%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> An Excellent Sonnet: / OR, The Swaines complaint, whose cruell doome, / It was to love hee knew not whom. Wither, George University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1602-1602 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/18/2011 30072

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S102999 2 Bodkins Galiard UNKNOWN Bodkin's Galliard the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune YOu gentle Nimphs that on the Meddowes play, / and oft relate the Loves of Shepheards young, THere lives no swaine doth stronger passion prove / for her, whom most he covets to possesse, That's fal'n in love, and cannot tell with whom. [with variation] But he hath more, that loves, & knowes not whom. [with variation] Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 110 1: 111 An Excellent Sonnet: / OR, The Swaines complaint, whose cruell doome, / It was to love hee knew not whom. An Excellent Sonnet: OR,The Swaines complaint, whose cruell doome, It was to love hee knew not whom. An Excellent Sonnet: OR,The Swain's complaint, whose cruel doom, It was to love he knew not whom. Wither, George 1602-1602 I. Wright

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious types & sects royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic The New World travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgarities/ crass humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/18/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health love mythology/ Classical Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/18/2011 2:01:32 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/18/2011 2:01:32 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:01:32 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:01:32 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:01:32 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/1/2010 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/7/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 4/15/2011 Transcriber Becker, Charlotte Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcriber Meyer, Shannon Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Double-Key Transcription Merger Zusky, Catherine Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created Ballad XML 10/31/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/15/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/15/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">An Excellent Sonnet:</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Swaines complaint, whose cruell doome,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">It was to love hee knew not whom.</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the tune of, <hi rend="bold">Bodkins Galiard.</hi></hi></seg>
YOu gentle Nimphs that on the Meddowes play, and oft relate the Loves of Shepheards young, Come sit you downe, if that you please to stay, now may you heare an uncouth passion Song: A Lad there is, and I am that poore groome, Thats faln in love, and cannot tell with whom. Oh doe not smile at sorrow as a jest, with others cares good natures moved be: And I should weepe if you had my unrest, then at my griefe how can you merry be? Ah, where is tender pitty now become? I am in love, and cannot tell with whom. I that have oft the rarest features viewd, and beauty in her best perfection seene, I that have laught at them that love pursud, and ever free from such perfections beene, Loe now at last so cruell is my doome, I am in love, and cannot tell with whom. My heart is full nigh bursting with desire, yet cannot tell from whence these longings flow, My brest doth burne, but she that light the fire, I never saw, nor can I come to know: So great a blisse my fortune keepes me from, That though I dearely love, I know not whom.
Ere I had twice foure Springs renewed seene, the force of beauty I began to prove, And ere I nine yeeres old had fully beene, it taught me how to frame a sound of love, And little thought I this day should have come, Before that I to love had found out whom. For on my chin the mossy downe you see, and in my vaines well heated blood doth gloe, Of Summers I have seene twice three times three, and fast my youthfull time away doth goe: That much I feare, I aged shall become, And still complaine, I love I know not whom. Oh why had I a heart bestowd on me, to cherish deare affections so inclind, Since I am so unhappy borne to be, no object for so true a love to find, When I am dead it will be mist of some, Yet now I live, I love I know not whom. I to a thousand beauteous Nimphs am knowne, a hundred Ladies favours doe I sweare, I with as many halfe in love am growne, yet none of them I find can be my deare, Me thinkes I have a Mistresse yet to come, Which makes me sing, I love I know not whom.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part, To the same tune.</hi></seg>
THere lives no swaine doth stronger passion prove for her, whom most he covets to possesse, Then doth my heart that being full of love, knowes not to whom it may the same professe, For he that is despisd hath sorrow some, But he hath more, that loves, & knowes not whom. Knew I my Love, as many others doe, to some one object might my thoughts be bent, So they divided, wandring should not goe, untill the soules united force be spent, As he that seekes, and never findes a home, Such is my rest, that love, and know not whom. Those whom the frownes of jealous friends divide, may live to meet and descant of their woe, And he hath gaind a Lady for his Bride, that durst not wooe his Maide a while agoe: But oh what ends unto my hopes can come, That am in love, and cannot tell with whom. Poore Collin grieves that he was late disdaind, and Clores doth for Willies absence pine, Sad Thirthes weepes for his sicke Phebe paind, but all their sorrowes cannot equall mine, A greater care on me, alas, is come, I am in love, and cannot tell with whom.
Narcissus-like did I affect my shade, some shadow yet I had to dote upon, Or did I love some Image of the dead, whose substance had not breathed long agoe, I might despaire, and so an end would come. But oh I love, and cannot tell with whom. Once in a dreame me thought my love I viewd, but never waking could her face behold, And doubtlesse that resemblance was but shewd, that more my tired heart torment it should. For since that time more grievd I am become, And more in love, I cannot tell with whom. When on my bed at night to rest I lye, my watchfull eyes with teares bedew my cheekes, And then, oh would it once were day I cry, yet when it comes I am as farre to seeke, For who can tell, though all the earth he rome, Or when or where, to finde he knowes not whom. Oh if she be amongst the beauteous traines, of all the Nimphs that haunt the severall Kills, Or if you know her Ladies of the plaines, or you that have your Bowers on the Hills, Tell, if you can, who will my love become, Or I shall die, and never know for whom.
Printed at London for J. Wright dwelling in Gilt-spurre street neere New-gate. FINIS.