The Affectionate Shepherd | Page 5

cubs,
With two yong
whelps, to make thee sport withall,
A golden racket, and a tennis-ball.
A guilded nutmeg, and a race of ginger,
A silken girdle, and a
drawn-worke band,
Cuffs for thy wrists, a gold ring for thy finger,

And sweet rose-water for thy lilly-white hand;
A purse of silke,

bespangd with spots of gold,
As brave a one as ere thou didst behold.
A paire of knives, a greene hat and a feather,
New gloves to put upon
thy milk-white hand,
Ile give thee, for to keep thee from the weather,

With phoenix feathers shall thy face be fand,
Cooling those
cheekes, that being cool'd wexe red,
Like lillyes in a bed of roses
shed.
Why doo thy corall lips disdaine to kisse,
And sucke that sweete
which manie have desired?
That baulme my bane, that meanes would
mend my misse,
Oh, let me then with thy sweete lips b'inspired!

When thy lips touch my lips, my lips will turne
To corall too, and,
being cold yce, will burne.
Why should thy sweete love-locke hang dangling downe,
Kissing thy
girdle-stud with falling pride?
Although thy skin be white, thy haire
is browne:
Oh, let not then thy haire thy beautie hide!
Cut off thy
locke, and sell it for gold wier:
The purest gold is tryde in hottest fier.
Faire long-haire-wearing Absolon was kild,
Because he wore it in a
braverie:
So that which gracde his beautie, Beautie spild,
Making
him subject to vile slaverie,
In being hangd: a death for him too good,

That sought his owne shame and his father's blood.
Againe we read of old king Priamus,
The haplesse syre of valiant
Hector slaine,
That his haire was so long and odious
In youth, that
in his age it bred his paine:
For if his haire had not been halfe so long,

His life had been, and he had had no wrong.
For when his stately citie was destroyd,
That monument of great
antiquitie,
When his poore hart, with griefe and sorrow cloyd,
Fled
to his wife, last hope in miserie;
Pyrrhus, more hard than adamantine
rockes,
Held him and halde him by his aged lockes.
These two examples by the way I show,
To prove th' indecencie of

men's long haire:
Though I could tell thee of a thousand moe,
Let
these suffice for thee, my lovely faire,
Whose eye's my starre, whose
smiling is my sunne,
Whose love did ende before my joyes begunne.
Fond love is blinde, and so art thou, my deare,
For thou seest not my
love and great desart;
Blinde love is fond, and so thou dost appeare,

For fond and blinde, thou greevst my greeving hart:
Be thou
fond-blinde, blinde-fond, or one, or all,
Thou art my love, and I must
be thy thrall!
Oh lend thine yvorie forehead for loves booke,
Thine eyes for candles
to behold the same;
That when dim-sighted ones therein shall looke,

They may discerne that proud disdainefull dame;
Yet claspe that
booke, and shut that cazement light,
Lest, th'one obscurde, the other
shine too bright.
Sell thy sweet breath to th' daintie musk-ball makers,
Yet sell it so as
thou mayst soone redeeme it:
Let others of thy beauty be pertakers,

Else none but Daphnis will so well esteeme it.
For what is beauty,
except it be well knowne?
And how can it be knowne, except first
showne?
Learne of the gentlewomen of this age,
That set their beauties to the
open view,
Making disdaine their lord, true love their page,
A
custome zeale doth hate, desert doth rue:
Learne to looke red, anon
waxe pale and wan,
Making a mocke of love, a scorne of man.
A candle light, and cover'd with a vaile,
Doth no man good, because
it gives no light;
So Beauty of her beauty seemes to faile,
When
being not seene it cannot shine so bright:
Then show thyselfe and
know thyselfe withall,
Lest climing high thou catch too great a fall.
Oh foule eclipser of that fayre sun-shine,
Which is intitled Beauty in
the best,
Making that mortall, which is els divine,
That staines the

fayre which women steeme not least:
Get thee to Hell againe, from
whence thou art,
And leave the center of a woman's hart.
Ah be not staind, sweet boy, with this vilde spot,
Indulgence daughter,
mother of Mischaunce;
A blemish that doth every beauty blot,
That
makes them loath'd, but never doth advaunce
Her clyents, fautors,
friends, or them that love her,
And hates them most of all, that most
reprove her.
Remember age, and thou canst not be prowd,
For age puls downe the
pride of every man;
In youthfull yeares by Nature tis allowde
To
have selfe-will, doo Nurture what she can;
Nature and Nurture once
together met,
The soule and shape in decent order set.
Pride looks aloft, still staring on the starres,
Humility looks lowly on
the ground;
Th' one menaceth the gods with civill warres,
The other
toyles till he have Vertue found.
His thoughts are humble, not
aspiring hye,
But Pride looks haughtily with scornefull eye.
Humillity is clad in modest weedes,
But Pride is brave and glorious to
the show;
Humillity his friends with kindnes feedes,
But Pride his
friends in neede will never know,
Supplying not their wants, but them
disdaining,
Whilst they to pitty never neede