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 , 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.