Can a maid that is well bred, Hath a blush so lovely red, Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet, And a nature passing sweet, Break her promise, untrue prove, On a sudden change her love, Or be won e'er to neglect Him to whom she vow'd respect?
Such a maid, alas, I know. Oh that weeds 'mongst corn should grow, Or a rose should prickles have, Wounding where she ought to save! I that did her parts extol, Will my lavish tongue control. Outward parts do blind the eyes, Gall in golden pills oft lies.
Reason wake, and sleep no more, Land upon some safer shore; Think on her and be afraid Of a faithless fickle maid. Of a faithless flckle maid Thus true love is still betray'd. Yet it is some ease to sing That a maid is light of wing.
Upon My Lap My Sovereign Sits
- by Martin Peerson14
Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meantime his love maintains my life And gives my sense her rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
Yet as I am, and as I may, I must and will be thine, Though all too little for thyself Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
Poems by Martin Peerson, Martin Peerson's poems collection. Martin Peerson is a classical and famous poet (1571-1651 / England). Share all poems of Martin Peerson.