The Countess of Pembroke's Pastoral

A shepherd and a shepherdess
Sat keeping sheep upon the downs;
His looks did gentle blood express,
Her beauty was no food for clowns;
Sweet lovely twain, what might you be?
Two fronting hills bedeck'd with flowers,
They chose to be each other's seat,
And there they stole their amorous hours
With sighs and tears, poor lovers' meat;
Fond Love! thou feed'st thy servants so.

" Fair friend," quoth he, " when shall I live,
That am half dead, yet cannot die?
Can beauty such sharp guerdon give.
To him whose life hangs in your eye? "
Beauty is mild and will not kill.
" Sweet swain," quoth she, "accuse not me,
That long have been thy humble thrall;
But blame the angry destiny.

Whose kind consent might finish all. "'
Ungentle fate, to cross true love!
Quoth he, " Let not our parents' hate,
Disjoin what Heaven hath link'd in one.
They may repent and all too late,
, If childless they be left alone. "
Father nor friend should wrong true love.
"The parent's frown," said she, " is death,
To children that are held in awe;
From them we drew our vital breath,
They challenge duty then by law."
Such duty as kills not true love.

"They have,'' quoth he, "a kind of sway
On these our earthly bodies here;
But with our souls deal not they may,
The god of love doth hold them dear. "
He is most meet to rule true love.
" I know," said she, " 'tis worse than hell.
When parent's choice must please our eyes;
Great hurt comes thereby, I can tell.
Forced love in desperate danger dies."
Fair maid, then fancy thy true love.

" If we," quoth he, "might see the hour
Of that sweet state which never ends.
Our heavenly gree might have the power.
To make our parents as dear friends."
All rancour yields to sovereign love.
" Then god of love," she said, " consent.
And show some wonder of thy power;
Our parents and our own content
May be confirm'd by such an hour.
Grant, greatest god! to further love.

The fathers, who did always tend,
When thus they got their private walk,
As happy fortune chanced to send.
Unknown to each, heard all this talk;
Poor souls to be so cross'd in love!
Behind the hills whereon they sat,
They lay this while and listen'd all,
And were so moved both thereat,
That hate in each began to fall;
Such is the power of sacred love.

They show'd themselves in open sight;
Poor lovers, Lord, how they were mazed!
And hand in hand the fathers plight.
Whereat, poor hearts! they gladly gazed;
Hope now begins to further love.
And to confirm a mutual band
Of love, that at no time should cease,
They likewise joined hand in hand
The shepherd and the shepherdess;
Like fortune still befall true love!