Loue is the blossome whear thear blowes
Euery thing that liues or growes :
Loue doth make the heau’ns to moue.
And the sun doth burne in loue :
Loue the strong and weake doth yoke,
And makes the yuie climbe the oke ;
Vnder whose shadowes lions wilde,
Soft’ned by loue, growe tame and mild ;
Loue no med’cine can appease.
He burnes the fishes in the seas ;
Not all the skill his wounds can stench,
Not all the sea his fire can quench :
Loue did make the bloody spear
Once a leuie coat to wear,
While in his leaues thear shrouded lay
Sweete birds, for loue, that sing and play :
And of all loue’s ioyfull flame,
I the bud and blossome am :
Onely bend Thy knee to mee,
Thy wooeing shall Thy winning bee.
See, see the flowers that belowe.
Now as fresh as morning blowe ;
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora showes ;
How they all vnleaufèd die.
Loosing their virginitie ;
Like vnto a summer-shade,
But now borne, and now they fade.
Euery thing doth passe away,
Thear is danger in delay :
Come, come gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose :
All the sand of Tagus’ shore
Into my bosome casts his ore :
All the valleys’ swimming corne
To my house is yeerely borne ;
Euery grape of euery vine
Is gladly bruis’d to make me wine,
While ten thousand kings, as proud,
To carry vp my train haue bow’d,
And a world of ladies send me
In my chambers to attend me :
All the starres in heau’n that shine.
And ten thousand more, are mine.
Onely bend Thy knee to mee
Thy wooing shall Thy winning bee.
From: Grosart, Alexander B (ed), The Complete Poems of Giles Fletcher, B.D., Edited with Memorial Introduction and Notes, 1876, Chatto and Windus: London, pp. 186-189.
(http://archive.org/stream/completepoemsgi00fletgoog#page/n202/mode/2up/search/song)
Date: 1610
By: Giles Fletcher the Younger (?1586-1623)