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The Passionate Pilgrime.
139
Yet in the mids of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her othes, her teares, and all were jestings.
Her faith, her othes, her teares, and all were jestings.
She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth,
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth:
She fram'd the love, and yet she foyld the framing,
She bad love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Was this a lover, or a Letcher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth:
She fram'd the love, and yet she foyld the framing,
She bad love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Was this a lover, or a Letcher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.
If Musicke and sweet Poetry agree,
As they must needs (the Sister and the Brother)
Then must the love be great twixt thee and me,
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is deer, whose heavenly tuch
Upon the Lute, doth ravish human sense:
Spenser to me, whose deep Conceit is such,
As passing all Conceit, needs no Defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound,
That Phœbus Lute (the Queen of Musick) makes:
And I in deep Delight am chiefly drown'd,
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One God is God of both (as Poets faine)
One Knight loves both, and both in thee remaine.
As they must needs (the Sister and the Brother)
Then must the love be great twixt thee and me,
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is deer, whose heavenly tuch
Upon the Lute, doth ravish human sense:
Spenser to me, whose deep Conceit is such,
As passing all Conceit, needs no Defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound,
That Phœbus Lute (the Queen of Musick) makes:
And I in deep Delight am chiefly drown'd,
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One God is God of both (as Poets faine)
One Knight loves both, and both in thee remaine.
Fair was the morn, when the fair Queen of love,
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white Dove,
For Adons sake, a youngster proud and wild,
Her stand she takes upon a steep up hill.
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds,
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white Dove,
For Adons sake, a youngster proud and wild,
Her stand she takes upon a steep up hill.
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds,
She
