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NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPARD
If all the
world and love were young,
truthin every sheperd's tongue,
pretty pleasures might me move
live with thee and be they love.
the flocks from field to fold
rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
Philomel becometh dumb;
rest complains of cares to come.
do fade, and wanton fields
wayward winter reckoning yields;
honey tongue, a heart of gall,
fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
cap, thy kittle, and thy posies
break, soon wither, soon forgotten -
folly ripe, in reason rotten.
The belt of
straw and ivy buds,
coral clasps and amber studs,
these in me no means can move
come to thee and be thy love.
youth last and love still breed,
joys no date nor age no need,
these delights my mind might move