Echo Verses
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
Title: Echo Verses
Author: Leshok Majere
Echo Verses.
Sitting alone upon my
thought in melancholy
mood,
In sight of sea, and at
my back an ancient hoary
wood,
I saw a fair young lady
come, her secret fears
to wail,
Clad all in colour of a
nun, and covered with a
veil;
Yet (for the day was
calm and clear) I might
discern her face,
As one might see a
damask rose hid under
crystal glass.
Three times, with her
soft hand, full hard on
her left side she knocks,
And sigh'd so sore as
might have mov'd some
pity in the rocks;
From sighs and shedding
amber tears into sweet
song she brake,
When thus the echo
answered her to every
word she spake:
Oh heavens ! who was
the first that bred in
me this fever ? Vere
(Ver.)
Who was the first that
gave the wound whose
fear I wear for ever ?
Vere.
What tyrant, Cupid, to
my harm usurps thy
golden quiver ? Vere.
What sight first caught
this heart and can from
bondage it deliver ? Vere.
Yet who doth most adore
this sight, oh hollow
caves tell true ? You.
What nymph deserves his
liking best, yet doth in
sorrow rue ? You.
What makes him not
reward good will with
some reward or ruth ?
Youth.
What makes him show
besides his birth, such
pride and such untruth ?
Youth.
May I his favour match
with love, if he my love
will try? Ay.
May I requite his birth
with faith ? Then faithful
will I die ? Ay.
And I, that knew this
lady well,
Said, Lord how great a
miracle,
To her how Echo told the
truth,
As true as Phoebus'
oracle.
LOVE THY CHOICE.
Who taught thee first to sigh, alas, my heart ? Who taught thy tongue the woeful words of plaint ? Who filled your eyes with tears of bitter smart ? Who gave thee grief and made thy joys to faint ? Who first did paint with colours pale thy face ? Who first did break thy sleeps of quiet rest ? Above the rest in court who gave thee grace ? Who made thee strive in honour to be best ? In constant truth to bide so firm and sure, To scorn the world regarding but thy friends ? With patient mind each passion to endure, In one desire to settle to the end ? Love then thy choice wherein such choice thou bind, As nought but death may ever change thy mind.
What Cunning can Express.
What cunning can express The favour of her face ? To whom in this distress, I do appeal for grace. A thousand Cupids fly About her gentle eye.
From which each throws a dart, That kindleth soft sweet fire: Within my sighing heart, Possessed by Desire. No sweeter life I try, Than in her love to die. The lily in the field, That glories in his white, For pureness now must yield, And render up his right; Heaven pictured in her face, Doth promise joy and grace.
Fair Cynthia's silver light, That beats on running streams, Compares not with her white, Whose hairs are all sun-beams; So bright my Nymph doth shine, As day unto my eyne. With this there is a red, Exceeds the Damask-Rose;