The Lovers Guift
Or a Fairing for Maides: Being a Dialogue betweene
Edmund and Prisilly. To a pleasant new tune.
|
Edmund.
|
MY Love she is faire,
|
surpassing compare,
|
More bright, then was Daphne the coy:
|
Her two starry eyes,
|
My heart did surprise,
|
Being strucke by the blinded Boy,
|
See where she doth come,
|
Her sight strikes me dumbe,
|
Ile speake though to speake it grieve me,
|
My owne gentle sweeting
|
I am glad of this meeting,
|
Thou knowst not what I have to give thee.
|
Prisilly.
|
I pray thee give ore,
|
Intice me no more,
|
In suing for love thou dost move me
|
For I tell thee plaine,
|
I doe thee disdaine,
|
I have not the power to love thee:
|
My answere you know,
|
You backward may goe,
|
For it is another must shrive me:
|
Thy face I dispise,
|
for thy great goggle eyes,
|
I care not what thou hast to give me.
|
Edmund.
|
Thou Joy of my life,
|
what neede all this strife,
|
Thou knowst that I love thee more,
|
Then Piramis,
|
When Thisby was his,
|
Who after by a Lyon was tore:
|
Queene Juno did move,
|
The Olimpicall Jove,
|
Yet so will not Edmund greeve thee,
|
I pray thee sweet heart,
|
Some kinde wordes impart,
|
Thou knowst not what I have to give thee.
|
Prisilly.
|
As Juno did move
|
The thunderer Jove,
|
Prisilly will strive for to move thee,
|
Thy rusticall wordes
|
No matter affoordes,
|
To make a young mayden to love thee,
|
Learne wit for to woe
|
Or I cannot doe,
|
Nor will I in ought beleeve thee,
|
I pray thee give ore,
|
Torment me no more,
|
I care not what thou hast to give me.
|
Edmund.
|
Why mayden so bright,
|
My birth doe not spight,
|
For I doe not murmure at thine,
|
But thinke with thy selfe,
|
Tho thy father have pelfe,
|
Thy birth cannot equall mine:
|
Thy vertues doth move
|
Poore Edmund to love,
|
And still shall if thou wilt beleeve mee,
|
Let love not be vaine
|
But love me againe,
|
Thou knowst not what I have to give thee.
|
Prisilly.
|
Nay grieve not at this
|
For what is amisse,
|
Ile strive for to make thee amendes,
|
To leave off delay,
|
Faith what would you say,
|
If you and I joyned like friends?
|
If to your desert
|
My love I impart,
|
And that I should fondly beleeve thee,
|
I doubt you would prove
|
Disloyall in love,
|
And you would that same guift give me,
|
|
|
|
|
[The] second part of the Lovers gift,
to the same tune.
|
Edmund.
|
DEare sweet would you joyne,
|
Your love unto mine,
|
My love should for ever stand sure,
|
Or to end the strife
|
Wouldst thou be my wife,
|
Like Turtles we both would indure:
|
There should not proceede
|
No bad word nor deede,
|
That should have the power to grieve thee,
|
We'l live till we dye
|
Most merily,
|
Thou knowst not what I have to give thee.
|
Prisilly.
|
Since nothing can shift,
|
Say what is the gift,
|
That you upon me would bestow,
|
And if I doe finde
|
It contenteth my minde,
|
The more of my love you shall know,
|
That guift will me move,
|
To like as I love,
|
There quickly repeat it to me,
|
And heere I protest,
|
My heart shall rest,
|
Thou and I straight will agree.
|
Edmund.
|
Then if you'le agree,
|
To marry with me,
|
Ile make thee a Joynter by the yeare:
|
And set downe profound
|
five hundred pound,
|
And all for the love of my deare:
|
What a woman can crave,
|
Be sure to have,
|
And if that thou durst to beleeve me,
|
'Tis a gift most rare,
|
To a mayden so faire,
|
Loe this is the gift I will give thee,
|
Prisilly.
|
This gift is of force
|
To make your recorse,
|
The easier to my bed,
|
No longer lets tarrie,
|
But straight let us marry,
|
And then take my mayden-head:
|
No longer I can
|
Live without a man,
|
Then pray thee sweet hart beleeve me,
|
Ile love thee still,
|
If with a good will,
|
This prettie guift thou wilt give me.
|
Edmund.
|
Then sweeting pray come,
|
I long till 'tis donne,
|
To Church let us hie us with speed,
|
I can when I list,
|
Procure a blinde Priest,
|
Which for us shall do this same deed,
|
Prisi. Then sweet let us goe,
|
We must not be slow,
|
If ever you meane to win me,
|
But thinke upon this,
|
That you doe not misse,
|
This same pretie gift to give me,
|
Author.
|
Away then they went,
|
And fulfil'd there intent,
|
Unto their great comfort and joy,
|
Fortie weekes being past
|
This young wife at the last,
|
Did bring her young husband a boy,
|
Heaven send all young wives,
|
To lead honest lives,
|
And husbands to live with them kinde:
|
May wives strive to please,
|
All such husbands as these
|
That are of so honest a minde.
|
|
|
|
|