What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.
O Cupid! so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee.

-THOM. LODGE (1558?-1625)

THE HERDMAN'S HAPPY LIFE

What pleasure have great princes
More dainty to their choice
Than herdmen wild, who careless
In quiet life rejoice?

And fortune's fate not fearing,
Sing sweet in summer morning.

Their dealings plain and rightful,

Are void of all deceit;

They never know how spiteful

It is to kneel and wait

On favourite presumptuous,

Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.

All day their flocks each tendeth,

At night they take their rest,

More quiet than who sendeth

His ship into the east,

Where gold and pearl are plenty, But getting very dainty.

For lawyers and their pleading,

They 'steem it not a straw;

They think that honest meaning,

Is of itself a law;

Where conscience judgeth plainly, They spend no money vainly.

Oh, happy who thus liveth!

Not caring much for gold;

With clothing which sufficeth,

To keep him from the cold. Though poor and plain his diet, Yet merry it is and quiet.

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OUT OF M. BIRD'S SET SONGS

And we will sit upon the rocks,

Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sings madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,

And a thousand fragrant posies,

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A cap of flowers and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:

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A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delights each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
- CHR. MARLOW (1564-1593)

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE
SHEPHERD

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time 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.

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THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS

LOVE

Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountains yields.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee and be thy love.

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IGNOTO