Biography of Nicholas Breton
Nicholas Brenton gives a new twist to the story of Eve; since she was a part of Adam, "was she any other than himself that deceived himself?"
Between 1575 and his death he published over 30 individual collections of verse, three prose fictions and at least 25 pamphlets and miscellaneous works.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Nicholas Breton; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Nicholas Breton Poems
Shall we go dance the hay, the hay? Never pipe could ever play Better shepherd's roundelay.
An Odd Conceit
Lovely kind, and kindly loving, Such a mind were worth the moving; Truly fair, and fairly true-
Pretty Twinkling Starry Eyes
Pretty twinkling starry eyes! How did Nature first devise Such a sparkling in your sight As to give Love such delight
The worldly prince doth in his sceptre hold A kind of heaven in his authorities; The wealthy miser, in his mass of gold,
A Shepherd's Dream
A silly shepherd lately sat Among a flock of sheep; Where musing long on this and that,
On a hill there grows a flower, Fair befall the dainty sweet! By that flower there is a bower Where the heavenly Muses meet.
The Passionate Shepherd
Who can live in heart so glad As the merry country lad? Who upon a fair green balk May at pleasure sit and walk,
A Quarrel With Love
Oh that I could write a story Of love's dealing with affection! How he makes the spirit sorry
A Sweet Contention Between Love, His Mis...
Love and my mistress were at strife Who had the greatest power on me: Betwixt them both, oh, what a life! Nay, what a death is this to be!
A Pastoral Of Phyllis And Corydon
On a hill there grows a flower, Fair befall the dainty sweet! By that flower there is a bower, Where the heavenly Muses meet.
Say that I should say I love ye, Would you say 'tis but a saying? But if love in prayers move ye, Will ye not be moved with praying?
Invective: The Hate Of Treason
O the sweet sence of love's humilitie ! Which feares displeasure in a dearest friend, The onely note of Truth's nobilitie, Whose worthy grace is graced without end;
Aglaia: A Pastoral
Sylvan Muses, can ye sing Of the beauty of the Spring? Have ye seen on earth that sun That a heavenly course hath run?
A Sweet Pastoral
Good Muse, rock me asleep With some sweet harmony; The weary eye is not to keep Thy wary company.
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
In the bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That did ever eye behold.