sown.
Yea, he would say when grief for speech hath cried,
" 'Tis better never ask than be denied. "
But as the queen of rivers, fairest Thames,
That for her buildings other floods enflames
With greatest envy; or the Nymph of Kent,
That stateliest ships to sea hath ever sent;
Some baser groom, for lucre's hellish course,
Her channel having stopp'd, kept back her source,
(Fill'd with disdain) doth swell above her mounds,
And overfloweth all the neighb'ring grounds,
Angry she tears up all that stops her way,
And with more violence runs to the sea:
So the kind shepherd's grief (which long up-pent
Grew more in power, and longer in extent)
Forth of his heart more violently thrust,
And all his vow'd intentions quickly burst.
Marina, hearing sighs, to him drew near,
And did entreat his cause of grief to hear;
But had she known her beauty was the sting
That caused all that instant sorrowing,
Silence in bands her tongue had stronger kept,
And sh'ad not ask'd for what the shepherd wept.
The swain first, of all times, this best did think
To show his love, whilst on the river's brink
They sat alone, then thought, he next would move her
With sighs and tears (true tokens of a lover);
And since she knew what help from him she found
When in the river she had else been drown'd,
He thinketh sure she cannot but grant this,
To give relief to him by whom she is;
By this incited, said: Whom I adore,
Sole mistress of my heart, I thee implore,
Do not in bondage hold my freedom long.
And since I life or death hold from your tongue,
Suffer my heart to love; yea, dare to hope
To get that good of love's intended scope,
Grant I may praise that light in you I see,
And dying to myself, may live in thee.
Fair nymph, surcease this death-alluring languish,
So rare a beauty was not born for anguish.
Why shouldst thou care for him that cares not for thee?
Yea, most unworthy wight, seems to abhor thee.
And if he be as you do here paint forth him,
He thinks you, best of beauties, are not worth him;
That all the joys of love will not quite cost
For all lov'd freedom which by it is lost.
Within his heart such self-opinion dwells,
That his conceit in this he thinks excels;
Accounting women's beauties sugar'd baits,
That never catch but fools with their deceits,
" Who of himself harbours so vain a thought,
Truly to love could never yet be brought. "
Then love that heart where lies no faithless seed,
That never wore dissimulation's weed:
Who doth account all beauties of the spring,
That jocund summer days are ushering,
As foils to yours. But if this cannot move
Your mind to pity, nor your heart to love,
Yet, sweetest, grant me love to quench that flame,
Which burns you now. Expel his worthless name,
Clean root him out by me, and in his place
Let him inhabit that will run a race
More true in love. It may be for your rest.
And when he sees her, who did love him best,
Possessed by another, he will rate
The much of good he lost, when 'tis too late:
" For what is in our powers we little deem,
And things possess'd by others best esteem. "
If all this gain you not a shepherd's wife,
Yet give not death to him which gave you life.