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Poem by Thomas Randolph On Six Cambridge Lasses Bathing Themselves When bashfull daylight now was gone And night, that hides a blush, came on. Sixe Pretty Nymphes to wash away The sweatinge of a Summers daye In Chams fair streames did gently swim And naked bathd each curious limbe. O Who had this blist sight but seene Would thinke they all had Cl(oe)lias beene. A Scholer that a walke did take Perchance for Meditation sake. This blessed Obiect chan'cd to find Straight all thinges else went out of mind No Studyes better in this life For Practicke or Contemplatiue: Who thought Poore soule these hee had seene, Fair Dian and her Nymphes had beene. And therefore thought in piteous feare Act(ae)ons fortune was too neere. Or that the Water Nymphes they were Together met to sport 'um there And that to him such loue they bore As to Iolas once before. What could hee thinke but that his eye Sixe Venusses at once did spie Rise from the waues, or that perchaunce FreshWater Syrens came to dance Vpon our streames, with songes and lookes To tempt Poore Scholers from their bookes. Hee cannot thinke they Graces are Vnlesse their number doubled were. Nor can hee thinke they muses bee Bicause alasse they wanted three. I should haue rather guess'd that here Another brood of Helens were Begot by Ioue upon |y+e+| playnes Watchd by some L{ae}da of the Swans. The maydes betrayd were in a fright And blush'd (but twas not seene ith night.) At last all by |y+e+| banke did stand And hee, good harte lent them his hand. Where twas his blisse to feele all ore Soft Paps, smooth thighes and somethinge more. But Enuious Night masqued from his eyes The place where loue and pleasure lyes. Guesse Louers guesse, o you |y+t+| dare What then might bee this Scholers praier That hee were but a Cat to spye Or had but now Tyberius eyes. Yet since this hope was all in Vaine Hee helpes 'um don there cloths agayne. Makes Promise thye shall none bee shent So with them to the Tauerne went. Where how hee then might sport or play Pardon mee Muse I must not say Guesse you that haue a mind to knowe Whither hee were a Foole of no. Thomas Randolph Thomas Randolph's other poems: 1205 Views |
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