Richard Barnfield

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Richard Barnfield (1574–1627) was an English poet and close friend of William Shakespeare.

Sourced[edit]

  • The waters were his winding sheet, the sea was made for his tomb;
    Yet for his fame the ocean sea, was not sufficient room.
    • Epitaph on Hawkins (1595).

Poems: In Divers Humours (1598)[edit]

  • As it fell upon a day
    In the merry month of May,
    Sitting in a pleasant shade
    Which a grove of myrtles made.
  • King Pandion, he is dead,
    All thy friends are lapped in lead.
    • Ode, l. 23.
  • Every one that flatters thee
    Is no friends in misery.
    Words are easy, like the wind;
    Faithful friends are hard to find.
    Every man will be thy friend
    Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
    But if store of crowns be scant,
    No man will supply thy want.
    • Ode, l. 29.

The Affectionate Shepheard (1594)[edit]

  • Scarce had the morning starre hid from the light
    Heavens crimson canopie with stars bespangled,
    But I began to rue th' unhappy sight
    Of that faire boy that had my hart intangled;
    Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;
    I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in.

    If it be sinne to love a sweet-fac'd boy,
    Whose amber locks trust up in golden tramels
    Dangle adowne his lovely cheekes with joy,
    When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels;
    If it be sinne to love a lovely lad,
    Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad.
    • The Teares of an Affectionate Shepheard Sicke for Love, or the Complaint of Daphnis for the Love of Ganimede.
  • Next morning, when the golden sunne was risen,
    And new had bid good morrow to the mountaines;
    When night her silver light had lockt in prison,
    Which gave a glimmering on the christall fountaines:
    Then ended sleepe, and then my cares began,
    Ev'n with the uprising of the silver swan.

    Oh, glorious sunne! quoth I, viewing the sunne,
    That lightenst everie thing but me alone:
    Why is my summer season almost done,
    My spring-time past, and ages autumne gone?
    My harvest's come, and yet I reapt no corne:
    My love is great, and yet I am forlorne.
    • The Second Dayes Lamentation of the Affectionate Shepheard.
  • Of all the kindes of common countrey life,
    Methinkes a shepheards life is most content;
    His state is quiet peace, devoyd of strife;
    His thoughts are pure from all impure intent,
    His pleasures rate sits at an easie rent;
    He beares no mallice in his harmles hart,
    Malicious meaning hath in him no part.

    He is not troubled with th' afflicted minde,
    His cares are onely over silly sheepe;
    He is not unto jealozie inclinde,
    (Thrice happie man) he knowes not how to weepe;
    Whilst I the treble in deepe sorrowes keepe.
    I cannot keepe the meane; for why (alas)
    Griefes have no meane, though I for meane doe passe.
    • The Shepheard's Content, or the Happines of a Harmles Life.

External links[edit]

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