George Turberville

George Turberville (or Turbervile; about 1540 – before 1597) was an English poet.

Epitaphs, Epigrams, Songs and Sonnets (1567)

"The Louer to his Ladie that gased much vp to the Skies"

• My Girle, thou gazest much
  vpon the golden Skies:
  Would I were Heauen, I would behold
  thée then with all mine eies.
  • Translating Anthologia Palatina, VII, 669
  • Modernised:
    "The Lover to his Lady, that gazed much up to the Skies"
    My Girl, thou gazest much
      Upon the golden skies:
    Would I were Heaven, I would behold
      Thee then with all mine eyes.

"To his Ladie, that by hap when he kissed hir and made hir lip bleed, controld him and tooke disdaine"

• Discharge thy dole,
  Thou subtile soule,
  It standes in little stéede
  To cursse the kisse
  That causer is
  Thy chirrie lip doth bléede.
  Thy bloud ascends
  To make amends
  For domage thou hast donne:
  For by the same
  I felt a flame
  More scorching than the Sunne.
  Thou reftst my harte
  By secret Arte,
  My sprites were quite subdude:
  My Senses fled
  And I was ded,
  Thy lippes were scarce imbrude.
  The kisse was thine,
  The hurt was mine,
  My hart felt all the paine:
  Twas it that bled
  And lookte so red,
  I tell thée once againe.
  But if you long
  To wreake your wrong
  Vpon your friendly fo:
  Come kisse againe
  And put to paine
  The man that hurt you so.
  • Modernised:
    "To his Lady, that by hap when he kissed her and made her lip bleed, controlled him and took disdain"
      Discharge thy dole,
      Thou subtle soul,
    It stands in little stead
      To curse the kiss
      That causer is
    Thy cherry lip doth bleed.
      Thy blood ascends
      To make amends
    For damage thou hast done:
      For by the same
      I felt a flame
    More scorching than the sun.
      Thou reft’st my heart
      By secret art,
    My sprites were quite subdued:
      My senses fled
      And I was dead,
    Thy lips were scarce imbrued.
      The kiss was thine,
      The hurt was mine,
    My heart felt all the pain:
      ’Twas it that bled
      And looked so red,
    I tell thee once again.
      But if you long
      To wreak your wrong
    Upon your friendly foe;
      Come kiss again
      And put to pain
    The man that hurt you so.

External links

• Encyclopedic article on George Turberville on Wikipedia