George Gascoigne

(1535 – 7 October 1577 / Cardington, Bedfordshire)

George Gascoigne Poems

Best Poem of George Gascoigne

For That He Looked Not Upon Her

YOU must not wonder, though you think it strange,
To see me hold my louring head so low;
And that mine eyes take no delight to range
About the gleams which on your face do grow.
The mouse which once hath broken out of trap,
Is seldom 'ticed with the trustless bait,
But lies aloof for fear of more mishap,
And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit.
The scorched fly, which once hath 'scaped the flame,
Will hardly come again to play with fire:
Whereby I learn that grievous is the game
Which follows fancy dazzled by desire:
So that I wink or else hold...

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Fie, Pleasure, Fie!

1 Fie pleasure, fie! thou cloyest me with delight,
2 Thou fill'st my mouth with sweetmeats overmuch;
3 I wallow still in joy both day and night:
4 I deem, I dream, I do, I taste, I touch,
5 No thing but all that smells of perfect bliss;
6 Fie pleasure, fie! I cannot like of this.

7 To taste (sometimes) a bait of bitter gall,
8 To drink a draught of so{'u}r ale (some season)

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