The Shepheards delight.
To the tune of Frog galiar
[...]
ON yonder hill there springs a flower
faire befall those dainty swéetes:
And by that flower there stands a bower,
Where all the heauenly Muses méets.
And in that Bower there stands a chaire,
fringed all about with golde,
And therein sits the fairest face,
that euer did mine eyes behold.
It was
Philida faire and bright,
and the shepheards on
[...]ly ioy:
She whom
Venus did most spight,
and the blinded little boy.
It was she the wisest rich,
whom all the World did ioy to see,
It was
Ipse qui the which,
there was none but only shee.
Thou art the shepheards Quéene,
pitty me thy wofull Swaine,
For by thy vertue hath been séen
dead men restorde to life againe.
Looke on me with thy faire eyes,
one smiling looke and I am gon:
Looke on me for I am he,
thy poore afflicted
Coridon.
Dead am I to all delights,
except thy mercy quicken mee:
Graunt oh Quéene of else I die,
a Psalme for this my melody.
The while we sing with chearefull noise
Wood Nymphes & Satyres al may play
With siluer sounding Musickes voyce,
reioysing at this happy day.
W. T.
FINIS.
A pleasant new Ballad of DAPHNE.
To a new Tune.
WHen
Daphne from fair
Phebu did flie,
the West wind most sweetly
Did blow in her face:
Her silken scarfe scarse shadowed her eyes,
The gods cride O pitty, & held her in chase:
Stay Nymph, stay Nymph cries
Apollo,
Larry and turne thee, sweet Nymph stay,
Lyon nor Lyger do
[...] thée follow.
turne thy faire eyes and looke this way,
O turne, O pretty swéet,
And let our red lips meet:
Pitty O
Daphne, pitty O pitty me,
pitty O
Daphne pitty me.
She gaue no eare vnto his crie,
But still did neglect him the more he did mone
He still did entreate, she still did deny:
And earnestly praies him to leaue her alone,
Neuer, neuer cries
Apollo,
Unlesse to loue thou doe consent,
But still with my voyce so hollow,
I'le crie to thee while life be spent,
But if thou turne to me,
I will praise thy felicity,
Pitty O
Daphne, pitty, O pitty me,
pitty O
Daphne pitty me.
Away like
Venus Downe she flies,
The red bloud her buskins did run all adown
Her plaintife Loue she now denies,
Crying, helpe, helpe
Diana, & saue my renown
Wanton, wanton lust is neare me,
Would and chast
Diana heare,
Let the earth a virgin beare me,
or deuoure me quicke a maid.
Summer pure heard her pray,
Pitty O
Daphe, pitty O pitty me,
pitty O
Daphne pitty me.
Amazed stood
Apollo then,
When he beheld
Daphne turnd as she desired
Accursed am I aboue Gods and men,
With griefe & laments my sences are tired,
Farewell false
Daphne most vnkind,
My loue is buried in this graue,
Long haue I sought loue, yet loue could not finde,
Therefore this is my Epithite,
This trée doth
Daphne couer,
That neuer pittied Louer,
Farewell faise
Daphne that would not pitty
nor be my Loue, yet art thou my frée. me,
FINIS,
Imprinted at London for I. W.