Verse > Anthologies > Elizabethan Sonnets > Parthenophil and Parthenophe
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Seccombe and Arber, comps.  Elizabethan Sonnets.  1904.
 
Parthenophil and Parthenophe
Ode 6. O fair sweet glove!
Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)
 
    O FAIR sweet glove!
      Divine token
    Of her sweet love,
      Sweetly broken!
By words, sweet loves She durst not move!        5
These gifts, her love to me do prove!
      Though never spoken.
 
    On her fair hand,
      This glove once was!
    None in this land        10
      Did ever ’pass
Her hands’ fair white! Come Loves! here stand!
Let Graces’ with yours, match her hand!
      Hide! hide, alas!
 
    Graces would smile        15
      If you should match!
    Hers, yours beguile!
      Hers, garlands catch
From all the Nymphs! which blush the while
To see their white outmatched a mile!        20
      Which praise did watch.
 
    This glove, I kiss!
      And, for thy sake,
    I will not miss,
      But ballads make!        25
And every shepherd shall know this;
PARTHENOPHIL in such grace is!
      Muses, awake!
 
    For I will sing
      Thy matchless praises!        30
    And my pipes bring,
      Which floods amazes!
Wild Satyrs, friskins shall outfling!
The rocks shall this day’s glory ring!
      Whiles Nymphs bring daisies.        35
 
    Some, woodbines bear!
      Some, damask roses!
    The Muses were
      A-binding posies.
My goddess’ glove to herrye here        40
Great PAN comes in, with flowers sear,
      And crowns composes!
 
    I note this day
      Once every year!
    An holiday        45
      For Her kept dear!
A hundred Swains, on pipes shall play!
And for the Glove, masque in array
      With jolly cheer!
 
    A Glove of Gold,        50
      I will bring in!
    For which Swains bold,
      Shall strife begin!
And he, which loves can best unfold;
And hath in Songs, his mind best told;        55
      The Glove shall win!
 
    Nymphs shall resort!
      And they, with flowers,
    Shall deck a Fort
      For paramours,        60
Which for this Glove, shall there contend!
Impartial Nymphs shall judgement end!
      And in those bowers,
 
    Pronounce who best
      Deserved, of all!        65
    Then by the rest
      A Coronal
Of Roses, freshly shall be dresst!
And he, with that rich Glove possesst,
      As Principal!        70
 
 
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