The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb;Yet for his fame the ocean sea, was not sufficient room.
Epitaph on Hawkins (1595).
As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, sitting in a pleasant shade which a grove of myrtles made.Richard Barnfield
As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made.Richard Barnfield
If music and sweet poetry agree.Richard Barnfield
As it fell upon a dayIn the merry month of May,Sitting in a pleasant shadeWhich a grove of myrtles made.Richard Barnfield
King Pandion, he is dead,All thy friends are lapped in lead.Richard Barnfield
If music and sweet poetry agree.As they must needs (the sister and the brother),Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.Richard Barnfield
Scarce had the morning starre hid from the lightHeavens crimson canopie with stars bespangled,But I began to rue th' unhappy sightOf 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 tramelsDangle 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.Richard Barnfield
Next morning, when the golden sunne was risen,And new had bid good morrow to the mountaines;When night her silver light had lockt in prison,Which gave a glimmering on the christall fountaines:Then ended sleepe, and then my cares began,Ev'n with the uprising of the silver swan.Oh, glorious sunne! quoth I, viewing the sunne,That lightenst everie thing but me alone:Why is my summer season almost done,My spring-time past, and ages autumne gone?My harvest's come, and yet I reapt no corne:My love is great, and yet I am forlorne.Richard Barnfield