Anthology of 16th and Early 17th Century Scots Poetry

Sir David Murray of Gorthy

From Caelia:
117. Sonnet 10, My Celia sat once by a christal brooke
118. Sonnet 20, Ponder thy cares, and summe them all in one
119. The Complaint of the Shepheard Harpalus

Anthology Contents



 
 
 
From Caelia    
Sonnet 10    
     
My Celia sat once by a christal brooke,    
Gazing how smoothly the cleere streams did slide,    
Who had no sooner her sweet sight espi'd,    
When with amazement they did on her looke;    
The waters slyding by her seem'd to mourne, 5  
Desirous stil for to behold her beauty,    
Neglecting to the Ocean their duty,    
In thousand strange meanders made returne;    
But oh! againe with what an heavenly tune,    
Those pleasant streames that issued from the spring,  10  
To see that goddesse did appeare to sing,    
Whom having view'd did as the first had done.    
If those pure streames delighted so to eye her,    
Judge how my soule doth surfet when I see her.    
     
Sonnet 20    
     
Ponder thy cares, and summe them all in one,    
Get the account of all thy hearts disease,    
Recken the torments do thy mind displease,    
Write up each sigh, each plaint, each teare, each grone,    
Remember on thy griefe conceav'd by day, 5  
And call to minde thy nights disturbed rest,    
Thinke on those visions did thy soule molest,    
While as thy wearied corpes a-sleeping lay,    
And when all those thou hast enrold aright,    
Into the count-booke of thy daily care, 10  
Extract them truly, then present the sight,    
With them of flinty Celia the faire,    
That she may see, if yet moe ills remaines,    
For to be paid to her unjust disdaines.    
     
     
The Complaint of the Shepheard Harpalus    
     
Poore Harpalus opprest with loue,    
Sate by a christall brooke:    
Thinking his sorrowes to remoove,    
Oft-times therein did looke.    
     
And hearing how on pibble stones, 5  
The murmuring river ran,    
As if it had bewail'd his grones,    
Unto it thus began:    
     
Faire streame (quoth he) that pitties me,    
And heares my matchlesse moane, 10  
If thou be going to the sea,    
As I do so suppone,     
     
Attend my plaints past all releefe,    
Which dolefully I breath,    
Acquaint the sea nymphes with the greefe, 15  
Which stil procures my death.    
     
Who sitting on the cliffy rockes,    
May in their songs expresse:    
While as they combe their golden lockes,    
Poore Harpalus distresse. 20  
     
And so perhaps some passenger,    
That passeth by the way:    
May stay and listen for to heare    
Them sing this dolefull lay.    
     
Poore Harpalus, a shepheard swaine, 25  
More rich in youth then store,    
Lov'd faire Philena, haplesse man,    
Philena, oh therefore!    
     
Who still remorceles-hearted maide,    
Tooke pleasure in his paine: 30  
And his good will (poore soule) repayd    
With uvndeservu'd disdayne.     
     
Ne're shepheard lou'd aa shepherdesse    
More faithfully then he:    
Ne're shepheard yet belovued lesse, 35  
Of shepheardesse could be.    
     
How oft with dying lookes did he    
To her his woes impart?    
How oft his sighes did testifie    
The dolor of his hart? 40  
     
How oft from vallies to the hils,    
Did he his griefes rehearse?    
How oft re-eccho'd they his ills,    
Aback againe (alas)?    
     
How oft on barkes of stately pines, 45  
Of beech, of holen greene,    
Did he ingraue in mournfull lines,    
The dole he did sustaine?    
     
Yet all his plaints could have no place,    
To change Philena's mind: 50  
The more his sorrowes did increase,    
The more she prov'd unkind.    
     
The thought whhereof through verie care,    
Poore Harpalus did move:    
That overcome with high despaire, 55  
He quat both life and love.