ANONYMOUS (SCOTTISH)

QUHEN Flora had o’erfret the firth In May of every moneth queen; Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirth Sweet melling in the shawis sheen; Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene And most desirous of their prey, I heard a lusty luvar mene —‘I luve, but I dare nocht assay!’ ‘Strong are the pains I daily prove, But yet with patience I sustene, I am so fetterit with the luve Only of my lady sheen, Quhilk for her beauty micht be queen, Nature so craftily alway Has done depaint that sweet serene: —Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay. ‘She is so bricht of hyd and hue, I luve but her alone, I ween; Is none her luve that may eschew, That blinkis of that dulce amene; So comely cleir are her twa een That she mae luvaris dois affray Than ever of Greece did fair Helene: —Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay!’

O LUSTY May, with Flora queen! The balmy dropis from Phoebus sheen Preluciand beams before the day: By that Diana growis green Through gladness of this lusty May. Then Esperus, that is so bricht, Til woful hairtis castis his light, With bankis that bloomis on every brae; And schouris are shed forth of their sicht Through gladness of this lusty May. Birdis on bewis of every birth, Rejoicing notis makand their mirth Richt plesantly upon the spray, With flourishingis o’er field and firth Through gladness of this lusty May. All luvaris that are in care To their ladies they do repair In fresh morningis before the day, And are in mirth ay mair and mair Through gladness of this lusty May.

MY heart is high above, my body is full of bliss, For I am set in luve as well as I would wiss I luve my lady pure and she luvis me again, I am her serviture, she is my soverane; She is my very heart, I am her howp and heill, She is my joy invart, I am her luvar leal; I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command; I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand; The thing that may her please my body sall fulfil; Quhatever her disease, it does my body ill. My bird, my bonny ane, my tender babe venust, My luve, my life alane, my liking and my lust! We interchange our hairtis in others armis soft, Spriteless we twa depairtis, usand our luvis oft. We mourn when licht day dawis, we plain the nicht is short, We curse the cock that crawis, that hinderis our disport. I glowffin up aghast, quhen I her miss on nicht, And in my oxter fast I find the bowster richt; Then languor on me lies like Morpheus the mair, Quhilk causes me uprise and to my sweet repair. And then is all the sorrow forth of remembrance That ever I had a-forrow in luvis observance. Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead, Quhen that I list to test the well of womanheid. Luvaris in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid As I have nicht and day, you to defend from deid! Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free, And they will on you rue as mine has done on me.

GIVE place, you ladies, and begone! Boast not yourselves at all! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all. The virtue of her lively looks Excels the precious stone; I wish to have none other books To read or look upon. In each of her two crystal eyes Smileth a naked boy; It would you all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy. I think Nature hath lost the mould Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could So fair a creature make. She may be well compared Unto the Phœnix kind, Whose like was never seen or heard, That any man can find. In life she is Diana chaste, In troth Penelopey; In word and eke in deed steadfast. —What will you more we say? If all the world were sought so far, Who could find such a wight? Her beauty twinkleth like a star Within the frosty night. Her rosial colour comes and goes With such a comely grace, More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, Within her lively face. At Bacchus’ feast none shall her meet, Ne at no wanton play, Nor gazing in an open street, Nor gadding as a stray. The modest mirth that she doth use Is mix’d with shamefastness; All vice she doth wholly refuse, And hateth idleness. O Lord! it is a world to see How virtue can repair, And deck in her such honesty, Whom Nature made so fair. Truly she doth so far exceed Our women nowadays, As doth the jeliflower a weed; And more a thousand ways. How might I do to get a graff Of this unspotted tree? —For all the rest are plain but chaff, Which seem good corn to be. This gift alone I shall her give; When death doth what he can, Her honest fame shall ever live Within the mouth of man. ? by John Heywood

SHALL I thus ever long, and be no whit the neare? And shall I still complain to thee, the which me will not hear? Alas! say nay! say nay! and be no more so dumb, But open thou thy manly mouth and say that thou wilt come: Whereby my heart may think, although I see not thee, That thou wilt come—thy word so sware—if thou a live man be. The roaring hugy waves they threaten my poor ghost, And toss thee up and down the seas in danger to be lost. Shall they not make me fear that they have swallowed thee? —But as thou art most sure alive, so wilt thou come to me. Whereby I shall go see thy ship ride on the strand, And think and say Lo where he comes and Sure here will he land:

AND then I shall lift up to thee my little hand, And thou shalt think thine heart in ease, in health to see me stand. And if thou come indeed (as Christ thee send to do!) Those arms which miss thee now shall then embrace [and hold] thee too: Each vein to every joint the lively blood shall spread Which now for want of thy glad sight doth show full pale and dead. But if thou slip thy troth, and do not come at all, As minutes in the clock do strike so call for death I shall: To please both thy false heart and rid myself from woe, That rather had to die in troth than live forsaken so!

WHILE that the sun with his beams hot Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon the shepherd, late forgot, Sitting beside a crystal fountain In shadow of a green oak tree, Upon his pipe this song play’d he: Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. So long as I was in your sight I was your heart, your soul, your treasure; And evermore you sobb’d and sigh’d Burning in flames beyond all measure: —Three days endured your love to me, And it was lost in other three! Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Another shepherd you did see, To whom your heart was soon enchainèd; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtainèd. Soon came a third your love to win, And we were out and he was in. Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Sure you have made me passing glad That you your mind so soon removèd, Before that I the leisure had To choose you for my best belovèd: For all my love was pass’d and done Two days before it was begun. Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

CRABBÈD Age and Youth Cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age’s breath is short; Youth is nimble, Age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and Age is tame. Age, I do abhor thee; Youth, I do adore thee; O, my Love, my Love is young! Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee! For methinks thou stay’st too long.

Phyllida. Corydon, arise, my Corydon! Titan shineth clear. Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon? Who is it that I hear? Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee, Arise then, arise then, Arise and keep thy flock with me! Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she? I come then, I come then, I come and keep my flock with thee. Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon; Eat them for my sake. Cor. Here’s my oaten pipe, my lovely one, Sport for thee to make. Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk, To knit thee, to knit thee, A pair of stockings white as milk. Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, To make thee, to make thee, A bonnet to withstand the heat. Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon, To set in thy cap. Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one, To put in thy lap. Phyl. I will buy my true love garters gay, For Sundays, for Sundays, To wear about his legs so tall. Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say, For Sundays, for Sundays, To wear about her middle small. Phyl. When my Corydon sits on a hill Making melody— Cor. When my lovely one goes to her wheel, Singing cheerily— Phyl. Sure methinks my true love doth excel For sweetness, for sweetness, Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. Cor. And methinks my true love bears the bell For clearness, for clearness, Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon, Been, alack! her swain— Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one, Been in Ida plain—

Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused, Preferring, preferring, My Corydon to play withal. Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused Bequeathing, bequeathing, My Phyllida the golden ball. Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon! Whither shall I fly? Cor. Under yonder beech, my lovely one, While she passeth by. Phyl. Say to her thy true love was not here; Remember, remember, To-morrow is another day. Cor. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear; Farewell then, farewell then! Heaven keep our loves alway!

FINE knacks for ladies! cheap, choice, brave, and new, Good pennyworths—but money cannot move: I keep a fair but for the Fair to view— A beggar may be liberal of love. Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true, The heart is true. Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again; My trifles come as treasures from my mind: It is a precious jewel to be plain; Sometimes in shell the orient’st pearls we find:— Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain! Of me a grain!

HEY nonny no! Men are fools that wish to die! Is’t not fine to dance and sing When the bells of death do ring? Is’t not fine to swim in wine, And turn upon the toe, And sing hey nonny no! When the winds blow and the seas flow? Hey nonny no!

YET if His Majesty, our sovereign lord, Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say ‘I’ll be your guest to-morrow night,’ How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work! ‘Let no man idle stand! ‘Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall; See they be fitted all; Let there be room to eat And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright, That without tapers they may give a light. ‘Look to the presence: are the carpets spread, The dazie o’er the head, The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs? Perfume the chambers, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place!’ Thus, if a king were coming, would we do; And ’twere good reason too; For ’tis a duteous thing To show all honour to an earthly king, And after all our travail and our cost, So he be pleased, to think no labour lost. But at the coming of the King of Heaven All’s set at six and seven; We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. We entertain Him always like a stranger, And, as at first, still lodge Him in the manger.

HIERUSALEM, my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of the Saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. There lust and lucre cannot dwell, There envy bears no sway; There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, But pleasure every way. Thy walls are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarks diamonds square; Thy gates are of right orient pearl, Exceeding rich and rare. Thy turrets and thy pinnacles With carbuncles do shine; Thy very streets are paved with gold, Surpassing clear and fine. Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. Quite through the streets, with silver sound, The flood of Life doth flow; Upon whose banks on every side The wood of Life doth grow. There trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There evermore the angels sit, And evermore do sing. Our Lady sings Magnificat With tones surpassing sweet; And all the virgins bear their part, Sitting about her feet. Hierusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see!

LOVE wing’d my Hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high: For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take. But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Enamour’d sought to woo the sun’s fair light, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorch’d and consumed with fire now drown’d in woe they lie. And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though fate frownèd, And now drownèd They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heav’n for whose fair love they fell.

MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty’s self she is When all her robes are gone.

AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated With prayers oft repeated! Yet still my love is thwarted: Heart, let her go, for she’ll not be converted— Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted. How often have my sighs declared my anguish, Wherein I daily languish! Yet still she doth procure it: Heart, let her go, for I can not endure it— Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. But shall I still a true affection owe her, Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, And shall she still disdain me? Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me— Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. But if the love that hath and still doth burn me No love at length return me, Out of my thoughts I’ll set her: Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her! Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! Fix’d in the heart, how can the heart forget her?

WEEP you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven’s sun doth gently waste! But my Sun’s heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at even he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes! Melt not in weeping, While she lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping.

I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advancèd so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare: She made her sighs to sing, And all things with so sweet a sadness move As made my heart at once both grieve, and love. O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: Tears kill the heart, believe. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.

SISTER, awake! close not your eyes! The day her light discloses, And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See the clear sun, the world’s bright eye, In at our window peeping: Lo, how he blusheth to espy Us idle wenches sleeping! Therefore awake! make haste, I say, And let us, without staying, All in our gowns of green so gay Into the Park a-maying!

FAIN would I change that note To which fond Love hath charm’d me Long, long to sing by rote, Fancying that that harm’d me: Yet when this thought doth come, ‘Love is the perfect sum Of all delight,’ I have no other choice Either for pen or voice To sing or write. O Love! they wrong thee much That say thy sweet is bitter, When thy rich fruit is such As nothing can be sweeter. Fair house of joy and bliss, Where truest pleasure is, I do adore thee: I know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, And fall before thee.

SINCE first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye; If now I be disdainèd I wish my heart had never known ye. What? I that loved and you that liked, shall we begin to wrangle? No, no, no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle. If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me; Or if my hands had stray’d but a touch, then justly might you leave me. I ask’d you leave, you bade me love; is’t now a time to chide me? No, no, no, I’ll love you still what fortune e’er betide me. The Sun, whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder, And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder: Where beauty moves and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me, There, O there! where’er I go I’ll leave my heart behind me!

THERE is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die. Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die. Cupid is wingèd and doth range, Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet will I love her till I die.

LOVE not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for a constant heart: For these may fail or turn to ill, So thou and I shall sever: Keep, therefore, a true woman’s eye, And love me still but know not why— So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever!

ON a time the amorous Silvy Said to her shepherd, ‘Sweet, how do ye? Kiss me this once and then God be with ye, My sweetest dear! Kiss me this once and then God be with ye, For now the morning draweth near.’ With that, her fairest bosom showing, Op’ning her lips, rich perfumes blowing, She said, ‘Now kiss me and be going, My sweetest dear! Kiss me this once and then be going, For now the morning draweth near.’ With that the shepherd waked from sleeping, And spying where the day was peeping, He said, ‘Now take my soul in keeping, My sweetest dear! Kiss me and take my soul in keeping, Since I must go, now day is near.’