Detail View: LUNA: Folger Manuscript Transcriptions Collection: A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].

Digital Image File Name: 
Source Call Number: 
Source Title: 
A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].
Image Details: 
Part I. When reading Part I, Part II is inverted and reversed.
Source Creator: 
Burlington, Richard Boyle, Earl of, 1612-1698, compiler.
Source Created or Published: 
ca. 1630
Physical Description: 
folio 29 verso || folio 30 recto
Digital Image Type: 
FSL collection
Hamnet Catalog Link:
x The Nightingale . |G|M My limbs were wearie & my head opprest with drowsinesse & yet I could not rest My bed was such noe downe nor feathers can Make one more soft, though Joue againe turn'd Swan. No feare = distracted thoughts my slumbers broke I heard no Scrihoule squeake nor Rauen croke. Sleepes for the flea y ou r proud insulting Elfe Had taken truce, & was a sleepe it selfe But t'was nights [nights] darling, & that wods cheife iewel The Nightingale that was soe sweetely cruell. It woed my eares to rob mine eyes of sleepe That whilst shee sung of Tereus thay meight weepe. And yet reioyce the Tyrant did her wronge Her cause of woe was burden of her song Which whilst I listned to & striu'd to hear Twas such I could haue wish't my selfe all eare. Tis false the Poets faine of Orpheus; hee Could neither mooue a stone, a beast or tree To follow him: But wheresoere shee flyes Shee makes a groues Satyre, & Pharie hyes Aboute her pearch to daunce their roundelais For shee sings ditties to the m whilst Pan playes. Yet shee sings better now as if in mee S'had meant with sleepe to try the mastery. But whils't shee chaunted thus, the clock for spite Dayes worser heralde chid away the night. Thus robd of sleepe mine eyelyds nightly guest My thought I lay content though not with rest dividing line page break 30. Vpon the crowne of a hat drunken in for wante of a cup by . G.M. Well fare those three that when there was a dearth Of cups to drinke in yet could find out myrth And spight of fortune make their want their store, And nought to drinke in caused drinking more. No brickle glass wee vs'd nor did wee thinke T'would helpe taste t'haue windows to our drinke wee scorn'd base clay which tortur'd on the wheele Martyrde at last the force of fier doth feele. Both these are fraile, wee dranke not morraly In such like emblemes of mortalitie. The cup that bruers drinke in, & long may Polluted not our lips, nor yet the horne, Due to the forehead by our lips was borne We did abhor those hell bred bloud bought mettals Silver & gould, nor should that which makes kettals Serue vs for cups, nor that which is the neuter Betwixt these three & is But twas as rare a thing as often tryd As best of those though seuen times purifi'd. A seuen times scoured felt, but turned neuer And pittie ti's I cannot call it beauer. The circulated croune somewhat deprest And by degrees towards the That to out lips it might the better stoope Varied a little the figure of a hoope From
Transcriptions made by Shakespeare's World volunteers (, participants in EMROC classes and transcribathons (, participants in Folger paleography classes and transcribathons, and Folger docents.