OENONE

Paris, my hearts contentment, and my choice Use thou thy pipe, and I will use my , So shall thy joust request be denied. And time well penned and And whereon then shall be my Roundetay: For thou hast harden my stoore long since, dare say, There is a pretty sonnet then, we call it Cupid curse: They that do change old love for new, pray gods they change for worse. The note is fine and quick withal, the ditty will agree, Paris, With that same vow of thine upon our Poplar tree: Sweet she epeherd, for Oenones be cunning in this song And keep thy love, and love thy choice, or else thou dost her wrong. Beguiled, disdained, and out of love: live long thou Poplar-tree, And let thy letters grow in length, to witness this with me. A Venus, but for reverence, unto thy sacred name, To steal a sylly maidens love, I might account it blame. And if the tales be true I hear, and blush for to receit, Thou dost me wrong to leave the plains, and dally out of sighed. False Paris, this was not thy vow, when thou and I were one, To rang & change old love for new: but now those days be gone. But I will find the goddess out, that she thy vow may read, And fill these woods with my laments, for thy unhappy deed. A shepherds, you been full of wiles, & whet your wits on books, And wrap poor maids with pipes and songs, and sweet alluring looks. False Paris he is none of those, his trothles double deed, Will hurt a many sheepeherds else that might go nigh to speed. A well is she hath Colin won, that nill no other love: And woo is me, my luck is l sse, my pains no pity move. Break out poor would to, & make complaint the mountain flocks to move, What proud repulse & thanckles scorn thou hast received of love. I thank you sir, my gain is quick and ids a length of ground, And yet I am deceived or else a had a deadly wound. a played a ranging part. I could not that for pity. blind love was not so witty. or would I were not so. perdy the more my woe. well may I mean the ̄ both. the queen of love hath made him false his troth. eve ̄ wanton Cupid's dame. his beauty hight his shame, The fairest sheepeherde one our green. And sometime kept a bleating flock. witness of the vows betwixt him & me. And come and weened a little way and you shall see his skill. nay let them go. Sweet Mercury, and have poor Oenons cries, For Paris fault, peircest th'unpertiall skies. His flock do gram e upon Aurora's plain, The colour of his coat is lusty green, That would these eyes of mine had never seen, His ticing curled air, his front of yvor e, Then had not I poor I been unhappy. I will go fit and pine under the Poplar tree, And write my answer to his vow, that every eye may see. The fairest sheepeherd on our gre e, A love for any Lady. My love is fair, my love is gay, As fresh as bine the flowers in May, And of my love my roundylaye, My merry merry merry roundelay Concludes with Cupid's curse: They that do change old love for new, Pray Gods they change for worse. Fair and fair, &c, My love can pipe, my love can sing, My love can many a pretty thing, And of his lovely praises ring My merry merry roundelays: Amen to Cupid's curse: They that do change, &c. Melponie, the muse of tragic songs, With moornefull tunes in stole of dismal hue, Assist a silly Nymph to wail her woe, And leave thy lusty company behind. Thou luckless wreathe, becomes not me to wear The Popl r tree for triumph of my love. Then as my joy my pride of love is left, Be thou uncloathed of thy lovely green. And in thy leaves my fortune written be, And them some gentle wind let blow abroad, That all the world may see how false of love, False Paris hath to his Oenone be. about these woods: far from the Poplar tree. Fair and fair and twice so fair, As fair as any may be: