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Генри Констебле/ Henry Constable
| Damelus' Song To Diaphenia Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly, White as the sun, fair as the lily, Heigh ho, how I do love thee! I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams- How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me! Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets incloses, Fair sweet, how I do love thee! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power, For, dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia, like to all things blessed, When all thy praises are expressed, Dear joy, how I do love thee! As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king,- Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! My lady's presence makes the roses red My lady's presence makes the roses red, Because to see her lips they blush for shame. The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became, And her white hands in them this envy bred. The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread, Because the sun's and her power is the same. The violet of purple colour came. Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed. In brief: all flowers from her their virtue take; From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed; The living heat which her eyebeams doth make Warmeth the ground and quickeneth the seed. The rain, wherewith she watereth the flowers, Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers. On the Death of Sir Philip Sidney Give pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries, If they, importune, interrupt thy song, Which now with joyful notes thou sing'st among The angel-quiristers of th' heavenly skies. Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes, That since I saw thee now it is so long, And yet the tears that unto thee belong To thee as yet they did not sacrifice. I did not know that thou wert dead before; I did not feel the grief I did sustain; The greater stroke astonisheth the more; Astonishment takes from us sense of pain; I stood amazed when others' tears begun, And now begin to weep when they have done. | |
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