A New, Rare, and Exellent sonnet
of A Brave and lusty youth full Groome,
that Was in Love and could not tell with Whom.
To the Tune of, Bodkins Galiard.
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YOu gentile Nimphs that on the Meddowes play,
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and oft relate [t]he Loves of Shepeards young,
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Come sit you down if that you please to stay,
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now may you heare an uncouth passion Song:
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A Lad there is an I am that poor groome.
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Th[a]ts falln in love, and cannot tell with whom.
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Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a jest:
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with others cares good natures moved be,
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And I should weepe if you had my unrest,
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then at my griefe: how can you merry be?
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Ah, whe[r]e is tender pitty now become;
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I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
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I that have oft the rarest featurs viewd
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and beauty in her best perfection seen,
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I that have laught at them that Love pursud,
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and ever free from such perfection been,
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Lo now at last so cruel is my doome,
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I am in love, and not tell with whom.
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My heart is full nigh bursting with desire,
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yet cannot tell from whence these longings flow,
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My brest doth burne, but she that lights the fire,
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I never saw, nor can I come to know,
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So great a blisse my fortune keepes me from,
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That though I dearly love, I know not whom
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Ere I bad twice foure Springs renued seen,
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the force of beauty I began to prove,
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And ere I nine yeares old had fully be[e]ne,
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it taught me how to frame a sound of love,
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And little thought I this day should have come,
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Before that I to love had found out whom.
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For on my Chin the Mossy downe you see,
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and in my veines well heated blood doth glow,
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Of Summers I have seene twice three times three,
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and fast my youth full time a way doth goe:
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That much I feare, I aged shall become
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And still complain I love, I know not whom.
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Oh why had I a heart bestod on me,
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to cherish deare affectians so inclind
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Since I am so unhappy born to be,
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no object for so true love to find,
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When I am dead it will be mist fo some,
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Yet now I live, I love, I know not whom.
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I to a thousand beauteous Nimphs are knowne,
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a hundred Ladies favours do I sware,
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I with as many halfe in love am growne,
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yet none of them I find can be my Deare,
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Me thinks I have a Mistresse yet to come,
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Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
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The second Part, To the same Tune.
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THere lives no swaine doth stronger passion prove
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for her, whom most he covets to possesse,
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Then doth my heart, that being full of love,
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knowes not to whom it may the same professe,
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For he that is despisd hath sorow some,
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but he hath more, that loves and knowes not whom.
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Knew I my love as many others doe,
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to some one object might my thoughts be bent,
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So they divided, wandring should not goe,
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untill the soules united force be spent,
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As he that seekes, and never findes a home,
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Such is my rest, that loves and know not whom.
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Those whom the frownes of jealous frinds divine,
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may live to meet and descant of their woe,
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And he hath gaind a Lady for his Brid,
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that durst not woe his Maid a while agoe,
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But oh what ends unto my hopes can come,
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That am in love, and cannot tel with whom.
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Poore Collin grieves that he was late disdaind,
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and Clores doth for Willies absence pine,
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Sad Thirsis weepes for his sicke Phebe paind,
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but all their sorrowes cannot equall mine,
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A greater care on me, alas is come,
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I am in love, and connot tell with whom.
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Narcissus like did I affect my shade.
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sume shadow yet I had to dote upon
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Or did I love some Image of the dead,
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whose substance had not breathed long agone,
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I might despare, and so an end would come.
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But oh I love, and cannot tell with whom.
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Once in a dreame me thought my Love I viewd
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but never waking could her face behold,
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And doubtlesse that resemblance was but shewd,
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that more my tyred hart tormented it should,
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For since that time more grievd I am become,
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And more in love, and cannot tell with, whom.
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When on my bed at night to rest I lie,
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my watchfull eyes with teares bedew my cheeakes
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And then, [o]h would once were day I cry,
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yet when it comes I am as farre to seeke,
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For who can tell though all the earth bec[o]me,
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Or when, or where to find he Knowes not whom.
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Or if she be amongst the beauteous traines
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of all the Nimphes that hunt the severall Hils,
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Or if you know her Ladies of the plaines,
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or you that have your Bowers on the Hils,
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Tell if you can who will my love become,
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Or I shall die, and never know of whom.
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