The Serenade
I go a-courting of Amaryllis, and my goats they go browsing on along the hill with Tityrus to drive them on. My well-beloved Tityrus, pray feed me my goats; pray lead them to watering, good Tityrus, and beware or the buckgoat, the yellow Libyan yonder, will be butting you.
Beautiful Amaryllis, why peep you no more from your cave and call me in? Hate you your sweetheart? Can it be a near view hath shown him snub-nosed, Nymph, and over-bearded? I dare swear you'll be the death of me. See, here have I brought you half a score of apples plucked yonder where you bade me pluck them, and to-morrow I'll bring you as many again.
Look, ah! look upon me; my heart is torn with pain. I wish I were yon humming bee to thread my way through the ivy and the fern you do prink your cave withal and enter in! O now know I well what Love is. 'Tis a cruel god. I warrant you a she-lion's dugs it was he sucked and in a forest was reared, so doth he slow-burn me, aye, pierce me to the very bone. O Nymph of the pretty glance, but all stone; O Nymph of the dark dark eyebrow, come clasp thy goatherd that is so fain to be kissing thee. E'en in an empty kiss there's a sweet delight. You'll make me tear in pieces the ivy-wreath I have for you, dear Amaryllis; of rosebuds twined it is, and of fragrant parsley leaves.
Alas and well-a-day! what's to become of me? Ay me! you will not answer. I'll doff my plaid and go to Olpis watching-place for tunnies and leap from it into the waves; and if I die not, 'twill be through no fault of yours. I found it out t'other day; my thoughts were of you and whether or no you loved me, and when I played slap to see, the love-in-absence that should have stuck on, shrivelled up forthwith against the soft of my arm. Agroeo too, the sieve-witch that was out the other day a-simpling beside the harvesters, she spoke me true when she said you made me of none account, though I was all wrapt up in you. Marry, a white twinner-goat have I to give you, which that nut brown little handmaiden of Mermnon's is fain to get of me — and get her she shall, seeing you choose to play me the dainty therein.
Lo there! a twitch o' my right eye. Shall I be seeing her? I'll go lean me against yon pine-tree and sing awhile. It may be she'll look upon me then, being she's no woman of adamant.
When Schoenus' bride-race was begun,
Apples fell from one that run;
She looks, she's lost, and lost doth leap
Into love so dark and deep.
When the seer in's brother's name
With those kine to Pylus came,
Bias to the joy-bed hies
Whence sprang Alphesibee the wise.
When Adonis o'er the sheep
In the hills his watch did keep,
The Love-Dame proved so wild a wooer,
E'en in death she clips him to her.
O would I were Endymion
That sleeps the unchanging slumber on,
Or, Lady, knew thy Jasion's glee
Which profane eyes may never see! ...
My head aches sore, but 'tis nought to you. I'll make an end, and throw me down, aye, and stir not if the wolves devour me — the which I pray be as sweet honey in the throat to you.
Beautiful Amaryllis, why peep you no more from your cave and call me in? Hate you your sweetheart? Can it be a near view hath shown him snub-nosed, Nymph, and over-bearded? I dare swear you'll be the death of me. See, here have I brought you half a score of apples plucked yonder where you bade me pluck them, and to-morrow I'll bring you as many again.
Look, ah! look upon me; my heart is torn with pain. I wish I were yon humming bee to thread my way through the ivy and the fern you do prink your cave withal and enter in! O now know I well what Love is. 'Tis a cruel god. I warrant you a she-lion's dugs it was he sucked and in a forest was reared, so doth he slow-burn me, aye, pierce me to the very bone. O Nymph of the pretty glance, but all stone; O Nymph of the dark dark eyebrow, come clasp thy goatherd that is so fain to be kissing thee. E'en in an empty kiss there's a sweet delight. You'll make me tear in pieces the ivy-wreath I have for you, dear Amaryllis; of rosebuds twined it is, and of fragrant parsley leaves.
Alas and well-a-day! what's to become of me? Ay me! you will not answer. I'll doff my plaid and go to Olpis watching-place for tunnies and leap from it into the waves; and if I die not, 'twill be through no fault of yours. I found it out t'other day; my thoughts were of you and whether or no you loved me, and when I played slap to see, the love-in-absence that should have stuck on, shrivelled up forthwith against the soft of my arm. Agroeo too, the sieve-witch that was out the other day a-simpling beside the harvesters, she spoke me true when she said you made me of none account, though I was all wrapt up in you. Marry, a white twinner-goat have I to give you, which that nut brown little handmaiden of Mermnon's is fain to get of me — and get her she shall, seeing you choose to play me the dainty therein.
Lo there! a twitch o' my right eye. Shall I be seeing her? I'll go lean me against yon pine-tree and sing awhile. It may be she'll look upon me then, being she's no woman of adamant.
When Schoenus' bride-race was begun,
Apples fell from one that run;
She looks, she's lost, and lost doth leap
Into love so dark and deep.
When the seer in's brother's name
With those kine to Pylus came,
Bias to the joy-bed hies
Whence sprang Alphesibee the wise.
When Adonis o'er the sheep
In the hills his watch did keep,
The Love-Dame proved so wild a wooer,
E'en in death she clips him to her.
O would I were Endymion
That sleeps the unchanging slumber on,
Or, Lady, knew thy Jasion's glee
Which profane eyes may never see! ...
My head aches sore, but 'tis nought to you. I'll make an end, and throw me down, aye, and stir not if the wolves devour me — the which I pray be as sweet honey in the throat to you.
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