The Affectionate Shepherd | Page 2

THE
AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD.
THE TEARES OF AN AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD SICKE
FOR LOVE,
OR THE COMPLAINT OF DAPHNIS FOR THE
LOVE OF GANIMEDE.
Scarce had the morning starre hid from the light
Heavens crimson
canopie with stars bespangled,
But I began to rue th' unhappy sight

Of that faire boy that had my hart intangled;
Cursing the time, the
place, the sense, the sin;
I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in.
If it be sinne to love a sweet-fac'd boy,
Whose amber locks trust up in
golden tramels
Dangle adowne his lovely cheekes with joy,
When
pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels;
If it be sinne to love a
lovely lad,
Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad.
His ivory-white and alablaster skin
Is staind throughout with rare
vermillion red,
Whose twinckling starrie lights doe never blin
To
shine on lovely Venus, Beauties bed;
But as the lillie and the blushing
rose,
So white and red on him in order growes.
Upon a time the nymphs bestird them-selves
To trie who could his
beautie soonest win;
But he accounted them but all as elves,
Except
it were the faire Queene Guendolen:
Her he embrac'd, of her was
beloved,
With plaints he proved, and with teares he moved.

But her an old man had beene sutor too,
That in his age began to
doate againe;
Her would he often pray, and often woo,
When
through old age enfeebled was his braine:
But she before had lov'd a
lustie youth,
That now was dead, the cause of all her ruth.
And thus it hapned, Death and Cupid met
Upon a time at swilling
Bacchus house,
Where daintie cates upon the boord were set,
And
goblets full of wine to drinke carouse:
Where Love and Death did
love the licor so,
That out they fall and to the fray they goe.
And having both their quivers at their backe
Fild full of arrows; th'
one of fatall steele,
The other all of gold; Deaths shaft was black,

But Loves was yellow: Fortune turnd her wheele,
And from Deaths
quiver fell a fatall shaft,
That under Cupid by the winde was waft.
And at the same time by ill hap there fell
Another arrow out of
Cupids quiver,
The which was carried by the winde at will,
And
under Death the amorous shaft did shiver:
They being parted, Love
tooke up Deaths dart,
And Death tooke up Loves arrow for his part.
Thus as they wandred both about the world,
At last Death met with
one of feeble age:
Wherewith he drew a shaft and at him hurld
The
unknowne arrow with a furious rage,
Thinking to strike him dead
with Deaths blacke dart;
But he, alas, with Love did wound his hart!
This was the doting foole, this was the man
That lov'd faire
Guendolena, Queene of Beautie;
Shee cannot shake him off, doo
what she can,
For he hath vowd to her his soules last duety:
Making
him trim upon the holydaies,
And crownes his love with garlands
made of baies.
Now doth he stroke his beard, and now againe
He wipes the drivel
from his filthy chin;
Now offers he a kisse, but high Disdaine
Will
not permit her hart to pity him:
Her hart more hard than adamant or

steele,
Her hart more changeable than Fortunes wheele.
But leave we him in love up to the eares,
And tell how Love behav'd
himselfe abroad;
Who seeing one that mourned still in teares,
A
young man groaning under Loves great load,
Thinking to ease his
burden, rid his paines,
For men have griefe as long as life remaines.
Alas, the while that unawares he drue
The fatall shaft that Death had
dropt before,
By which deceit great harme did then insue,
Stayning
his face with blood and filthy goare:
His face, that was to Guendolen
more deere
Than love of lords, or any lordly peere.
This was that faire and beautifull young man,
Whom Guendolena so
lamented for;
This is that Love whom she doth curse and ban,

Because she doth that dismall chaunce abhor:
And if it were not for
his mothers sake,
Even Ganimede himselfe she would forsake.
Oh would shee would forsake my Ganimede,
Whose sugred love is
full of sweete delight,
Upon whose forehead you may plainely reade

Loves pleasure grav'd in yvorie tables bright:
In whose faire
eye-balls you may clearely see
Base Love still staind with foule
indignitie.
Oh would to God he would but pitty mee,
That love him more than
any mortall wight!
Then he and I with love would soone agree,

That now cannot abide his sutors sight.
O would to God, so I might
have my fee,
My lips were honey, and thy mouth a bee!
Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower, That now is
ripe and full of honey-berries;
Then would I leade thee to my pleasant
bower,
Fild full of grapes, of mulberries, and cherries:
Then
shouldst thou be my waspe or else my bee,
I would thy hive,