Personal anthology: George Peele
Just caught the first cold of the season. Too congested and run-down to write about anything profound tonight. So I’m posting obscure sixteenth-century poetry instead. I like this one especially for its rhythms.
Bethsabe’s Song
Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air,
Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white hair;
Shine sun; burn, fire; breathe, air, and ease me;
Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me and please me:
Shadow, my sweet nurse, keep me from burning,
Make not my glad cause cause of mourning.
Let not my beauty’s fire
Inflame unstaid desire,
Nor pierce any bright eye
That wandereth lightly.— George Peele
(Via the Wondering Minstrels.)
And now: movie rental, undemanding knitting, lots of tea and so to bed.
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