No more (o cruell Nimph,) now hast thou prayed
Enough in thy revenge, proove not thine ire
On him that yeelds, the fault is now appayed
Unto my cost: Now mollifie thy dire
Hardnes, and brest of thine so much obdured:
And now raise up (though lately it hath erred,)
A poore repenting soule, that in the obscured
Darknes of thy oblivion lyes enterred.
For it falls not in that, that should commend thee:
That such a Swaine as I may once offend thee.
If that the little Sheepe with speede is flying
From angry Sheepheard (with his words afrayed)
And runneth here and there with fearefull crying,
And with great griefe is from the flock estrayed:
But when it now perceives that none doth follow,
And all alone, so farre estraying, mourneth,
Knowing what danger it is in, with hollow
And fainting bleates, then fearefull it returneth
Unto the flock, meaning no more to leave it:
Should it not be a just thing to receave it?
Lift up those eyes (Ismenia) which so stately
To view me, thou hast lifted up before me,
That liberty, which was mine owne but lately,
Give me againe, and to the same restore me:
And that mild hart, so full of love and pittie,
Which thou didst yeeld to me, and ever owe me;
Behold (my Nimph) I was not then so wittie
To know that sincere love that thou didst shew me:
Now wofull man, full well I know and rue it,
Although it was too late before I knew it.
How could it be (my enemie?) say, tell me,
How thou (in greater fault and errour being
Then ever I was thought) should’st thus repell me?
And with new league and cruell title seeing
Thy faith so pure and worthy to be changed?
And what is that Ismenia, that dooth bind it
To love, whereas the same is most estranged,
And where it is impossible to finde it?
But pardon me, if heerein I abuse thee:
Since that the cause thou gav’st me dooth excuse me.
But tell me now, what honour hast thou gayned,
Avenging such a fault by thee committed,
And there-unto by thy occasion trayned?
What have I done, that I have not acquitted?
Or what excesse that is not amply payed,
Or suffer more, that I have not endured?
What cruell minde, what angry breast displayed,
With savage hart, to fiercenes so adjured?
Would not such mortall griefe make milde and tender:
But that, which my fell Sheepheardesse dooth render?
Now as I have perceaved well thy reasons,
Which thou hast had, or hast yet to forget me,
The paines, the griefes, the guilts of forced treasons,
That I have done, wherein thou first didst set me:
The passions, and thine eares and eyes refusing
To heare and see me, meaning to undoe me:
Cam’st thou to know, or be but once perusing
Th’unsought occasions, which thou gav’st unto me:
Thou should’st not have where-with to more torment me:
Nor I to pay the fault my rashnes lent me.
(Bartholomew Young)
More Poetry from Bartholomew Young:
Bartholomew Young Poems based on Topics: Love, Passion, Man, Cry, Reasoning, Revenge & Vengeance, Liberty & Freedom- The Sheepheard Arsileus Replie to Syrenus Song (Bartholomew Young Poems)
- Syernus Song to Eugerius (Bartholomew Young Poems)
- The Sheepheard Firmius His Song (Bartholomew Young Poems)
- The Sheepheard Carillo His Song (Bartholomew Young Poems)
- Cinthia the Nimph, Her Song To Faire Polydora (Bartholomew Young Poems)
- Arsileus His Caroll, For Joy of the New Mariage, Betweene Syrenus and Diana (Bartholomew Young Poems)
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