| Se Hatheort Hierde, to his Willan | The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe, 1599 |
| Cum won mid me and wes min leof, And wit willan eall dream cunnian Þa dene, dune, grafas, wongas Wudu oððe steap hlið gieldeð |
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields Woods or steepy mountain yields |
| And wit willan sittan on þæm cludum, Wacian hierde fedan floccas Æt ta-diop ea, to þæs þeotra Swinnfuglas singað gliwdream. |
And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. |
| For þe wille ic weorcan rosen beddu And þusand stincenden blostmabindela, An blostmen hnifelwiþig, and an cyrtel Eall wirleafborda; |
And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flower, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; |
| An serc, geworht fram godlice wull Seo fram unc leohtum lambrum teoþ wit; Ticcenleþren slæppescos wiþ þara cylda Mid siglu fram unwemmede golde; |
A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold With buckles of the purest gold; |
| An streawen gyrdel mid ifig-cropum, Mid curalen gespongum and glæren stuðum; And gif ðes gecwemednes mot þec astyrian, Onwon mid me and wes min leof. |
A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. |
| Þa sceaphierdea swanas sceallan hleapan and singan, For þinre wynna ælc Maius mergen: Gif þas lustas mot þin hyge astyrian, Cum won mid me and wes min leof. |
The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. |
| The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd by Sir Walter Raleigh, 1600 | |
| Gif eall seo woruld and lufu wæren geong, And soð in ælcan sceaphierdes tunge, Þas beorhta lustas miht mec astyrian To wonnienne mid with þe and wesienne þin lief. |
If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. |
| Tima drifeð floccas felde to folde, Hwonne ea styrmað and cludas coliað; And nihtegala weorð dumb; Woruldlaf mænan towearda cearu. |
Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complain of cares to come. |
| [unfinished] | The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. |
| Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. | |
| Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. | |
| But could youth last and love still breed, Had joys no date nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. |