The Poetry Corner

From Eclogue ix

By Michael Drayton

BATTE. Gorbo, as thou cam'st this waye By yonder little hill, Or as thou through the fields didst straye Sawst thou my Daffadill? Shee's in a frock of Lincolne greene The colour maides delight And neuer hath her beauty seen But through a vale of white. Then Roses richer to behold That trim vp louers bowers, The Pansy and the Marigould Tho Phoebus Paramours. Gorbo.Thou well describ'st the Daffadill It is not full an hower Since by the spring neare yonder hill I saw that louely flower. Batte.Yet my faire flower thou didst not meet, Nor news of her didst bring, And yet my Daffadill more sweete, Then that by yonder spring. Gorbo.I saw a shepheard that doth keepe In yonder field of Lillies, Was making (as he fed his sheepe) A wreathe of Daffadillies. Batte.Yet Gorbo thou delud'st me stil My flower thou didst not see, For know my pretie Daffadill Is worne of none but me. To shew it selfe but neare her seate, No Lilly is so bould, Except to shade her from the heate, Or keepe her from the colde: Gorbo.Through yonder vale as I did passe, Descending from the hill, I met a smerking bony lasse, They call her Daffadill: Whose presence as along she went, The prety flowers did greet, As though their heads they downward bent, With homage to her feete. And all the shepheards that were nie, From toppe of euery hill, Vnto the vallies lowe did crie, There goes sweet Daffadill. Gorbo.I gentle shepheard, now with ioy Thou all my flockes dost fill, That's she alone kind shepheards boy, Let vs to Daffadill.