The Shepherd Delicius his Ditty

Never a greater foe did Love disdain.
Or trod on grass so gay;
Nor nymph green leaves with whiter hand hath rent;
More golden hair the wind did never blow,
Nor fairer dame hath bound in white attire.
Or hath in lawn more gracious features tied.
Than my sweet enemy.
Beauty and chastity one place refrain.

In her bear equal sway.
Filling the world with wonder and content;
But they do give me pain and double woe.
Since love and beauty kindled my desire.
And cruel chastity from me denied
All sense of jollity.
There is no rose, nor lily after rain,
Nor flower in month of May,
Nor pleasant mead, nor green in Summer sent,
That seeing them, my mind delighteth so.
As that fair flower which all the heavens admire.
Spending my thoughts on her, in whom abide
All grace and gifts on high.

Methinks my heavenly nymph I see again
Her neck and breast display.
Seeing the whitest ermine to frequent
Some plain, or flowers that make the fairest show.
O gods! I never yet beheld her nigher.
Or far in shade, or sun, that satisfied
I was in passing by.
The mead, the mount, the river, wood, and plain.

With all their brave array,
Yield not such sweet as that fair face that's bent
Sorrows and joy in each soul to bestow
In equal parts, procured by amorous fire.
Beauty and Love in her their force have tried.
To blind each human eye.
Each wicked mind and will, which wicked vice doth stain,
Her virtues break and stay;
All airs infect by air are purged and spent.
Though of a great foundation they did grow.
O body, that so brave a soul dost hire!
And blessed soul, whose virtues ever pried
Above the starry sky!

Only for her my life in joys I train.
My soul sings many a lay;
Musing on her, new seas I do invent
Of sovereign joy, wherein with, pride I row.
The deserts for her sake I do require,
For without her the springs of joy are dried,
- And that I do defy.
Sweet fate, that to a noble deed dost strain
And lift my heart to-day,
Sealing her there with glorious ornament!
Sweet seal, sweet grief, and sweetest overthrow!
Sweet miracle, whose fame cannot expire!
Sweet wound, and golden shaft, that so espied
Such heavenly company
Of beauty's graces in sweet virtues dyed,
As like were never in such years descried!