But golden laws, like these, Which nature wrote. doth please. That's lawful which Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sate lovers, without conflict, without shame, And nymphs and shepherds fings, Mixing in wanton fort Whisperings with songs, then kisses with the fame Which from affection came. The naked virgin then Her rofes fresh reveals, Which now her veil conceals. The tender apples in her bosom seen, And oft in rivers clear The lovers with their loves conforting were. Honour! thou first didft close The spring of all delight, Denying water to the amorous thirst. Thou taught'ft fair eyes to lose The glory of their light, Restrain'd from men, and on themselves re vers'd. Thou, in a lawn didst first Those golden hairs incase Late spread unto the wind. Thou madeft loofe grace unkind, Gav'ft bridle to their words, art to their pace. Oh honour! it is thou Who mad'ft that stealth which love does free allow, It is thy work that brings Our griefs and torments thus. But, thou fierce lord of nature and of love, The qualifier of kings, What doft thou here with us That are below thy power, shut from above? Go, and from us remove, Trouble the mighty's fleep, Let us neglected, bafe, Live ftill without thy grace, And th' use of th' ancient happy ages keep! Let's love! this life of ours Can make no truce with Time, that all devours. N. BRETON. The following pieces are extracted from England's Helicon. ON A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORYDON. On a hill there grows a flower, In that bow'r there is a chair, That ever eye did yet behold. It is Phillis, fair and bright, She that Venus did despite, And did blind her little boy. Who would not this face admire? O fair eyes, yet let me fee One good look, and I am gone : Look on me, for I am he, Thy poor filly Corydon. Thou, that art the fhepherd's queen, Look upon thy filly fwain; By thy comfort have been seen Dead men brought to life again. PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. In the merry month of May, Phillida and Corydon. Much ado there was, God wot, She faid, never man was true; He faid, he had lov'd her long; Such as feely fhepherds use When they will not love abuse; THE SHEPHERD's ADDRESS тo is MUSE. GOOD mufe, rock me asleep Sweet love, begone a while, Beauty is born but to beguile See how my little flock, That lov'd to feed on high, Do headlong tumble down the rock, The bushes and the trees, That were so fresh and green, Do all their dainty colours leefe, And not a leaf is feen. |