XII. "A PROPER NEW SONG MADE BY A STUDENT IN CAMBRIDGE." From the "Handefull of Pleasant Delites, 1584." I To the tune of,-I wish to see those happy days. WHO was once a happy wight, And high in fortune's grace : And who did spend my golden prime Am now enforst of late Contrariwise to mourn, Since Fortune joys into annoys The toiling ox, the horse, the ass, Yea, all things else which nature wrought, Sometimes have joys in breast: Save only I and such Who vexed are with pain; For still in tears my life it wears, How oft have I in folded arms But now to fortune's will I caused am to bow, And for to reap a hugie heap, Which youthfull years did sow. Wherefore, all ye which do as yet Remain, and bide behind, Whose eyes Dame Beauty's blazing beams, As yet did never bind: Example let me be To you and other more; Whose heavy heart hath felt the smart Take heed of gazing over much And under fairest flowers Do noisome adders lurk, Of whom take heed, I thee areed, What though that she doth smile on thee, Perchance she doth not love, And though she smack thee once or twice, She thinks thee so to prove, And when that thou dost think She loveth none but thee, She hath in store perhaps some more, Trust not therefore the outward shew, For good conditions do not lie Where is a pleasant face: But if it be thy chance, A lover true to have, Be sure of this, thou shalt not miss And when as thou (good reader) shalt Did write thee this of love, And of a zealous mind, Because that he sufficiently Hath tried the femal Here Cambridge now I bid farewell, Adieu to students all; Adieu unto the colleges, And unto Gunvil-hall: And you my fellows once, Pray unto Jove that I May have relief for this my grief, And that he shield you everichone To send you better grace, That modesty with honesty May guide your youthful race. [Finis quod Thomas Richardson, sometime Student in Cambridge.] XIII. ADDRESS TO A DISAPPOINTED LOVER, WEARING A WILLOW BRANCH. [From "the Muses Gardin for Delights," by Robert Jones, 1610.] I AM AM so farre from pittying thee, That wear'st a branch of willow tree, That I do envie thee and all, That once were high and got a fall: I would thou didst belong to mee. Thy wearing willow doth imply, For once thou wert where thou wouldst be, I doe defie both boughe and roote, Thou canst not make me more accurst. |