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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374506" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Shepheardes Calender: March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">March: Ægloga Tertia. Willye & Thomalin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>THomalin, why sytten we soe, <br>As weren ouerwent with woe, <br>Vpon so fayre a morow? <br>The ioyous time now nighest fast, <br>That shall alegge this bitter blast, <br>And slake the winters sorowe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.<br>Sicker Willye, thou warnest well: <br>For Winters wrath beginnes to quell, <br>And pleasant spring appeareth. <br>The grasse now ginnes to be refresht, <br>The Swallow peepes out of her nest, <br>And clowdie Welkin cleareth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>Seest not thilke same Hawthorne studde, <br>How bragly it beginnes to budde, <br>And vtter his tender head? <br>Flora now calleth forth eche flower, <br>And bids make ready Maias bowre, <br>That newe is vpryst from bedde. <br>Tho shall we sporten in delight, <br>And learne with Lettice to wexe light, <br>That scornefully lookes askaunce, <br>Tho will we little Loue awake, <br>That nowe sleepeth in Lethe lake, <br>And pray him leaden our daunce. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.<br>Willye, I wene thou bee assott: <br>For lustie Loue still sleepeth not, <br>But is abroad at his game. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>How kenst thou, that he is awoke? <br>Or hast thy selfe his slomber broke? <br>Or made preuie to the same? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.<br>No, but happely I hym spyde, <br>Where in a bush he did him hide, <br>With winges of purple and blewe. <br>And were not, that my sheepe would stray, <br>The preuie marks I would bewray, <br>Whereby by chaunce I him knewe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>Thomalin, haue no care for thy, <br>My selfe will haue a double eye, <br>Ylike to my flocke and thine: <br>For als at home I haue a syre, <br>A stepdame eke as whott as fyre, <br>That dewly adayes counts mine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.<br>Nay, but thy seeing will not serue, <br>My sheepe for that may chaunce to swerue, <br>And fall into some mischiefe. <br>For sithens is but the third morowe, <br>That I chaunst to fall a sleepe with sorowe, <br>And waked againe with griefe: <br>The while thilke same vnhappye Ewe, <br>Whose clouted legge her hurt doth shewe, <br>Fell headlong into a dell. <br>And there vnioynted both her bones: <br>Mought her necke bene ioynted attones, <br>She shoulde haue neede no more spell. <br>Thelf was so wanton and so wood, <br>(But now I trowe can better good) <br>She mought ne gang on the greene, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>Let be, as may be, that is past: <br>That is to come, let be forecast. <br>Now tell vs, what thou hast seene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalin.<br>It was vpon a holiday, <br>When shepheardes groomes han leaue to playe, <br>I cast to goe a shooting. <br>Long wandring vp and downe the land, <br>With bowe and bolts in either hand, <br>For birds in bushes tooting: <br>At length within an Yuie todde <br>(There shrouded was the little God) <br>I heard a busie bustling. <br>I bent my bow against the bush, <br>Listening if any thing did rushe, <br>But then heard no more rustling. <br>Tho peeping close into the thicke, <br>Might see the mouing of some quicke. <br>Whose shape appeared not: <br>But were it faerie, feend, or snake, <br>My courage earnd it to awake, <br>And manfully thereat shotte. <br>With that sprong forth a naked swayne, <br>With spotted winges like Peacocks trayne, <br>And laughing lope to a tree. <br>His gylden quiuer at his backe, <br>And silver bowe, which was but slacke, <br>Which lightly he bent at me. <br>That seeing, I leuelde againe, <br>And shott at him with might and maine, <br>As thicke, as it had hayled. <br>So long I shott, that al was spent: <br>Tho pumie stones I hastly hent, <br>And threwe: but nought availed: <br>He was so wimble, and so wight, <br>From bough to bough he lepped light, <br>And oft the pumies latched. <br>Therewith affrayd I ranne away: <br>But he, that earst seemd but to playe, <br>A shaft in earnest snatched, <br>And hit me running in the heele: <br>For then I little smart did feele: <br>But soone it sore encreased. <br>And now it ranckleth more and more, <br>And inwardly it festreth sore, <br>Ne wote I, how to cease it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willye.<br>Thomalin, I pittie thy plight. <br>Perdie with loue thou diddest fight: <br>I know him by a token. <br>For once I heard my father say, <br>How he him caught vpon a day, <br>(Whereof he wilbe wroken) <br>Entangled in a fowling net, <br>Which he for carrion Crowes had set, <br>That in our Peeretree haunted. <br>Tho sayd, he was a winged lad, <br>But bowe and shafts as then none had: <br>Els had he sore be daunted. <br>But see the Welkin thicks apace, <br>And stouping Phebus steepes his face: <br>Yts time to hast vs homeward. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Willyes Embleme.<br>To be wise and eke to loue, <br>Is graunted scarce to God aboue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thomalins Embleme.<br>Of Hony and of Gaule in loue there is store: <br>The Honye is much, but the Gaule is more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374506" data-title="The Shepheardes Calender: March de Edmund Spenser" data-description="March: Ægloga Tertia. Willye & Thomalin.

Willye.
THomalin, why sytten we soe, 
As weren ouerwent with woe, 
Vpon so fayre a morow? 
The ioyous time now nighest fast, 
That shall alegge this bitter blast, 
And slake the winters sorowe. 

Thomalin..."></div>
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