Pastoral Poems by Nicholas Breton, Selected Poetry Part 4

Though of dainties you have store, To delight a choicer palate, Yet your taste is pleased no more Than is mine in one poor sallet.

You to please your senses feed But I eat good blood to breed; And am most delighted then When I spend it like a man.

Though you lord it over me, You in vain thereof have braved; For those l.u.s.ts my servants be Whereunto your minds are slaved.

To yourselves you wise appear, But, alas! deceived you are; You do foolish me esteem, And are that which I do seem.

When your faults I open lay, You are moved, and mad with vexing; But you ne'er could do or say Aught to drive me to perplexing.

Therefore, my despised power Greater is, by far, than your.

And, whate'er you think of me, In your minds you poorer be.

You are pleased, more or less, As men well or ill report you; And show discontentedness, When the times forbear to court you.

That in which my pleasures be, No man can divide from me; And my care it adds not to, Whatso others say or do.

Be not proud, because you view You by thousands are attended; For, alas! it is not you, But your fortune that's befriended.

Where I show of love have got, Such a danger fear I not: Since they nought can seek of me, But for love, beloved to be.

When your hearts have everything, You are pleasantly disposed: But I can both laugh and sing, Though my foes have me enclosed.

Yea, when dangers me do hem, I delight in scorning them, More than you in your renown, Or a king can in his crown.

You do bravely domineer, Whilst the sun upon you s.h.i.+neth: Yet, if any storm appear, Basely, then, your mind declineth.

But, or s.h.i.+ne, or rain, or blow, I my resolutions know-- Living, dying, thrall, or free, At one height my mind shall be.

When in thraldom I have lain, Me not worth your thought you prized; But your malice was in vain, For your favours I despised.

And, howe'er you value me, I with praise shall thought on be When the world esteems you not And your names shall be forgot.

In these thoughts my riches are; Now, though poor or mean you deem me, I am pleased, and do not care How the times or you esteem me.

For those toys that make you gay Are but play-games for a day: And when nature craves her due, I as brave shall be as you.

Song

Shall I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's fair?

Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day, Or the flow'ry meads in May; If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be.

Should my heart be grieved or pined 'Cause I see a woman kind?

Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely creature?

Be she meeker, kinder than Turtle-dove or pelican: If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be.

Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love?

Or, her well-deserving known, Make me quite forget mine own?

Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of best If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be.

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die?

Those that bear a n.o.ble mind, Where they want or riches find, Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo.

And unless that mind I see, What care I though great she be.

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve.

If she slight me, when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go.

For, if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be.

"Amarillis I Did Woo"

Amarillis I did woo, And I courted Phillis too; Daphne, for her love, I chose; Cloris, for that damask rose In her cheek, I held as dear; Yea, a thousand liked well near.

And, in love with all together, Feared the enjoying either; 'Cause to be of one possest, Barred the hope of all the rest.

Sonnet: On A Stolen Kiss

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes, Which waking kept my boldest thoughts in awe, And free access unto that sweet lip lies From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.

Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal, From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss.

None sees the theft that would the thief reveal, Nor rob I her of aught which she can miss.

Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, There would be little sign I had done so.

Why then should I this robbery delay?

Oh, she may wake, and therewith angry grow.

Well, if she do, I'll back restore that one, And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

A Christmas Carol

So now is come our joyful feast, Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy leaves is drest, And every post with holly.

Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbours' chimnies smoke, And Christmas blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning.

Without the door let sorrow lie, And if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie; And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labour; Our la.s.ses have provided them A bagpipe and a tabour.

Young men and maids, and girls and boys Give life to one another's joys; And you anon shall by their noise Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun, Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run, So all things there aboundeth.

The country-folk themselves advance, For Crowdy-Mutton's come out of France; And Jack shall pipe and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry.

Ned Swatch hath fetched his bands from p.a.w.n, And all his best apparel; Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn With droppings of the barrel.

And those that hardly all the year Had bread to eat or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare, And all the day be merry.

Now poor men to the justices With capons make their errands; And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants.

But now they feed them with good cheer, And what they want they take in beer, For Christmas comes but once a year, And then they shall be merry.

Good farmers in the country nurse The poor, that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On l.u.s.t and pride at London.

There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their land away, Which may be ours another day; And therefore let's be merry.

The client now his suit forbears, The prisoner's heart is eased; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased.

Though others' purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that; Hang sorrow, care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry.

Hark how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling; Anon you'll see them in the hall, For nuts and apples scrambling, Hark how the roofs with laughters sound, Anon they'll think the house goes round: For they the cellar's depths have found, And there they will be merry.

The wenches with their wa.s.sel-bowls About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls, The wild mare in is bringing.

Our kitchen boy hath broke his box, And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry.