Song

FOR her gait if she be walking,

  Be she sitting I desire her

  For her state's sake, and admire her

For her wit if she be talking:

  Gait and state and wit approve her;

  For which all and each I love her.

Be she sullen, I commend her

  For a modest; be she merry,

  For a kind one her prefer I.

Briefly, everything doth lend her

  So much grace and so approve her

  That for everything I love her.

William Browne of Tavistock

Gentle Nymphs, Be Not Refusing

GENTLE nymphs, be not refusing,

Love's neglect is Time's abusing,

  They and Beauty are but lent you,

Take the one and keep the other;

Love keeps fresh what age doth smother;

  Beauty gone, you will repent you.

'Twill be said when ye have proved,

Never swains more truly loved;

  Oh then, fly all nice behaviour.

Pity fain would, as her duty,

Be attending still on Beauty,

  Let her not be out of favour.

                from Britannia's Pastorals

William Browne of Tavistock

So Shuts the Marigold Her Leaves

SO shuts the marigold her leaves

  At the departure of the sun;

So from the honeysuckle sheaves

  The bee goes when the day is done;

So sits the turtle when she is but one,

And so all woe, as I since she is gone.

To some few birds kind Nature hath

  Made all the summer as one day;

Which once enjoyed, cold winter's wrath

  As night they sleeping pass away.

Those happy creatures are that know not yet

The pain to be deprived or to forget.

I oft have heard men say there be

  Some that with confidence profess

The helpful Art of Memory;

  But could they teach forgetfulness

I'd learn, and try what further art could do

To make me love her and forget her too.

                from Britannia's Pastorals

William Browne of Tavistock

As I Have Seen Upon A Bridal Day

[The Birth of the River Tavis]

  AS I have seen upon a bridal day

Full many maids clad in their best array,

In honour of the bride come with their flaskets

Filled full with flowers: others in wicker baskets

Bring from the marish* rushes to o'erspread           [marsh]

The ground whereon to church the lovers tread;

Whilst that the quaintest youth of all the plain

Ushers their way with many a piping strain:

So, as in joy at this fair river's* birth,              [the river Tavis]

Triton came up a channel with his mirth,

And called the neighboring nymphs each in her turn

To pour their pretty rivulets from their urn.

To wait upon this new-delivered spring,

Some running through the meadows, with them bring

Cowslip and mint; and 'tis another's lot

To light upon some gardener's curious knot,

Whence she upon her breast, love's sweet repose,

Doth bring the queen of flowers, the English Rose.

Some from the fen bring reeds, wild thyme from downs;

Some from a grove the bay that poets crowns;

Some from an aged rock the moss hath torn,

And leaves him naked unto winter's storm;

Another from her banks, in mere goodwill,

Brings nutriment for fish, the camomile.

Thus all bring somewhat, and do overspread

The way the spring unto the sea doth tread.

                 from Britannia's Pastorals

William Browne of Tavistock

A Round

NOW that the Spring hath filled our veins

  With kind and active fire,

And made green liveries for the plains,

  And every grove a choir;

Sing we a song of merry glee,

  And Bacchus fill the bowl.

Then here's to thee! And thou to me

  And every thirsty soul.

Nor care nor sorrow e'er paid debt,

  Nor never shall do mine;

I have no cradle going yet,

  Not I, by this good wine.

No wife at home to send for me,

  No hogs are in my ground,

No suit at law to pay a fee;

  Then round, old jockey, round!

Shear sheep that have them, cry we still,

  But see that no man 'scape

To drink of the sherry

That makes us so merry,

  And plump as the lusty grape.

William Browne of Tavistock

Shall I Love Again

SHALL I love again, and try

  If I still must love to lose,

And make weak mortality

  Give new birth unto my woes?

No, let me ever live from Love's enclosing,

Rather than love to live in fear of losing.

One whom hasty Nature gives

  To the world without his sight,

Not so discontented lives,

  As a man deprived of light;

'Tis knowledge that gives vigour to our woe,

And not the want but loss that pains us so.

With the Arabian bird then be

  Both the lover and beloved;

Be thy lines thy progeny

  By some gracious fair approved;

So may'st thou live, and be beloved of many,

Without the fear of loss or want of any.

William Browne of Tavistock

Welcome, Welcome, Do I Sing"

WELCOME, welcome, do I sing,

  Far more welcome than the spring;

He that parteth from you never

  Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

Love, that to the voice is near,

  Breaking from your iv'ry pale,

Need not walk abroad to hear

  The delightful nightingale.

     Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.

Love, that looks still on your eyes

  Though the winter have begun

To benumb our arteries,

  Shall not want the summer's sun.

     Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.

Love, that still may see your cheeks

  Where all rareness still reposes,

Is a fool if e'er he seeks

  Other lilies, other roses.

     Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.

Love, to whom your soft lip yields,

  And perceives your breath in kissing,

All the odours of the fields

  Never, never shall be missing.

     Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.

Love, that question would anew

  What fair Eden was of old,

Let him rightly study you

  And a brief of that behold.

     Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.

William Browne of Tavistock

On the Dowager Countess of Pembroke

UNDERNEATH this sable hearse

Lies the subject of all verse,

Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother;

Death, ere thou hast slain another

Fair and learned and good as she,

Time shall throw a dart at thee.

William Browne of Tavistock

A Rose As Fair As Ever Saw The North

A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the north,

Grew in a little garden all alone;

A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth,

Nor fairer garden yet was never known.

The maidens danced about it more and more,

And learned bards of it their ditties made;

The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon

Watered the root and kissed her pretty shade.

But well-a-day, the gardener careless grew,

The maids and fairies both were kept away,

And in a drought the caterpillars threw

Themselves upon the bud and every spray.

  God shield the stock! if Heaven send no supplies,

  The fairest blossom of the garden dies.

William Browne of Tavistock

Down In A Valley By A Forest's Side

DOWN in a valley, by a forest's side,

Near where the crystal Thames rolls on her waves,

I saw a mushroom stand in haughty pride,

As if the lilies grew to be his slaves.

The gentle daisy, with her silver crown,

Worn in the breast of many a shepherd's lass;

The humble violet, that lowly down

Salutes the gay nymphs as they trimly pass:

These, with many more, methought, complained

That Nature should those needless things produce,

Which not alone the sun from others gained,

But turn it wholly to their proper use.

  I could not choose but grieve that Nature made

  So glorious flowers to live in such a shade.

William Browne of Tavistock