406
Additional Notes to the
Ignoto.
I Loue thee not for sacred chastitie,
Who loues for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I loue thee not for thy sweete modestie,
Which makes thee in perfections throane to sit.
Who loues for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I loue thee not for thy sweete modestie,
Which makes thee in perfections throane to sit.
I loue thee not for thy inchaunting eye,
Thy beautie[’s] rauishing perfection:
I loue thee not for vnchast luxurie,
Nor for thy bodies faire proportion.
Thy beautie[’s] rauishing perfection:
I loue thee not for vnchast luxurie,
Nor for thy bodies faire proportion.
I loue thee not for that my soule doth daunce,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of thine:
Give Musicall and graceful vtterance,
To some (by thee made happie) poet’s line.
And leap with pleasure when those lips of thine:
Give Musicall and graceful vtterance,
To some (by thee made happie) poet’s line.
I loue thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? faire sweet[,] for all.
But wilt thou know wherefore? faire sweet[,] for all.
(Compare Thomas Carew’s “O my dearest,” in Westm. Droll., i. 91.) Wit’s Interpreter keeps much closer to the original than our version in W. D., and indeed gives true readings where the “Ignoto” is wrong. Guilding my Saint (not Oiling); Buss thy fist (not fill), &c. Finally, it reads “jerk thee soundly.” An obliging correspondent (W. G. Medlicott, of Long Meadow, Massachusetts) drew our attention to this. Third verse reads:—
Sweet wench[,] I loue thee, yet I wil not sue,
Or shew my loue as muskie Courtiers doe,
Ile not carouse a health to honor thee,
In this same bezling drunken curtesie:
and when als quafde, eate vp my bowsing glasse.
In glory that I am thy seruile asse.
Nor wil I weare a rotten burbon locke,
as some sworne pesant to a female smock.
wel featurde lasse, Thou knowest I loue the[e] deare[,]
Yet for thy sake I wil not bore mine eare. [,]
To hang thy durtie silken shoo[-]tires there.
nor for thy loue wil I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied collours in my bonnet stiche.
but by the chaps of hell to do thee good,
Ile freely spend my Thrise decocted bloud.
Or shew my loue as muskie Courtiers doe,
Ile not carouse a health to honor thee,
In this same bezling drunken curtesie:
and when als quafde, eate vp my bowsing glasse.
In glory that I am thy seruile asse.
Nor wil I weare a rotten burbon locke,
as some sworne pesant to a female smock.
wel featurde lasse, Thou knowest I loue the[e] deare[,]
Yet for thy sake I wil not bore mine eare. [,]
To hang thy durtie silken shoo[-]tires there.
nor for thy loue wil I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied collours in my bonnet stiche.
but by the chaps of hell to do thee good,
Ile freely spend my Thrise decocted bloud.
— 32.
