Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam.
About this Item
Title
Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam.
Publication
At London :: Printed by I. R[oberts] for Iohn Flasket, and are to be sold in Paules Church-yard, at the signe of the Beare,
1600.
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Subject terms
English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700 -- Early works to 1800.
Pastoral poetry, English -- Early works to 1800.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16273.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Englands Helicon Casta placent superis, pura cum veste venite, et manibus puris sumite fontis aquam." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16273.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 3, 2024.
Pages
¶Perigot and Cuddies Roundelay.
IT fell vpon a holy-Eue,hey hoe holy-day:When holy-Fathers wont to shriue,now ginneth this Roundelay.Sitting vpon a hill so hie,hey hoe the hie hill:The while my flocke did feede thereby,the while the Sheepheards selfe did spill.
I saw the bouncing Bellybone,hey hoe Bonny-bell:Tripping ouer the Dale alone,shee can trip it very well.Well decked in a Frock of gray,hey hoe gray is greete:And in a Kirtle of greene Say,the greene is for Maydens meete.
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A Chaplet on her head she wore,hey hoe the Chaplet:Of sweet Violets therein was store,she's sweeter then the Violet.My Sheepe did leaue their wonted food,hey hoe silly Sheepe:And gaz'd on her as they were wood,vvood as he that did them keepe.
As the Bony-lasse passed by,hey hoe Bony-lasse:Shee rold at me with glauncing eye,as cleare as the Christall-glasse.All as the Sunnie-beame so bright,hey hoe the Sun-beame:Glaunceth from Phoebus face forth right,so loue into my hart did streame.
Or as the thunder cleaues the clouds,hey hoe the thunder:Wherein the lightsome leuin shrouds,so cleaues my soule a-sunder.Or as Dame Cinthias siluer ray,hey hoe the moone-light:Vpon the glistering vvaue doth play,such play is a pitteous plight.
The glaunce into my hart did glide,hey hoe the glider:There-with my soule was sharply gride,such wounds soone wexen wider.Hasting to raunch the arrow out,hey hoe Perigot:I left the head in my hart roote,it was a desperate shot.
There it rankleth aye more and more,hey hoe the arrow:
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Ne can I finde salue for my sore,loue is a curelesse sorrow.And though my bale with death I bought,hey hoe heauie cheere:Yet should thilke lasse not from my thought,so you may buy gold too deere.
But whether in painfull loue I pine,hey hoe pinching paine:Or thriue in wealth, she shall be mine,but if thou can her obtaine.And if for gracelesse greefe I dyehey hoe gracelesse greefe:Witnesse, she slew me with her eye,let thy folly be the preefe.
And you that saw it, simple sheepe,hey hoe the faire flocke:For priefe thereof my death shall weepe,and moane with many a mocke.So learn'd I loue on a holy-Eue,hey hoe holy-day:That euer since my hart did greeue,now endeth our Roundelay.
Edm. Spencer.
FINIS.
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