Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.

About this Item

Title
Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony.
Publication
London :: Printed [by Thomas Snodham] for Richard More, and are to be sould at his shop in S. Dunstanes Church-yard,
1614.
Rights/Permissions

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Subject terms
Pastoral poetry, English.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16274.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Englands Helicon. Or The Muses harmony." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16274.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 16, 2024.

Pages

¶The Shepheard Arsilius his Song to his Rebeck.

NOw Loue and Fortune turne to me againe, And now each one enforceth and assures A hope, that was dismayed, dead, and vaine: And from the harbour of mishaps assures A hart that is consum'd in burning fire, With vnexpected gladnesse, that admires My soule to lay a-side her mourning tire, And senses to prepare a place for ioy, Care in obliuion endlesse shall expire. For euery griefe of that extreame annoy Which when my torment raign'd, my soule (alas) Did feele, the which long absence did destroy, Fortune so well appayes, that neuer was So great the torment of my passed ill, As is the ioy of this same good I passe. Returne my hart, sursaulted with the fill Of thousand great vnrests, & thousand feares: Enioy thy good estate, if that thou will.

Page [unnumbered]

And wearied eyes, leaue off your burning teares, For soone you shall behold her with delight, For whom my spoiles with glory Cupid beares. Senses which seeke my starre so cleare and bright, By making here & there your thoughts estray: Tell me, what will you feele before her sight? Hence solitarinesse, torments away, Felt for her sake, and wearied members cast Off all your paine, redeem'd this happy day. O stay not time, but passe with speedy hast, And Fortune hinder not her comming now. O God, betides me yet this griefe at last? Come my sweet Shepheardesse, the life which thou (Perhaps) didst thinke was ended long agoe, At thy commaund is readie still to bow. Comes not my Shepheardesse desired so? O God, what if she's lost, or if she stray Within this wood, where trees so thicke doe grow? Or if this Nimph that lately went away, Perhaps forgot to goe and seeke her out: No, no, in (her) obliuion neuer lay. Thou onely art my Shepheardesse, about Whose thoughts my soule shall finde her ioy and rest: Why comm'st not then to assure it frō doubt? O seest thou not the Sunne passe to the West? And if it passe, and I behold thee not: Then I my wonted torments will request, And thou shalt waile my hard and heauie lot.
FINIS.

Bar. Yong.

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