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