The Shepherd's Wife's Song 121î

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown:
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,

And merrier, too:

For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:.

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat
His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat,
And blither, too:

For kings have often fears when they do sup,
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween,
As is a king in dalliance with a queen;
More wanton, too:

For kings have many griefs, affects to move,
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his bed of down;

More sounder, too:

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:

Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or sithe,

And blither, too:

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand,
Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:
Ah then, ah then,

Since country loves such sweet desires do gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

"TRUTH DOTH TRUTH DESERVE"

"From the "Arcadia”

WHO doth desire that chaste his wife should be,
First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve:
Then such be he as she his worth may see,
And one man still credit with her preserve.
Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind;
Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right;
Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind;,
Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light.
As far from want, as far from vain expense
(The one doth force, the latter doth entice);
Allow good company, but keep from thence
All filthy mouths that glory in their vice.
This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest
To virtue, fortune, time, and woman's breast.
Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

THE MARRIED LOVER

From "The Angel in the House"

WHY, having won her, do I woo?
Because her spirit's vestal grace
Provokes me always to pursue,

But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;
Because her womanhood is such

That, as on court-days subjects kiss
The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch
Affirms no mean familiarness;
Nay, rather marks more fair the height
Which can with safety so neglect

To dread, as lower ladies might,

That grace could meet with disrespect; Thus she with happy favor feeds

Allegiance from a love so high

That thence no false conceit proceeds

Of difference bridged, or state put by;

My Love

Because, although in act and word
As lowly as a wife can be,

Her manners, when they call me lord,
Remind me 'tis by courtesy;

Not with her least consent of will,
Which would my proud affection hurt,
But by the noble style that still
Imputes an unattained desert;
Because her gay and lofty brows,

When all is won which hope can ask,
Reflect a light of hopeless snows

That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to heaven; because, in short, She's not and never can be mine.

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Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

MY LOVE

NOT as all other women are
Is she that to my soul is dear;
Her glorious fancies come from far,
Beneath the silver evening-star,
And yet her heart is ever near.

Great feelings hath she of her own,
Which lesser souls may never know;
God giveth them to her alone,

And sweet they are as any tone

Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

Yet in herself she dwelleth not,

Although no home were half so fair;

No simplest duty is forgot,

Life hath no dim and lowly spot

That doth not in her sunshine share.

She doeth little kindnesses,

Which most leave undone, or despise:

For naught that sets one heart at ease,
And giveth happiness or peace,
Is low-esteemed in her eyes.

She hath no scorn of common things,
And, though she seem of other birth,
Round us her heart intwines and clings,
And patiently she folds her wings
To tread the humble paths of earth.

Blessing she is: God made her so,
And deeds of week-day holiness
Fall from her noiseless as the snow,
Nor hath she ever chanced to know
That aught were easier than to bless.

She is most fair, and thereunto
Her life doth rightly harmonize;
Feeling or thought that was not true
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue
Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

She is a woman: one in whom
The spring-time of her childish years
Hath never lost its fresh perfume,
Though knowing well that life hath room
For many blights and many tears.

I love her with a love as still
As a broad river's peaceful might,
Which, by high tower and lowly mill,
Seems following its own wayward will,
And yet doth ever flow aright.

And, on its full, deep breast serene,
Like quiet isles my duties lie;

It flows around them and between,

And makes them fresh and fair and green,

Sweet homes wherein to live and die.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891]

At Last

MARGARET TO DOLCINO

Ask if I love thee? Oh, smiles cannot tell
Plainer what tears are now showing too well.
Had I not loved thee, my sky had been clear:
Had I not loved thee, I had not been here,
Weeping by thee.

Ask if I love thee?

How else could I borrow

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Pride from man's slander, and strength from my sorrow?
Laugh when they sneer at the fanatic's bride,
Knowing no bliss, save to toil and abide

Weeping by thee.

Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]

DOLCINO TO MARGARET

THE world goes up and the world goes down,
And the sunshine follows the rain;

And yesterday's sneer, and yesterday's frown,
Can never come over again,

Sweet wife:

No, never come over again.

For woman is warm, though man be cold,

And the night will hallow the day;

Till the heart which at even was weary and old

Can rise in the morning gay,

Sweet wife;

To its work in the morning gay.

Charles Kingsley [1819-1875]

AT LAST

WHEN first the bride and bridegroom wed,

They love their single selves the best;
A sword is in the marriage bed,

Their separate slumbers are not rest.

They quarrel, and make up again,
They give and suffer worlds of pain.

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