  Let well-tuned words amaze Alittle pretty bonny lass was walking In midst of May before the sun gan rise;I took her by the hand and fell to talking Of this and that as best I could devise: I swore I would—yet still she said I should not; Do what I would, and yet for all I could not. Ashepherd in a shade his plaining made Of love and lover’s wrongUnto the fairest lass that trod on grass, And thus began his song: “Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still Your fair and lovely eye: If I for sorrow die? Restore, restore my heart again Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain, Lest that, enforced by your disdain, I sing ‘Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.’ “My heart where have you laid? O cruel maid, To kill when you might save! Why have ye cast it forth as nothing worth, Without a tomb or grave? O let it be entombed and lie In your sweet mind and memory, Lest I resound on every warbling string ‘Fie, fie on love! that is a foolish thing.’ Restore, restore my heart again Which love by thy sweet looks hath slain, Lest that, enforced by your disdain, I sing ‘Fie on love! it is a foolish thing.’” ASparrow-Hawk proud did hold in wicked jail Music’s sweet chorister, the nightingale,To whom with sighs she said: “O set me free! And in my song I’ll praise no bird but thee.” The hawk replied, “I will not lose my diet To let a thousand such enjoy their quiet.” Awoman’s looks Are barbÈd hooks,That catch by art The strongest heart When yet they spend no breath; But let them speak, And sighing break Forth into tears, Their words are spears That wound our souls to death. The rarest wit Is made forget, And like a child Is oft beguiled With love’s sweet-seeming bait; Love with his rod So like a God Commands the mind; We cannot find, Fair shows hide foul deceit. Time, that all things In order brings, Hath taught me how To be more slow In giving faith to speech, No truth affords, And when they kiss They think by this Us men to over-reach. About the maypole new, with glee and merriment, While as the bagpipe tooted it,Thyrsis and Chloris fine together footed it: And to the joyous instrument Still they went to and fro, and finely flaunted it, And then both met again and thus they chaunted it. Fa la! The shepherds and the nymphs them round enclosÈd had, Wond’ring with what facility, About they turn’d them in such strange agility; And still when they unloosÈd had, With words full of delight they gently kissed them, And thus sweetly to sing they never missed them. Fa la! Adieu, sweet Amaryllis! For since to part your will is,O heavy, heavy tiding! Here is for me no biding. Yet once again, ere that I part with you, Adieu, sweet Amaryllis; sweet, adieu! April is in my mistress’ face, And July in her eyes hath place;Within her bosom is September, But in her heart a cold December. Arise, my thoughts, and mount you with the sun, Call all the winds to make you speedy wings,And to my fairest Maya see you run And weep your last while wantonly she sings; Then if you cannot move her heart to pity, Let Oh, alas, ay me be all your ditty. Denied of grace which only you desire, But let the sun your wings to ashes burn And melt your passions in his quenchless fire; Yet, if you move fair Maya’s heart to pity, Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty. Arise, my thoughts, beyond the highest star And gently rest you in fair Maya’s eye, For that is fairer than the brightest are; But, if she frown to see you climb so high, Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty, Of smiles and love and kisses, beg for pity. Awake, awake! thou heavy sprite That sleep’st the deadly sleep of sin!Rise now and walk the ways of light, ’Tis not too late yet to begin. Seek heaven early, seek it late; True Faith finds still an open gate. Get up, get up, thou leaden man! Thy track, to endless joy or pain, Yields but the model of a span: Yet burns out thy life’s lamp in vain! One minute bounds thy bane or bliss; Then watch and labour while time is. Awake, sweet Love! ’tis time to rise: Phoebus is risen in the east,Spreading his beams on those fair eyes Which are enclosed with Nature’s rest. Awake, awake from heavy sleep Which all thy thoughts in silence keep! Ay me, can every rumour Thus start my lady’s humour?Name ye some galante to her, Why straight forsooth I woo her. Then burst[s] she forth in passion “You men love but for fashion;” Yet sure I am that no man Ever so lovÈd woman. Then alas, Love, be wary, For women be contrary. Ay me, my mistress scorns my love; I fear she will most cruel prove.I weep, I sigh, I grieve, I groan; Yet she regardeth not my moan. Then, Love, adieu! it fits not me To weep for her that laughs at thee. Behold a wonder here! Love hath receiv’d his sight!Which many hundred year Hath not beheld the light. Such beams infusÈd be By Cynthia in his eyes, As first have made him see And then have made him wise. Love now no more will weep For them that laugh the while! Nor wake for them that sleep, Nor sigh for them that smile! That Love doth now behold, As Love is turned to Duty That’s neither blind nor bold. Thus Beauty shows her might To be of double kind; In giving Love his sight And striking Folly blind. Brown is my Love, but graceful: And each renownÈd whitenessMatch’d with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness. Fair is my Love, but scornful: Yet have I seen despisÈd Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizÈd. By a fountain where I lay, (All blessÈd be that blessÈd day!)By the glimm’ring of the sun, (O never be her shining done!) My true Love, fairest one! Love’s dear light! Love’s clear sight! No world’s eyes can clearer see! A fairer sight, none can be! Fair with garlands all addrest, (Was never Nymph more fairly blest!) BlessÈd in the highest degree, (So may she ever blessÈd be!) Came to this fountain near, With such a smiling cheer! Such a face, Such a grace! Happy, happy eyes, that see Such a heavenly sight as She! Then I forthwith took my pipe, Which I all fair and clean did wipe, And upon a heavenly ground, All in the grace of beauty found, Play’d this roundelay: “Welcome, fair Queen of May! Sing, sweet air! Welcome, Fair! Welcome be the Shepherds’ Queen, The glory of all our green!” The Urchins’ Dance. By the moon we sport and play, With the night begins our day:As we frisk the dew doth fall; Trip it, little urchins all! Lightly as the little bee, Two by two, and three by three; And about, about go we. The Elves’ Dance. Round about in a fair ring-a, Thus we dance and thus we sing-a;Trip and go, to and fro, Over this green-a; All about, in and out, Over this green-a. The Courtier’s Good Morrow to his Mistress. Canst thou love and lie alone? Love is so disgracÈd,Pleasure is best Wherein is rest In a heart embracÈd. Rise, rise, rise! Bells do ring and birds do sing, Only I that mourn out. Morning-star doth now appear, Wind is hushed and sky is clear; Come, come away, come, come away! Canst thou love and burn out day? Rise, rise, rise! Daylight do not burn out; Bells do ring [and] birds do sing, Only I that mourn out. Change thy mind since she doth change, Let not fancy still abuse thee,Thy untruth cannot seem strange When her falsehood doth excuse thee: Love is dead and thou art free, She doth live but dead to thee. Whilst she loved thee best a while, See how she hath still delayed thee: Using shows for to beguile, Those vain hopes that have deceived thee: Now thou seest, although too late, Love loves truth which women hate. She is gone and loves another: Being once deceived by one, Leave her love but love none other. She was false, bid her adieu, She was best but yet untrue. Love, farewell, more dear to me Than my life, which thou preservest. Life, all joys are gone from thee; Others have what thou deservest. Oh my death doth spring from hence, I must die for her offence. Die, but yet before thou die, Make her know what she hath gotten, She in whom my hopes did lie Now is changed, I quite forgotten. She is changed, but changÈd base, Baser in so vild a place. Cold Winter’s ice is fled and gone, And Summer brags on every tree,The red-breast peeps amidst the throng Of wood-born birds that wanton be: Each one forgets what they have been, And so doth Phyllis, Summer’s queen. Come away! come, sweet Love! The golden morning breaks;All the earth, all the air, Of love and pleasure speaks! Teach thine arms then to embrace, And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual bliss. Eyes were made for beauty’s grace Viewing, ruing, love’s long pain; Procured by beauty’s rude disdain. Come away! The golden morning wastes While the sun from his sphere His fiery arrows casts: Making all the shadows fly, Playing, staying in the grove To entertain the stealth of love. Thither, sweet Love, let us hie, Flying, dying in desire, Wing’d with sweet hopes and heavenly fire. Come away! come, sweet Love! Do not in vain adorn Like to our naked morn! Lilies on the river’s side, And fair Cyprian flowers new-blown, Desire no beauties but their own: Ornament is nurse of pride. Pleasure measure[s] love’s delight: Haste then, sweet love, our wishÈd flight! Come, O come, my life’s delight! Let me not in languor pine!Love loves no delay; thy sight The more enjoyed, the more divine! O come, and take from me The pain of being deprived of thee! Thou all sweetness dost enclose, Like a little world of bliss; Beauty guards thy looks, the rose In them pure and eternal is: Come, then, and make thy flight As swift to me as heavenly light! Come, Phyllis, come into these bowers: Here shelter is from sharpest showers,Cool gales of wind breathe in these shades, Danger none this place invades; Here sit and note the chirping birds Pleading my love in silent words. Come, Phyllis, come, bright heaven’s eye Cannot upon thy beauty pry; Glad Echo in distinguished voice Naming thee will here rejoice; Then come and hear her merry lays Crowning thy name with lasting praise. Come, shepherd swains, that wont to hear me sing, Now sigh and groan!Dead is my Love, my Hope, my Joy, my Spring; Dead, dead, and gone! O, She that was your Summer’s Queen, Your days’ delight, O, cruel spite! Break all your pipes that wont to sound With pleasant cheer, And cast yourselves upon the ground To wail my Dear! Come, shepherd swains, come, nymphs, and all a-row To help me cry: Dead is my Love, and, seeing She is so, Lo, now I die! Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton, Leave your crafty smiling!Think you to escape me now With slipp’ry words beguiling? No; you mocked me th’ other day; When you got loose, you fled away; But, since I have caught you now, I’ll clip your wings for flying: Smoth’ring kisses fast I’ll heap And keep you so from crying. Sooner may you count the stars And number hail down-pouring, Tell the osiers of the Thames, Or Goodwin sands devouring, Which now thy tired lips must bear. Such a harvest never was So rich and full of pleasure, But ’tis spent as soon as reaped, So trustless is lore’s treasure. Could my heart more tongues employ Than it harbours thoughts of grief,It is now so far from joy That it scarce could ask relief: Truest hearts by deeds unkind To despair are most inclined. Happy minds that can redeem Their engagements how they please, That no joys or hopes esteem Half so precious as their ease: Wisdom should prepare men so, As if they did all foreknow. Yet no art or caution can Grown affections easily change; Use is such a lord of man That he brooks worst what is strange: Better never to be blest Than to lose all at the best. CrownÈd with flowers I saw fair Amaryllis By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal,And with her hand more white than snow or lilies, On sand she wrote My faith shall be immortal: And suddenly a storm of wind and weather Blew all her faith and sand away together. The Fairies’ Dance. Dare you haunt our hallow’d green? None but fairies here are seen.Down and sleep, Wake and weep, Pinch him black, and pinch him blue, That seeks to steal a lover true! When you come to hear us sing, Or to tread our fairy ring, Pinch him black, and pinch him blue! O thus our nails shall handle you! Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent, Heaping flatt’ries that in heart were never meant,Easily could I then obtain What now in vain I force; Falsehood much doth gain, Truth yet holds the better course. Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive, Or, in praising you, myself of truth deprive! Let not your high thoughts debase A simple truth in me; Great is Beauty’s grace, Truth is yet as fair as she. Praise is but the wind of pride if it exceeds, Wealth prized in itself no outward value needs: Fair you are, and passing fair; You know it, and ’tis true; Yet let none despair But to find as fair as you. Dear, if you change, I’ll never choose again; Sweet, if you shrink, I’ll never think of love;Fair, if you fail, I’ll judge all beauty vain; Wise, if too weak, more wits I’ll never prove. And, on my faith, my faith shall never break. Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn; Heaven her bright stars through earth’s dim globe shall move; Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born; Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove: Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view, Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you. Do you not know how Love lost first his seeing? Because with me once gazingOn those fair eyes where all powers have their being, She with her beauty blazing, Which death might have revivÈd, Him of his sight and me of heart deprivÈd. Draw on, sweet Night, best friend unto those cares That do arise from painful melancholy;That unto thee I consecrate it wholly. Sweet Night, draw on; my griefs, when they be told To shades and darkness, find some ease from paining; And while thou all in silence dost enfold, I then shall have best time for my complaining. Each day of thine, sweet month of May, Love makes a solemn holyday:I will perform like duty, Since thou resemblest every way AstrÆa, Queen of Beauty. Every dame affects good fame, whate’er her doings be, But true praise is Virtue’s bays, which none may wear but she.Borrowed guise fits not the wise, a simple look is best; Native grace becomes a face though ne’er so rudely drest. That before the year grows old the newest fashion dies. Dames of yore contended more in goodness to exceed, Than in pride to be envied for that which least they need. Little lawn then serve[d] the Pawn, if Pawn at all there were; Homespun thread and household bread then held out all the year. But th’ attires of women now wear out both house and land; That the wives in silk may flow, at ebb the good men stand. Once again, AstrÆa! then from heaven to earth descend, And vouchsafe in their behalf these errors to amend. Aid from heaven must make all even, things are so out of frame; For let man strive all he can, he needs must please his dame. Happy man, content that gives and what he gives enjoys! Happy dame, content that lives and breaks no sleep for toys! Fair Phyllis I saw sitting all alone, Feeding her flock near to the mountain-side;The shepherds knew not whither she was gone, But after her lover Amyntas hied. Up and down he wandered, whilst she was missing; When he found her, oh then they fell a-kissing! Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies, A mortal foe and enemy to rest,An envious boy from whom all cares arise, A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest; A way of error, a temple full of treason, In all effects contrary unto reason. A poison’d serpent cover’d all with flowers, Mother of sighs and murderer of repose; A sea of sorrows from whence are drawn such showers As moisture lend to every grief that grows; A school of guile, a net of deep deceit, A gilded hook that holds a poison’d bait. A Siren song, a fever of the mind, A maze wherein affection finds no end, A raging cloud that runs before the wind; A substance like the shadow of the sun, A goal of grief for which the wisest run. A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear, A path that leads to peril and mishap, A true retreat of sorrow and despair, An idle boy that sleeps in Pleasure’s lap; A deep distrust of that which certain seems, A hope of that which Reason doubtful deems. Farewell, my joy! Adieu, my love and pleasure!To sport and toy We have no longer leisure. Fa la la! Farewell, adieu Until our next consorting! Sweet love, be true! And thus we end our sporting. Fa la la! Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new, Good pennyworths,—but money cannot move:I keep a fair but for the Fair to view,— A beggar may be liberal of love. Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true, The heart is true. Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again, My trifles come as treasures from my mind; It is a precious jewel to be plain; Sometimes in shell the orient’st pearls we find: Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain! Of me a grain! Within this pack pins, points, laces, and gloves, And divers toys fitting a country fair, But my heart, wherein duty serves and loves, Turtles and twins, court’s brood, a heavenly pair— Happy the heart that thinks of no removes! Of no removes! Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed, Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred:How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds? Or can he love on whom no comfort shines? Fair, I confess there’s pleasure in your sight; Sweet, you have power, I grant, of all delight; But what is all to me if I have none? Churl that you are t’enjoy such wealth alone! Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you, Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view; Then will I pray again, hoping to find, As well as in your looks, heaven in your mind. Saint of my heart, queen of my life and love, O let my vows thy loving spirit move! Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain, But with one touch of grace cure all my pain! Flora gave me fairest flowers, None so fair in Flora’s treasure;These I placed on Phyllis’ bowers, She was pleased, and she my pleasure: Smiling meadows seem to say, “Come, ye wantons, here to play.” Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet! Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love: But, if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne’er return again. All that I sang still to her praise did tend, Still she was first, still she my songs did end; Yet she my love and music both doth fly, The music that her echo is and beauty’s sympathy: Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight! It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her delight. ??? ?st? ??a? ?st?? ?? ?e???eta?, ?????s? p??te?? ?a? ?a??s?? e?d?te?. Anthol. GrÆc. Fond wanton youths make love a God Which after proveth Age’s rod;Their youth, their time, their wit, their art They spend in seeking of their smart; And, which of follies is the chief, They woo their woe, they wed their grief. Love’s sweets, they find, enfold sour care; His pleasures pleasing’st in the eye, Which tasted once with loathing die: They find of follies ’tis the chief, Their woe to woo, to wed their grief. If for their own content they choose Forthwith their kindred’s love they lose; And if their kindred they content, For ever after they repent; O ’tis of all our follies chief, Our woe to woo, to wed our grief. In bed, what strifes are bred by day, Our puling wives do open lay; None friends, none foes we must esteem But whom they so vouchsafe to deem: O ’tis of all our follies chief, Our woe to woo, to wed our grief. Their smiles we want if aught they want, And either we their wills must grant Or die they will, or are with child; Their longings must not be beguiled: O ’tis of all our follies chief, Our woe to woo, to wed our grief. Foul wives are jealous, fair wives false, Marriage to either binds us thrall; Wherefore being bound we must obey And forcÈd be perforce to say,— Of all our bliss it is the chief, Our woe to woo, to wed our grief. From Citheron the warlike boy is fled And smiling sits upon a Virgin’s lap,—Thereby to train poor misers to the trap, Whom Beauty draws with fancy to be fed: And when Desire with eager looks is led, Then from her eyes The arrow flies, Feather’d with flame, arm’d with a golden head. Her careless thoughts are freÈd of that flame Wherewith her thralls are scorchÈd to the heart: If Love would so, would God the enchanting dart Might once return and burn from whence it came! Not to deface of Beauty’s work the frame, But by rebound It might be found What secret smart I suffer by the same. If Love be just, then just is my desire; And if unjust, why is he call’d a God? O God, O God, O Just! reserve thy rod To chasten those that from thy laws retire! But choose aright (good Love! I thee require) The golden head, Not that of lead! Her heart is frost and must dissolve by fire. To Master Hugh Holland. From Fame’s desire, from Love’s delight retired, In these sad groves an hermit’s life I lead:And those false pleasures, which I once admired, With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread. To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this; For she less secret, and as senseless is. O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness! O how much do I love your solitariness! Experience which repentance only brings, Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange! Love is disdained when it doth look at Kings; And Love low placÈd base and apt to change. There Power doth take from him his liberty, Her[e] Want of Worth makes him in cradle die. O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness! O how much do I love your solitariness! You men that give false worship unto Love, And seek that which you never shall obtain; The endless work of Sisyphus you prove, Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain. Hope and Desire, which now your idols be, You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me. O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness! O how much do I love your solitariness! Nymphs at whose sights all hearts did yield to love. You woods, in whom dear lovers oft have talked, How do you now a place of mourning prove? Wanstead! my Mistress saith this is the doom. Thou art love’s child-bed, nursery, and tomb. O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness! O how much do I love your solitariness! Give Beauty all her right! She’s not to one form tied;Each shape yields fair delight Where her perfections bide: Helen, I grant, might pleasing be, And Ros’mond was as sweet as she. Some the quick eye commends, Some swelling Pale looks have many friends, Through sacred sweetness bred: Meadows have flowers that pleasures move, Though roses are the flowers of love. Free beauty is not bound To one unmovÈd clime; And favours every time. Let the old loves with mine compare, My sovereign is as sweet and fair. Go crystal tears! like to the morning showers, And sweetly weep into thy lady’s breast!And as the dews revive the drooping flowers, So let your drops of pity be addrest! To quicken up the thoughts of my desert, Which sleeps too sound whilst I from her depart. Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart! Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death, Feels never any touch of my desert. Yet sighs and tears to her I sacrifice Both from a spotless heart and patient eyes. Go, turn away those cruel eyes, For they have quite undone me;When first those glances won me. But ’tis the custom of you men,— False men thus to deceive us! To love but till we love again, And then again to leave us. Go, let alone my heart and me, Which thou hast thus affrighted! I did not think I could by thee Have been so ill requited. But now I find ’tis I must prove That men have no compassion; When we are won, you never love Poor women, but for fashion, Do recompense my love with hate, And kill my heart! I’m sure Thou’lt one day say, when ’tis too late, Thou never hadst a truer. Good men show! if you can tell, Where doth Human Pity dwell?Far and near her I would seek, So vexed with sorrow is my breast. And only makes th’ unhappy blest.” Oh! if such a saint there be, Some hope yet remains for me: Prayer or sacrifice may gain From her implorÈd grace, relief; To release me of my pain, Or at the least to ease my grief. Young am I, and far from guile, The more is my woe the while: Falsehood, with a smooth disguise, My simple meaning hath abused: Casting mists before mine eyes, By which my senses are confused. Fair he is, who vowed to me, That he only mine would be; But alas, his mind is caught With every gaudy bait he sees: And, too late, my flame is taught That too much kindness makes men freeze. From me, all my friends are gone, While I pine for him alone; And not one will rue my case, But rather my distress deride: That I think, there is no place, Where Pity ever yet did bide. Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass Most merrily, I’ll be sworn;For many an honest Indian ass Goes for an Unicorn. Farra, diddle dino; This is idle fino. Ty hye! ty hye! O sweet delight! He tickles this age that can Call Tullia’s ape a marmosyte And Leda’s goose a swan. Farra diddle dino; This is idle fino. So so! so so! fine English days! When false play’s no reproach: For he that doth the coachman praise, May safely use the coach. Farra diddle dino; This is idle fino. Happy he Who, to sweet home retired,And to himself lives free, Whilst he who strives with pride to climb the skies Falls down with foul disgrace before he rise. Let who will The active life commend And all his travels bend Earth with his fame to fill: Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death, Which life maintain’d by others’ idle breath. My delights, To dearest home confined, Shall there make good my mind Not aw’d with fortune’s spites: High trees heaven blasts, winds shake and honors When lowly plants long time in safety dwell. All I can, My worldly strife shall be They one day say of me ‘He died a good old man’: On his sad soul a heavy burden lies Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies. Happy, O! happy he, who not affecting The endless toils attending worldly cares,In silent peace his way to heaven prepares, Deeming this life a scene, the world a stage Whereon man acts his weary pilgrimage. Have I found her? O rich finding! Goddess-like for to behold,Her fair tresses seemly binding In a chain of pearl and gold. Chain me, chain me, O most fair, Chain me to thee with that hair! Heigh ho! chill go to plough no more! Sit down and take thy rest;Of golden groats I have full store To flaunt it with the best. But I love and I love, and who thinks you? The finest lass that e’er you knew, Which makes me sing when I should cry Heigh ho! for love I die. The Bachelor. How many things as yet Are dear alike to me!The field, the horse, the dog, Love, arms, or liberty. I have no wife as yet That I may call mine own; I have no children yet That by my name are known. Yet, if I married were, I would not wish to thrive If that I could not tame The veriest shrew alive. How shall I then describe my Love? When all men’s skilful artIs far inferior to her worth, To praise the unworthiest part. In actions all discreet, Of nature loving, pleasing most, In virtue all complete. And for her voice a Philomel, Her lips may all lips scorn; No sun more clear than is her eye, In brightest summer morn. A mind wherein all virtues rest And take delight to be, And where all virtues graft themselves In that most fruitful tree: A tree that India doth not yield, Nor ever yet was seen, Where buds of virtue always spring, And all the year grow green. That country’s blest wherein she grows, And happy is that rock From whence she springs: but happiest he That grafts in such a stock. Ialways loved to call my lady Rose, For in her cheeks roses do sweetly glose,As roses do ’gainst Phoebus’ morning-view: But when I thought to pull’t, hope was bereft me,— My rose was gone and naught but prickles left me. A Wooing Song of a Yeoman of Kent’s Son. Ihave house and land in Kent, And if you’ll love me, love me now;Twopence-halfpenny is my rent, I cannot come every day to woo. Chorus. Twopence-halfpenny is his rent, And he cannot come every day to woo. Ich am my vather’s eldest zonne, My mother eke doth love me well, For ich can bravely clout my shoone, And ich full well can ring a bell. Chorus. For he can bravely clout his shoone, And he full well can ring a bell. My vather he gave me a hog, My mouther she gave me a zow; I have a God-vather dwels thereby, And he on me bestowed a plow. Chorus. He has a God-vather dwells thereby, And he on him bestowed a plough. Another time a tawdry-lace; And if thou wilt not grant me love, In truth ich die bevore thy face. Chorus. And if thou wilt not grant his love, In truth he’ll die bevore thy vace. Ich have been twice our Whitson-lord, Ich have had ladies many vair, And eke thou hast my heart in hold And in my mind zeems passing rare. Chorus. And eke thou hast his heart in hold And in his mind seems passing rare. Ich will put on my best white slops And ich will wear my yellow hose, And on my head a good grey hat, And in’t ich stick a lovely rose. Chorus. And on his head a good grey hat, And in’t he’ll stick a lovely rose. Wherefore cease off, make no delay, And if you’ll love me, love me now; Or else ich zeek zome oderwhere, For I cannot come every day to woo. Chorus. Or else he’ll zeek zome oderwhere, For he cannot come every day to woo. Ijoy not in no earthly bliss, I force not Croesus’ wealth a straw;For care I know not what it is I fear not Fortune’s fatal law: My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright nor force of love. I wish but what I have at will, I wander not to seek for more; I like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on shore And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again. I kiss not where I wish to kill; I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty’s gate; I scorn no poor, nor fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much. The court and cart I like nor loath; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean between them both Doth surest sit and fears no fall. This is my choice: for why? I find No wealth is like the quiet mind. Ilive, and yet methinks I do not breathe; I thirst and drink, I drink and thirst again;I sleep and yet do dream I am awake; I hope for that I have; I have and want: I sing and sigh; I love and hate at once. O, tell me, restless soul, what uncouth jar Doth cause in store such want, in peace such war? Risposta. There is a jewel which no Indian mines Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit; It makes men rich in greatest poverty; Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain: Seldom it come, to few from heaven sent, That much in little, all in nought,—Content. The Maid. Imarriage would forswear, But that I hear men tellThat she that dies a maid Must lead an ape in hell. I will not mock and play Nor drive the bargain on Till it be driven away. Titles and lands I like, Yet rather fancy can A man that wanteth gold Than gold that wants a man. The Married Man. Ionly am the man Among all married menThat do not wish the priest, To be unlinked again. And though my shoe did wring I would not make my moan, Nor think my neighbours’ chance More happy than mine own. Yet court I not my wife, But yield observance due, Being neither fond nor cross, Nor jealous nor untrue. Isaw my Lady weep, And sorrow proud to be advancÈd soIn those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe, But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare; She made her sighs to sing, And all things with so sweet a sadness move As made my heart at once both grieve and love. O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve. Enough, enough; your joyful look excels; Tears kill the heart, believe. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow. Isung sometime my thoughts and fancy’s pleasure, Where I did list, or time served best and leisure;While Daphne did invite me To supper once, and drank to me to spite me. And drank where she had drunk before, to flout her; But, O! while I did eye her, Mine eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire. Iweigh not Fortune’s frown nor smile, I joy not much in earthly joys,I seek not state, I reak [sic] not style, I am not fond of Fancy’s toys. I rest so pleased with what I have I wish no more, no more I crave. I tremble not at noise of war, I quake not at the thunder’s crack, I shrink not at a blazing star, I sound not at the news of wreck, I fear no loss, I hope no gain, I envy none, I none disdain. I see Ambition never pleased, I see some Tantals starve in store, I see gold’s dropsy seldom eased, I see each Midas gape for more: I neither want nor yet abound, Enough’s a feast, content is crowned. I feign not friendship where I hate, I fawn not on the great for grace, Ne yet too lofty, nor too base, This is all my choice, my cheer— A mind content and conscience clear. Iwill no more come to thee That flout’st me when I woo thee;Still ty hy thou criest And all my lovely rings and pins denyest. O say, alas, what moves thee To grieve him so that loves thee? Leave, alas, then, ah leave tormenting And give my burning some relenting. If fathers knew but how to leave Their children wit as they do wealth,And could constrain them to receive That physic which brings perfect health, The world would not admiring stand A woman’s face and woman’s hand. We men will needs be servants still; We kiss their hands, and what they say We must commend, be’t ne’er so ill: Thus we, like fools, admiring stand Her pretty foot and pretty hand. We blame their pride, which we increase By making mountains of a mouse; We praise because we know we please; Poor women are too credulous To think that we admiring stand Or foot, or face, or foolish hand. If I urge my kind desires, She, unkind, doth them reject,Women’s hearts are painted fires, To deceive them that affect. I alone love’s fires include: She alone doth them delude. She hath often vowed her love: But alas no fruit I find. That her fires are false I prove Yet, in her, no fault I find. I was thus unhappy born, And ordained to be her scorn. May the heavenly order change; She will hate her own disdain, And repent she was so strange: For a truer heart than I, Never lived, nor loved to die. If my complaints could passions move, Or make Love see wherein I suffer wrong;My passions were enough to prove That my despairs had governed me too long. O Love, I live and die in thee! Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me. Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks, Yet thou dost hope when I despair; My heart for thy unkindness breaks; Thou say’st thou can’st my harms repair, And when I hope thou mak’st me hope in vain; Yet for redress thou let’st me still complain. Can Love be rich, and yet I want? Is Love my judge, and yet am I condemned? Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant; Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned! That I do live, it is thy power; That I desire it is thy worth. Let me not love, nor live henceforth! Die shall my hopes, but not my faith, That you, that of my fall may hearers be, May hear Despair, which truly saith “I was more true to Love, than Love to me.” If thou long’st so much to learn, sweet boy, what ’tis to love, Do but fix thy thoughts on me and thou shalt quickly prove:Little suit at first shall win Way to thy abashed desire, But then will I hedge thee in, Salamander-like, with fire. With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond dalliance bear; We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons there; Other whiles we’ll gather flowers, Lying dallying on the grass; And thus our delightful hours, Full of waking dreams, shall pass. When thy joys were thus at height, my love should turn from thee, Old acquaintance then should grow as strange, as strange might be: Breaking all their hearts for me, While to all I’ll prove more kind And more forward than to thee. Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love defy, But, alas, poor soul, too late! clipt wings can never fly. Those sweet hours which we had past, Called to thy mind, thy heart would burn; And couldst thou fly ne’er so fast, They would make thee straight return. If women could be fair and never fond, Or that their beauty might continue still,I would not marvel though they made men bond By service long to purchase their goodwill: But when I see how frail these creatures are, I laugh that men forget themselves so far. To mark what choice they make and how they change, How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still; And how, like haggards wild, about they range, And scorning reason follow after will! Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist And let them fly (fair fools!) which way they list? To pass the time when nothing else can please: And train them on to yield by subtle oath The sweet content that gives such humour ease: And then we say, when we their follies try, “To play with fools, O, what a fool was I!” In crystal towers and turrets richly set With glitt’ring gems that shine against the sun,In regal rooms of jasper and of jet, Content of mind not always likes to won; But oftentimes it pleaseth her to stay In simple cotes enclosed with walls of clay. In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be, The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,The walls of marble black that moistened still shall weep, My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep: Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb O let me dying live till death doth come. My sighs the air through which my panting heart shall pine, My robes my mind shall suit exceeding blackest night, My study shall be tragic thoughts sad fancy to delight, Pale ghosts and frightful shades shall my acquaintance be: O thus, my hapless joy, I haste to thee. In midst of woods or pleasant grove, Where all sweet birds do sing,Methought I heard so rare a sound Which made the heavens to ring. The charm was good, the noise full sweet, Each bird did play his part; And I admired to hear the same, Joy sprang into my heart. The black bird made the sweetest sound, Whose tunes did far excel; Full pleasantly, and most profound Was all things placed well. Thy pretty tunes, mine own sweet bird, Done with so good a grace, Extolls thy name, prefers the same Abroad in every place. With sundry points of skill, Bewrays thy knowledge excellent Ingrafted in thy will. My tongue shall speak, my pen shall write In praise of thee to tell; The sweetest bird that ever was, In friendly sort farewell. In pride of May The fields are gay,The birds do sweetly sing. Fa la la! So Nature would That all things should With joy begin the spring. Fa la la! Then, Lady dear, Do you appear In beauty like the spring: Fa la la! I dare well say The birds that day More cheerfully will sing. Fa la la! Fe??e?? d? t?? ???ta ?e??? p????.—Archias. In Sherwood lived stout Robin Hood, An archer great, none greater,His bow and shafts were sure and good, Yet Cupid’s were much better; Robin could shoot at many a hart and miss, Cupid at first could hit a heart of his. Hey, jolly Robin Hood, ho jolly Robin Hood, Love finds out me As well as thee, To follow me to the green-wood. A noble thief was Robin Hood, Wise was he could deceive him; Yet Marian in his bravest mood Could of his heart bereave him: No greater thief lies hidden under skies, Than beauty closely lodged in women’s eyes. Hey, jolly Robin, &c. An outlaw was this Robin Hood, His life free and unruly, Yet to fair Marian bound he stood And love’s debt paid her duly: Love Hey, jolly Robin, &c. Now wend we home, stout Robin Hood, Leave we the woods behind us, Love-passions must not be withstood, Love everywhere will find us. I lived in field and town, and so did he; I got me to the woods, Love followed me. Hey, jolly Robin, &c. In the merry month of May, On a morn by break of day,Forth I walk’d by the wood-side, Whereas May was in her pride: There I spyÈd all alone Phillida and Corydon. Much ado there was, God wot! He would love and she would not. She said, never man was true; He said, none was false to you. She said, Love should have no wrong. Corydon would kiss her then; She said, maids must kiss no men Till they did for good and all; Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness truth Never lov’d a truer youth. Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea and nay, and faith and troth, Such as seely shepherds use When they will not love abuse, Love, which had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded; And Phillida with garlands gay Was made the Lady of the May. Inconstant Laura makes me death to crave, For wanting her I must embrace my grave;A little grave will ease my malady And set me free from love’s fell tyranny. Intomb me then and show her where I lie, And say I died through her inconstancy. Injurious hours, whilst any joy doth bless me, With speedy wings you fly and so release me;But if some sorrow do oppress my heart, You creep as if you never meant to part. Is Love a boy,—what means he then to strike? Or is he blind,—why will he be a guide?Is he a man,—why doth he hurt his like? Is he a God,—why doth he men deride? No one of these, but one compact of all: A wilful boy, a man still dealing blows, Of purpose blind to lead men to their thrall, A god that rules unruly—God, he knows. Boy, pity me that am a child again; Blind, be no more my guide to make me stray; Man, use thy might to force away my pain; God, do me good and lead me to my way; And if thou beest a power to me unknown, Power of my life, let here thy grace be shown. The Marriage of the Frog and the Mouse. It was the frog in the well, Humbledum, humbledum,And the merry mouse in the mill, Tweedle, tweedle, twino. The frog would a wooing ride Sword and buckler by his side. When he upon his high horse set, His boots they shone as black as jet. When he came to the merry mill-pin,— “Lady Mouse, been you within?” Then came out the dusty mouse: “I am Lady of this house: Hast thou any mind of me?” “I have e’en great mind of thee?” “Who shall this marriage make?” “Our Lord which is the rat,” “What shall we have to our supper?” “Three beans in a pound of butter?” The frog, the mouse, and e’en the rat; Then came in Gib our cat, And catched the mouse e’en by the back. Then did they separate, And the frog leaped on the floor so flat. Then came in Dick our drake, And drew the frog e’en to the lake. The rat run up the wall, Humbledum, humbledum; A goodly company, the Devil go with all! Tweedle tweedle twino. Jack and Joan, they think no ill, But loving live, and merry still;Do their week-days’ work, and pray Devoutly on the holy day: Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the Summer Queen; Lash out at a country feast Their silver penny with the best. Well can they judge of nappy ale, And tell at large a winter tale; And turn the crabs till they be soft. Tib is all the father’s joy, And little Tom the mother’s boy. All their pleasure is Content; And Care, to pay their yearly rent. Joan can call by name her cows And deck her windows with green boughs; She can wreaths and tutties And trim with plums a bridal cake. Jack knows what brings gain or loss; And his long flail can stoutly toss: Makes the hedge which others break, And ever thinks what he doth speak. Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange delights; Though you scorn the homespun gray And revel in your rich array; Though your tongues dissemble deep, And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain. Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day;Breaks time, as dancers, From their own music when they stray. Wing my hopes in vain. O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign? Can true love yield such delay, Converting joy to pain? Lost is our freedom When we submit to women so: Why do we need ’em When, in their best, they work our woe? There is no wisdom Can alter ends by Fate prefixt. O, why is the good of man with evil mixt? Never were days yet callÈd two But one night went betwixt. Kind in unkindness, when will you relent And cease with faint love true love to torment?Still entertained, excluded still I stand; Her glove still hold, but cannot touch the hand. In her fair hand my hopes and comforts rest: O might my fortunes with that hand be blest! No envious breaths then my deserts could shake, For they are good whom such true love doth make. O let not beauty so forget her birth That it should fruitless home return to earth! Not your sweet self, for such self-love is none. Love one that only lives in loving you; Whose wronged deserts would you with pity view, This strange distaste which your affection sways Would relish love, and you find better days. Thus till my happy sight your beauty views, Whose sweet remembrance still my hope renews, Let these poor lines solicit love for me, And place my joys where my desires would be. Lady, the birds right fairly Are singing ever early;The lark, the thrush, the nightingale, The make-sport cuckoo and the quail. These sing of Love! then why sleep ye? To love your sleep it may not be. Lady, the melting crystal of your eye Like frozen drops upon your cheeks did lie;And saw love’s flames within them burning bright, Which did mine eye entice To play with burning ice; But O, my heart thus sporting with desire, My careless eye did set my heart on fire. O that a drop from such a sweet fount flying Should flame like fire and leave my heart a-dying! I burn, my tears can never drench it Till in your eyes I bathe my heart and quench it: But there, alas, love with his fire lies sleeping, And all conspire to burn my heart with weeping. Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours,And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting: For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes Whether the roses be your lips or your lips [be] the roses. Let not Chloris think, because She hath unvassel’d me,That her beauty can give laws To others that are free: I was made to be the prey And booty of her eyes! In my bosom, she may say. Her greatest kingdom lies. Though others may her brow adore, Yet more must I that therein see far more Than any other’s eyes have power to see; She is to me More than to any others she can be. I can discern more secret notes That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes Than any else besides have art to read; No looks proceed From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. O then why Should she fly From him to whom her sight Doth add so much above her might? Why should not she Still joy to reign in me? Let not the sluggish sleep Close up thy waking eye,Until with judgment deep Thy daily deeds thou try: He that one sin in conscience keeps When he to quiet goes, More vent’rous is than he that sleeps With twenty mortal foes. Let us in a lovers’ round Circle all this hallowed ground;Softly, softly trip and go, The light-foot Fairies jet it so. Forward then, and back again, Here and there and everywhere, Winding to and fro, Skipping high and louting low; And, like lovers, hand in hand, March around and make a stand. Like two proud armies marching in the field,— Joining a thund’ring fight, each scorns to yield,—So in my heart your beauty and my reason: One claims the crown, the other says ’tis treason. But oh! your beauty shineth as the sun; And dazzled reason yields as quite undone. Lo! country sport that seldom fades; A garland of the spring,A prize for dancing, country maids With merry pipes we bring. Then all at once for our town cries! Pipe on, for we will have the prize. Lo, when back mine eye Pilgrim-like I cast,What fearful ways I spie Which, blinded, I securely passed! From my brows that night; As when the day doth dawn, So clears my long-imprisoned sight. Straight the Caves of Hell Dressed with flowers I see, Wherein False Pleasures dwell, That, winning most, most deadly be. Throngs of maskÈd fiends, Winged like angels, fly; Even in the gates of friends, In fair disguise black dangers lie. Straight to heaven I raised My restorÈd sight, And with loud voice I praised The Lord of ever-during light. And since I had strayed From His ways so wide, His grace I humbly prayed Henceforth to be my guard and guide. The Courtier. Long have I lived in Court, Yet learned not all this whileTo sell poor suiters smoke, Nor where I hate to smile; Inferiors to despise, To flie from such as fall, To follow such as rise: To cloak a poor desire Under a rich array, Nor to aspire by Vice, Though ’twere the quicker way. Love is a bable, No man is ableTo say ’tis this or ’tis that; So full of passions Of sundry fashions, ’Tis like I cannot tell what. Love’s fair in the cradle, Foul in the fable, ’Tis either too cold or too hot; An arrant liar, Fed by desire, It is and yet it is not. Love is a fellow Clad oft in yellow, A privy mischief, And such a sly thief No man knows which way to find. Love is a wonder That’s here and yonder, As common to one as to moe; A monstrous cheater, Every man’s debtor; Hang him and so let him go. Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face,Nor for any outward part: No, nor for a constant heart! For these may fail or turn to ill: So thou and I shall sever. Keep therefore a true woman’s eye, And love me still, but know not why! So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever. Love’s god is a boy, None but cowherds regard him,His dart is a toy, Great opinion hath marred him: The fear of the wag Hath made him so brag; Chide him, he’ll flie thee And not come nigh thee. Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random, For if you hit me, slave, I’ll tell your grandam. Fond love is a child And his compass is narrow, Young fools are beguiled With the fame of his arrow; He dareth not strike If his stroke do mislike: Cupid, do you hear me? Come not too near me. Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you, For if you hit me, knave, in faith I’ll breech you. Th’ ape loves to meddle When he finds a man idle, Else is he a-flirting Where his mark is a-courting; When women grow true Come teach me to sue, Pray thee and woo thee. Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger, For if you hit me, knave, I’ll call thee, beggar. Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly Far from base earth, but not to mount too high;For true pleasure Lives in measure, Which if men forsake, Blinded they into folly run and grief for pleasure take. But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight, Enamoured sought to woo the sun’s fair light, Whose rich brightness Moved their lightness To aspire so high That all scorched and consumed with fire now drown’d in woe they lie. And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, For Love did know that their desires were true; Though Fate frownÈd, And now drownÈd They in sorrow dwell, It was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love they fell. “ Maids are simple,” some men say, “They forsooth will trust no men.”But should they men’s wills obey, Maids were very simple then. Truth a rare flower now is grown, Few men wear it in their hearts; Lovers are more easily known By their follies than deserts. Safer may we credit give To a faithless wandering Jew, Than a young man’s vows believe When he swears his love is true. Love they make a poor blind child, But let none trust such as he; Rather than to be beguiled, Ever let me simple be. The Bellman’s Song. Maids to bed and cover coal; Let the mouse out of her hole;Whilst the little bell doth ring; If fast asleep, who can tell When the clapper hits the bell? More than most fair, full of all heavenly fire, Kindled above to shew the Maker’s glory;Beauty’s first-born, in whom all powers conspire To write the Graces’ life and Muses’ story; If in my heart all nymphs else be defacÈd, Honour the shrine where you alone are placÈd. Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits, True character of honour in perfection, Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits, And glorious prison of men’s pure affection: If in my heart all nymphs else be defacÈd Honour the shrine where you alone are placÈd. Mother, I will have a husband, And I will have him out of hand!Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none. He said I had good lips to kiss. Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none. For I have heard ’tis trim when folks do love; By good Sir John I swear now I will prove. For, Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none. To the town, therefore, will I gad To get me a husband, good or bad. Mother, I will sure have one In spite of her that will have none. My hope a counsel with my heart Hath long desired to be,And marvels much so dear a friend Is not retain’d by me. She doth condemn my haste In passing the estate Of my whole life into their hands Who nought repays but hate: I did release the right Of my enjoyÈd liberties Unto your beauteous sight. My love bound me with a kiss That I should no longer stay;When I felt so sweet a bliss I had less power to part away: Alas, that women doth not know Kisses make men loath to go. Yes, she knows it but too well, For I heard when Venus’ dove In her ear did softly tell That kisses were the seals of love: O muse not then though it be so, Kisses make men loath to go. Wherefore did she thus inflame My desires heat my blood, Instantly to quench the same And starve whom she had given food? I the common sense can show, Kisses make men loath to go. It would ne’er have grieved my heart, Hope delayed had been the worst; But ah to kiss and then to part! How deep it struck, speak, gods, you know Kisses make men loath to go. My Love is neither young nor old, Not fiery-hot nor frozen-cold,But fresh and fair as springing briar Blooming the fruit of love’s desire; Not snowy-white nor rosy-red, But fair enough for shepherd’s bed; And such a love was never seen On hill or dale or country-green. My mind to me a kingdom is: Such perfect joy therein I findThat it excels all other bliss That God or nature hath assigned. Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. No force to win a victory, No wily wit to salve a sore, No shape to win a loving eye; To none of these I yield as thrall! For why? my mind despise them all. I see that plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as are aloft, Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear: Such cares my mind can never bear. I press to bear no haughty sway, I wish no more than may suffice, I do no more, than well I may; Look, what I want, my mind supplies. Lo, thus I triumph like a king, My mind content with any thing. I laugh not at another’s loss, Nor grudge not at another’s gain. No worldly waves my mind can toss, I brook that is another’s bane; I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend, I loathe not life nor dread mine end. My wealth is health and perfect ease; And conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence, Thus do I live, thus will I die: Would all did so as well as I! My prime of youth is but a frost of cares! My feast of joy is but a dish of pain!My crop of corn is but a field of tares! And all my good is but vain hope of gain! My life is fled, and yet I saw no sun! And now I live, and now my life is done! The Spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung! The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green! My youth is gone, and yet I am but young! I saw the World and yet I was not seen! My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun! And now I live, and now my life is done. Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus. My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reproveLet us not weigh them. Heaven’s great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive; But, soon as once is set our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. Then bloody swords and armour should not be; No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love: But fools do live and waste their little light, And seek with pain their ever-during night. When timely death my life and fortunes ends, Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends; But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb: And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light And crown with love my ever-during night. My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love: Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night,And say, as she doth in the heavens move, In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight: And whisper this, but softly, in her ears, “Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears.” And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry, If for mistrust my mistress do you blame, Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary, As she doth change and yet remain the same; Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect, And Love is sweetest seasoned with Suspect. And make the heavens dark with her disdain, With windy sighs disperse them in the skies Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain. Thoughts, Hopes, and Love, return to me no more Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before. Never love unless you can Bear with all the faults of man:Men sometimes will jealous be Though but little cause they see; And hang the head as discontent, And speak what straight they will repent. Men that but one saint adore Make a show of love to more; Beauty must be scorned in none, Though but truly served in one: For what is courtship but disguise? True hearts may have dissembling eyes. Men, when their affairs require, Must awhile themselves retire; Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, And not ever sit and talk: If these and such-like you can bear, Then like, and love, and never fear! Now each creature joys the other, Passing happy days and hours:One bird reports unto another By the fall of silver showers; Whilst the Earth, our common Mother, Hath her bosom decked with flowers. Now every tree renews his summer’s green, Why is your heart in winter’s garments clad?Your beauty says my love is summer’s queen, But your cold love like winter makes me sad: Then either spring with buds of love again Or else congeal my thoughts with your disdain. Now God be with old Simeon, For he made cans for many-a-one,And a good old man was he; And he could tipple of every can, And thus he said to me: “To whom drink you?” “Sir knave, to you.” Then hey-ho, jolly Jinkin! I spie a knave in drinking. Now have I learn’d with much ado at last By true disdain to kill desire;This was the mark at which I shot so fast, Unto this height I did aspire: Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not, For thee and all thy shafts I care not. What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind, What life to quicken dead desire? I count thy words and oaths as light as wind, I feel no heat in all thy fire: Go, change thy bow and get a stronger, Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer. In vain thou bait’st thy hook with beauty’s blaze, In vain thy wanton eyes allure; These are but toys for them that love to gaze, I know what harm thy looks procure: Some strange conceit must be devised, Or thou and all thy skill despised. Now I see thy looks were feignÈd Quickly lost, and quickly gainÈd;Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers, Heart inconstant, light as feathers, Tongue untrusty, subtle sighted, Wanton will with change delighted. Siren, pleasant foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for thy treason! Of thine eye I made my mirror, From thy beauty came my error, All thy words I counted witty, All thy sighs I deemÈd pity, Thy false tears, that me aggrievÈd First of all my trust deceivÈd. Siren, pleasant foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for thy treason! Feigned acceptance when I askÈd, Lovely words with cunning maskÈd, Holy vows, but heart unholy; Wretched man, my trust was folly; Lily white, and pretty winking, Solemn vows but sorry thinking. Siren, pleasant foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for thy treason! Now I see, O seemly cruel, Others warm them at my fuel, Since in love is no assurance: Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure, Beauty is a fading treasure. Siren, pleasant foe to reason, Cupid, plague thee for thy treason! Prime youth lasts not, age will follow And make white those tresses yellow; Wrinkled face, for looks delightful, Shall acquaint the dame despiteful. And when time shall date thy glory, Then too late thou wilt be sorry. Siren, pleasant foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for thy treason! Now is my Chloris fresh as May, Clad all in green and flowers gay.Fa la la! O might I think August were near That harvest joy might soon appear. Fa la la! But she keeps May throughout the year, And August never comes the near. Fa la la! Yet will I hope, though she be May, August will come another day. Fa la la! Now is the month of maying, When merry lads are playingEach with his bonny lass Upon the greeny grass. Fa la la! The spring clad all in gladness Doth laugh at winter’s sadness, And to the bagpipe’s sound The nymphs tread out their ground. Fa la la! Fie then, why sit we musing, Youth’s sweet delight refusing? Say, dainty nymphs, and speak, Shall we play barley-break. Fa la la! Now let her change! and spare not! Since she proves strange, I care not!Feigned love charmed so my delight, That still I doted on her sight. But she is gone! new joys embracing, And my distress disgracing. Or vex her with unkindness? If my cares served her alone, Why is she thus untimely gone? True love abides to th’ hour of dying: False love is ever flying. False! then farewell for ever! Once false proves faithful never! He that boasts now of thy love, Shall soon, my present fortunes prove Were he as fair as bright Adonis: Faith is not had where none is! Now let us make a merry greeting And thank God Cupid for our meeting:My heart is full of joy and pleasure Since thou art here, mine only treasure. Now will we dance and sport and play And sing a merry roundelay. Now what is love, I pray thee tell? It is that fountain and that wellWhere pleasures and repentance dwell; It is perhaps that sancing-bell That tolls all in to heaven or hell: And this is love, as I hear tell. Now what is love, I pray thee say? It is a work on holyday, It is December matched with May, When lusty bloods in fresh array Hear ten months after of their play: And this is love, as I hear say. Now what is love, I pray thee feign? It is a sunshine mixed with rain, It is a gentle pleasing pain, A flower that dies and springs again, It is a No that would full fain: And this is love as I hear sain. Yet what is love, I pray thee say? It is a pretty shady way As well found out by night as day, It is a thing will soon decay; Then take the vantage whilst you may: And this is love, as I hear say. A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for mo, And he that proves shall find it so: And this is love, as I well know. Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours,And clouds their storms discharge Upon the airy towers. Let now the chimneys blaze, And cups o’erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine. Now yellow waxen lights Shall wait on honey love, While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights Sleep’s leaden spells remove. This time doth well dispense With lovers’ long discourse; Much, speech hath some defence Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well; Some measures comely tread, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights. Osay, dear life, when shall these twin-born berries, So lovely-ripe, by my rude lips be tasted?Shall I not pluck (sweet, say not nay) those cherries? O let them not with summer’s heat be blasted. Nature, thou know’st, bestow’d them free on thee; Then be thou kind—bestow them free on me. Ostay, sweet love; see here the place of sporting; These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us,And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting, Warbling sweet notes only to delight us: Then stay, dear Love, for though thou run from me, Run ne’er so fast, yet I will follow thee. Sweet heart, sit down under this shadowed tree, And I will promise never to forsake you, So you will grant to me a lover’s fee. Whereat she smiled and kindly to me said— I never meant to live and die a maid. Osweet, alas, what say you? Ay me, that face disclosesThe scarlet blush of sweet vermilion roses. And yet, alas, I know not If such a crimson staining Be for love or disdaining; But if of love it grow not, Be it disdain conceivÈd To see us of love’s fruits so long bereavÈd. Osweet delight, O more than human bliss With her to live that ever loving is!To hear her speak whose words are so well placed That she by them, as they by her are graced! Those looks to view that feast the viewer’s eye, How blest is he that may so live and die! When all did reap and none took care to sow; Such love as this an endless summer makes, And all distaste from frail affection takes. So loved, so blest in my beloved am I: Which till their eyes ache let iron men envy! Oft have I mused the cause to find Why Love in lady’s eyes should dwell;I thought, because himself was blind, He look’d that they should guide him well: And sure his hope but seldom fails, For Love by ladies’ eyes prevails. But time at last hath taught me wit, Although I bought my wit full dear; For by her eyes my heart is hit, Deep is the wound though none appear: Their glancing beams as darts he throws, And sure he hath no shafts but those. I mused to see their eyes so bright, And little thought they had been fire; I gazed upon them with delight, But that delight hath bred desire: What better place can Love desire Than that where grow both shafts and fire? On a time the amorous Silvy Said to her shepherd, ‘Sweet, how do you?Kiss me this once, and then God be wi’ you, My sweetest dear! Kiss me this once and then God be wi’ you, For now the morning draweth near.’ With that, her fairest bosom showing, Opening her lips, rich perfumes blowing, She said, ‘Now kiss me and be going, My sweetest dear! Kiss me this once and then be going, For now the morning draweth near.’ With that the shepherd waked from sleeping, And, spying where the day was peeping, He said, ‘Now take my soul in keeping, My sweetest dear! Kiss me, and take my soul in keeping, Since I must go, now day is near.’ Once did I love and yet I live, Though love and truth be now forgotten;Then did I joy, now do I grieve That holy vows must now be broken. Hers be the blame that caused it so, Mine be the grief though it be mickle; She shall have shame, I cause to know What ’tis to love a dame so fickle. Love her that list, I am content For that chameleon-like she changeth, Yielding such mists as may prevent My sight to view her when she rangeth. Let him not vaunt that gains my loss, For when that he and time hath proved her, She may him bring to Weeping-Cross: I say no more, because I loved her. Once I thought to die for love, Till I found that women proveThey say men unconstant be, But they themselves Jove change, we see, And all is but beguiling. Our country-swains in the morris dance Thus woo and win their brides,Will for our town the hobby horse At pleasure frolic rides: I woo with tears and ne’er the near, I die in grief and live in fear. Pierce did love fair Petronel Because she sang and dancÈd wellAnd gallantly could prank it; He pulled her and he haul’d her And oftentimes he call’d her Primrose pearls prick’d in a blanket. Pour forth, mine eyes, the fountains of your tears; Break, heart, and die, for now no hope appears;Hope, upon which before my thoughts were fed, Hath left me quite forlorn and from me fled. Yet, see, she smiles! O see, some hope appears! Hold, heart, and live; mine eyes, cease off your tears. Robin is a lovely lad, No lass a smoother ever had;Tommy hath a look as bright As is the rosy morning light; Tib is dark and brown of hue, But like her colour firm and true; Jenny hath a lip to kiss Wherein a spring of nectar is; Simkin well his mirth can place And words to win a woman’s grace; Sib is all in all to me, There is no Queen of Love but she. The Satyrs’ Dance. Round-a, round-a, keep your ring: To the glorious sun we sing,—Ho, ho! He that wears the flaming rays, And th’ imperial crown of bays, Him with shouts and songs we praise— Ho, ho! That in his bounty he’d vouchsafe to grace The humble sylvans and their shaggy race. See, see, mine own sweet jewel, What I have for my darling:A robin-redbreast and a starling. These I give both in hope to move thee; Yet thou say’st I do not love thee. Shall a frown or angry eye, Shall a word unfitly placÈd,Shall a shadow make me flie As if I were with tigers chasÈd? Love must not be so disgracÈd. Shall I woo her in despight? Shall I turn her from her flying? Shall I tempt her with delight? Shall I laugh at her denying? No: beware of lovers’ crying. Shall I then with patient mind Still attend her wayward pleasure? Time will make her prove more kind, Let her coyness then take leisure: She is worthy such a treasure. Shall I abide this jesting? I weep, and she’s a-feasting!O cruel fancy, that so doth blind me To love one that doth not mind me! Can I abide this prancing? I weep, and she’s a-dancing! O cruel fancy, so to betray me! Thou goest about to slay me. Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee When the evening beams are set?Shall I not excluded be, Will you find no feignÈd let? Let me not, for pity, more Tell the long hours at your door. Who can tell what thief or foe, In the covert of the night, For his prey will work my woe, Or through wicked foul despite? So may I die unredrest Ere my long love be possest. But to let such dangers pass, Which a lover’s thoughts disdain, ’Tis enough in such a place To attend love’s joys in vain: Do not mock me in thy bed, While these cold nights freeze me dead. Shall I look to ease my grief? No, my sight is lost with eying:Shall I speak and beg relief? No, my voice is hoarse with crying: What remains but only dying? But the boy, my peace envying, Like a Parthian threw his dart Backward, and did wound me flying: What remains but only dying? She whom then I lookÈd on, My remembrance beautifying, Stays with me though I am gone, Gone and at her mercy lying: What remains but only dying? Shall I try her thoughts and write? No I have no means of trying: If I should, yet at first sight She would answer with denying: What remains but only dying? Thus my vital breath doth waste, And, my blood with sorrow drying, Sighs and tears make life to last For a while, their place supplying: What remains but only dying? She whose matchless beauty staineth What best judgment fair’st maintaineth,She, O she, my love disdaineth. Harbour scorn in beauty’s dwelling, All kind pity thence expelling? Pity beauty much commendeth And th’ embracer oft befriendeth When all eye-contentment endeth. Time proves beauty transitory; Scorn, the stain of beauty’s glory, In time makes the scorner sorry. None adores the sun declining; Love all love falls to resigning When the sun of love leaves shining. So, when flower of beauty fails thee, And age, stealing on, assails thee, Then mark what this scorn avails thee. Then those hearts, which now complaining Feel the wounds of thy disdaining, Shall contemn thy beauty waning. Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prizÈd, Shall with spite and grief surprisÈd Burst to find itself despisÈd. When like harms have them requited Who in others’ harms delighted, Pleasingly the wrong’d are righted. Such revenge my wrongs attending, Hope still lives on time depending, By thy plagues thy torrents ending. Shoot, false Love! I care not; Spend thy shafts and spare not!Fa la la! I fear not, I, thy might, And less I weigh thy spite; All naked I unarm me,— If thou canst, now shoot and harm me! So lightly I esteem thee As now a child I dream thee. Fa la la la! Long thy bow did fear While thy pomp did blear me; Fa la la! But now I do perceive Thy art is to deceive; And every simple lover All thy falsehood can discover. Then weep, Love! and be sorry, For thou hast lost thy glory. Fa la la la! Silly boy! ’tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines clearly; Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love so dearly.Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures be bereavÈd, Little knows he how to love that never was deceivÈd. This is thy first maiden-flame that triumphs yet unstainÈd, All is artless now you speak, not one word is feignÈd; All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts are blessÈd, But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath his Cressid. Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang neglected, And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth dejected; Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made thy heart so holy And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith is folly. Not unlike a summer’s frost or winter’s fatal thunder: He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of dying, Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the envying. Simkin said that Sis was fair, And that he meant to love her;He set her on his ambling mare,— All this he did to prove her. When they came home Sis floted cream And poured it through a strainer, But sware that Simkin should have none Because he did disdain her. Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye, If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye.What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle? No, no no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle. Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me. I asked you leave, you bade me love; is’t now a time to chide me? No no no, I’ll love you still what fortune e’er betide me. The sun whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder, And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder, Where beauty moves, and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me There, O there! where’er I go I’ll leave my heart behind me. Sing we and chant it While love doth grant it.Fa la la! Not long youth lasteth, And old age hasteth. Fa la la! Now is best leisure To take our pleasure. Fa la la! Now to delight us. Fa la la! Hence care be packing, No mirth be lacking. Fa la la! Let spare no treasure To live in pleasure. Fa la la! Sister, awake! close not your eyes! The day her light discloses,And the bright morning doth arise Out of her bed of roses. See, the clear sun, the world’s bright eye, In at our window peeping: Lo! how he blusheth to espy Us idle wenches sleeping. Therefore, awake! make haste, I say, And let us, without staying, All in our gowns of green so gay Into the park a-maying. Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me! For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?It shall suffice me here to sit and see Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke: What sight can more content a lover’s mind Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? My words have charmed her, for secure she sleeps, Though guilty much of wrong done to my love; And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps: Dreams often more than waking passions move. Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: That she in peace may wake and pity me. So light is love, in matchless beauty shining, When he revisits Cypris’ hallowed bowers,Two feeble doves, harness’d in silken twining, Can draw his chariot midst the Paphian flowers, Lightness in love! how ill it fitteth! So heavy on my heart he sitteth. Some can flatter, some can feign, Simple truth shall plead for me;Let not beauty truth disdain, Truth is even as fair as she. But since pairs must equal prove, Let my strength her youth oppose, Love her beauty, faith her love; On even terms so may we close. Cork or lead in equal weight Both one just proportion yield, So may breadth be peis’d Steepest mount with plainest field. Virtues have not all one kind, Yet all virtues merit be, Divers virtues are combined; Differing so, deserts agree. Let then love and beauty meet, Making one divine concent Constant as the sounds and sweet, That enchant the firmament. Sweet, come again! Your happy sight, so much desiredSince you from hence are now retired, I seek in vain: Still I must mourn, And pine in longing pain, Till you, my life’s delight, again Vouchsafe your wish’d return. If true desire, Or faithful vow of endless love, Thy heart inflamed may kindly move With equal fire; O then my joys, So long distraught, shall rest, ReposÈd soft in thy chaste breast, Exempt from all annoys. You had the power My wand’ring thoughts first to restrain, You first did hear my love speak plain; A child before, Now it is grown Confirmed, do you it And let ’t safe in your bosom sleep, There ever made your own! Teach absence inward art to find, Both to disturb and please the mind! Such thoughts are sweet: And such remain In hearts whose flames are true; Then such will I retain, till you To me return again. Sweet Cupid, ripen her desire, Thy joyful harvest may begin;If age approach a little nigher, ’Twill be too late to get it in. Cold Winter storms lay standing Corn, Which once too ripe will never rise, And lovers wish themselves unborn, When all their joys lie in their eyes. Then, sweet, let us embrace and kiss: Shall beauty shale If age bereave us of this bliss, Then will no more such sport be found. Sweet heart, arise! why do you sleep When lovers wanton sports do keep?The sun doth shine, the birds do sing, And May delight and joy doth bring: Then join we hands and dance till night, ’Tis pity love should want his right. Sweet Kate Of lateRan away and left me plaining. Abide! (I cried) Or I die with thy disdaining. Te hee, quoth she; Make no fool of me; Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure, But, their hopes attainÈd, They bewray they feignÈd, And their oaths are kept at leisure. Unkind, I find Thy delight is in tormenting: (I cried) Or I die with thy consenting. Te hee, quoth she, Make no fool of me; Men, I know, have oaths at pleasure, But, their hopes attainÈd, They bewray they feignÈd, And their oaths are kept at leisure. Her words, Like swords, Cut my sorry heart in sunder, Her flouts With doubts Kept my heart-affections under. Te hee, quoth she, What a fool is he Stands in awe of once denying! Cause I had enough To become more rough, So I did—O happy trying! Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch’s glory, Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry;Out of thy golden quiver, Take thou thy strongest arrow And me and thee of grief and fear deliver: But come behind, for, if she look upon thee, Alas! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee. Sweet Love, I will no more abuse thee, Nor with my voice accuse thee;But tune my notes unto thy praise And tell the world Love ne’er decays. Sweet Love doth concord ever cherish: What wanteth concord soon must perish. Sweet Love, my only treasure, For service long unfeignÈdWherein I nought have gainÈd, Vouchsafe this little pleasure, To tell me in what part My Lady keeps her heart. Like golden nets entwinÈd Which fire and art have finÈd, Her thrall my heart I render For ever to abide With locks so dainty tied. If in her eyes she bind it, Wherein that fire was framÈd By which it is inflamÈd, I dare not look to find it: I only wish it sight To see that pleasant light. But if her breast have deignÈd With kindness to receive it, I am content to leave it Though death thereby were gainÈd: Then, Lady, take your own That lives by you alone. Sweet, stay awhile; why will you rise? The light you see comes from your eyes;The day breaks not, it is my heart, To think that you and I must part. O stay! or else my joys must die And perish in their infancy. Far sweeter than the phoenix nest. Love raise Desire by his sweet charms Within this circle of thine arms! And let thy blissful kisses cherish Mine infant joys that else must perish. Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o. Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight With feathers like a lady bright,Thou sing’st alone, sitting by night, Te whit, te whoo! Thy note, that forth so freely rolls, With shrill command the mouse controls, And sings a dirge for dying souls, Te whit, te whoo! Take here my heart, I give it thee for ever! No better pledge can love to love deliver.Fear not, my dear, it will not fly away, But if thou doubt, desire will make it range: Love but my heart, my heart will never change. Take time while time doth last, Mark how fair fadeth fast;Beware if envy reign, Take heed of proud disdain; Hold fast now in thy youth, Regard thy vowÈd truth, Lest, when thou waxeth old, Friends fail and love grow cold. The Fly she sat in shamble-row And shambled with her heels I trow;And then came in Sir Cranion With legs so long and many a one; And said “Jove speed, dame Fly, dame Fly”: “Marry, you be welcome, Sir,” quoth she: To wit and if you will his true love be.” But she said “Nay, that may not be, For I must have the Butterfly, For and a greater lord there may not be.” But at the last consent did she. And there was bid to this wedding All Flies in the field and Worms creeping. The Snail she came crawling all over the plain, With all her jolly trinkets in her train. Ten Bees there came, all clad in gold, And all the rest did them behold; But the Thornbud refused this sight to see, And to a cow-plat away flies she. But where now shall this wedding be?— For and hey-nonny-no in an old ivy-tree. And where now shall we bake our bread?— For and hey-nonny-no in an old horse-head. And where now shall we brew our ale?— But even within one walnut-shale. And also where shall we our dinner make?— But even upon a galled horse-back: With humbling and bumbling and much melody. When ended was this wedding-day, The Bee he took his Fly away, And laid her down upon the marsh Between one marigold and the long grass. And there they begot good master gnat And made him the heir of all,—that’s flat. Audivere, Lyce.—Horace. The gods have heard my vows, Fond Lyce, whose fair browsWont scorn with such disdain My love, my tears, my pain. Fa la! But now those spring-tide roses Are turn’d to winter-posies, To rue and thyme and sage, Fitting thy shrivell’d age. Fa la! Now, youths, with hot desire See, see, that flameless fire, Quick into ashes turned. Fa la! The household-bird with the red stomacher.—Donne. The lark, linnet and nightingale to sing some say are best; Yet merrily sings little Robin, pretty Robin with the red breast.The love of change hath changed the world throughout, And what is counted good but that is strange?New things wax old, old new, all turns about, And all things change except the love of change. Yet find I not that love of change in me, But as I am so will I always be. The lowest trees have tops, the ant her gall, The fly her spleen, the little spark his heat;And slender hairs cast shadows, though but small, And bees have stings, although they be not great; Seas have their source, and so have shallow springs; And love is love, in beggars and in kings! Where waters smoothest run, deep are the fords; The dial stirs, yet none perceives it move; The firmest faith is in the fewest words; The turtles cannot sing, and yet they love; True hearts have eyes and ears, no tongues to speak; They hear, and see, and sigh, and then they break! The man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is freeFrom all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity; The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Nor sorrow discontent: That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder’s violence: He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies. Thus scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heaven his book, His wisdom heavenly things; Good thoughts his only friends, His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage. The greedy hawk with sudden sight of lure Doth stoop in hope to have her wishÈd prey;So many men do stoop to sights unsure, And courteous speech doth keep them at the bay: Let them beware lest friendly looks be like The lure whereat the soaring hawk did strike. The match that’s made for just and true respects, With evenness both of years and parentage,Of force must bring forth many good effects. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. For where chaste love and liking sets the plant, And concord waters with a firm good-will, Of no good thing there can be any want. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. Sound is the knot that Chastity hath tied, Sweet is the music Unity doth make, Sure is the store that Plenty doth provide. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. Where Chasteness fails there Concord will decay, Where Concord fleets there Plenty will decease, Where Plenty wants there Love will wear away. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. I, Chastity, restrain all strange desires; I, Concord, keep the course of sound consent; I, Plenty, spare and spend as cause requires. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. Make much of us, all ye that married be; Speak well of us, all ye that mind to be; The time may come to want and wish all three. Pari jugo dulcis tractus. The Nightingale so pleasant and so gay In greenwood groves delights to make his dwelling,In fields to fly, chanting his roundelay, At liberty, against the cage rebelling; But my poor heart with sorrows over swelling, Through bondage vile, binding my freedom short, No pleasure takes in these his sports excelling, Nor in his song receiveth no comfort. The Nightingale, so soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,White late-bare earth proud of her clothing springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her songbook making; And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth: While grief her heart oppresseth, For Tereus’ force o’er her chaste will prevailing. The peaceful western wind The winter storms hath tamed,And Nature in each kind The kind heat hath inflamed: The forward buds so sweetly breathe Out of their earthly bowers, That heaven, which views their pomp beneath, Would fain be decked with flowers. See how the morning smiles On her bright eastern hill, And with soft steps beguiles Them that lie slumbering still! The music-loving birds are come From cliffs and rocks unknown, To see the trees and briars bloom That late were overthrown. What Saturn did destroy, Love’s Queen revives again; And now her naked boy Doth in the fields remain, Where he such pleasing change doth view In every living thing, As if the world were born anew To gratify the spring. Why die my comforts then? Why suffers my content? Am I the worst of men? O, Beauty, be not thou accused Too justly in this case! Unkindly if true love be used, ’Twill yield thee little grace. There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies grow;A heavenly paradise is that place Wherein all pleasant fruits doth flow. There cherries grow which none may buy, Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds filled with snow; Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy, Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that attempt with eye or hand Those sacred cherries to come nigh Till “Cherry ripe” themselves do cry. There is a Lady sweet and kind, Was never face so pleased my mind;I did but see her passing by, And yet I love her till I die. Her gesture, motion and her smiles Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die. Her free behaviour, winning looks Will make a Lawyer burn his books; I touched her not, alas! not I, And yet I love her till I die. Had I her fast betwixt mine arms, Judge you that think such sports were harms; Were’t any harm? no, no, fie, fie, For I will love her till I die. Should I remain confinÈd there So long as Phoebus in his sphere, I to request, she to deny, Yet would I love her till I die. Cupid is wingÈd and doth range, Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet will I love her till I die. There were three Ravens sat on a tree,— Down-a-down, hey down, hey down!There were three Ravens sat on a tree,— With a down! There were three Ravens sat on a tree,— They were as black as they might be: With a down, derry derry derry down down! The one of them said to his make Where shall we our breakfast take? Down in yonder greenÈ field There lies a knight slain under his shield. His hounds they lie down at his feet: So well they their master keep. His hawks they fly so eagerly, There’s no fowl dare him come nigh. Down there comes a fallow doe, Great with young as she might go. She lift up his bloody head, And kist his wounds that were so red. She gat him upon her back And carried him to earthen lake. She was dead ere even-time. God send every gentleman Such hounds, such hawks, and such a leman! With a down, derry. Think’st thou, Kate, to put me down With a ‘No’ or with a frown?Since Love holds my heart in bands I must do as Love commands. Love commands the hands to dare When the tongue of speech is spare, Chiefest lesson in Love’s school,— Put it in adventure, fool! Fools are they that fainting flinch For a squeak, a scratch, a pinch: Women’s words have double sense: ‘Stand away!’—a simple fence. If thy mistress swear she’ll cry, Fear her not, she’ll swear and lie: Such sweet oaths no sorrow bring Till the prick of conscience sting. Think’st thou to seduce me then with words that have no meaning? Parrots so can learn to prate, our speech by pieces gleaning:Nurses teach their children so about the time of weaning. Learn to speak first, then to woo, to wooing much pertaineth: He that courts us, wanting art, soon falters when he feigneth, Looks asquint on his discourse and smiles when he complaineth. Skilful anglers hide their hooks, fit baits for every season; But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do that want reason: Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of treason. Ruth forgive me (if I erred) from human heart’s compassion, When I laughed sometimes too much to see thy foolish fashion: But, alas, who less could do that found so good occasion! Thou art but young, thou say’st, And love’s delight thou weigh’st not:O, take time while thou may’st, Lest when thou would’st thou may’st not. If love shall then assail thee, A double anguish will torment thee; And thou wilt wish (but wishes all will fail thee,) “O me! that I were young again!” and so repent thee. Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, For all those rosy ornaments in thee;Thou art not sweet, tho’ made of mere delight, Nor fair, nor sweet—unless thou pity me. I will not soothe thy fancies, thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love. Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure My thoughts with beauty were it more divine; Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, I’ll not be wrapped up in those arms of thine: Now show it, if thou be a woman right,— Embrace and kiss and love me in despite. Thou pretty Bird, how do I see Thy silly state and mine agree!For thou a prisoner art; So is my heart. Thou sing’st to her, and so do I address My Music to her ear that’s merciless; But herein doth the difference lie,— That thou art grac’d, so am not I; Thou singing liv’st, and I must singing die. Though Amaryllis dance in green Like Fairy Queen,And sing full clear; Corinna can, with smiling cheer. Yet since their eyes make heart so sore, Hey ho! chil love no more. My sheep are lost for want of food And I so wood That all the day I sit and watch a herd-maid gay; Hey ho! chil love no more. Her loving looks, her beauty bright, Is such delight! That all in vain I love to like, and lose my gain For her, that thanks me not therefore. Hey ho! chil love no more. Ah wanton eyes! my friendly foes And cause of woes; Your sweet desire Breeds flames of ice, and freeze in fire! Ye scorn to see me weep so sore! Hey ho! chil love no more. Love ye who list, I force him not: Since God is wot, The more I wail, The less my sighs and tears prevail. What shall I do? but say therefore, Hey ho! chil love no more. Though my carriage be but careless, Though my looks be of the sternest,Yet my passions are compareless; When I love, I love in earnest. No; my wits are not so wild, But a gentle soul may yoke me; Nor my heart so hard compiled, But it melts, if love provoke me. Though your strangeness frets my heart, Yet must I not complain;You persuade me ’tis but art Which secret love must feign; If another you affect, ’Tis but a toy, t’ avoid suspect. Is this fair excusing? O no, all is abusing. When your wish’d sight I desire, Suspicion you pretend, Causeless you yourself retire Whilst I in vain attend, Thus a lover, as you say, Still made more eager by delay. Is this fair excusing? O no, all is abusing. When another holds your hand You’ll swear I hold your heart; Whilst my rival close doth stand And I sit far apart, Hid in your bosom, as you say. Is this fair excusing? O no, all is abusing. Would a rival then I were Or So much lesser should I fear And not so much attend. They enjoy you, every one, Yet must I seem your friend alone. Is this fair excusing? O no, all is abusing. Thrice blessÈd be the giver That gave sweet love that golden quiver,And live he long among the gods anointed That made the arrow-heads sharp-pointed: If either of them both had quailÈd, She of my love and I of hers had failÈd. Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air, Thrice sit thou mute in the enchanted chair,Then thrice-three times tie up this true love’s knot, And murmur soft “She will or she will not.” Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire, These screech-owl’s feathers and this prickling briar, This cypress gathered at a dead man’s grave, That all my fears and cares an end may have. Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round! Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound! —In vain are all the charms I can devise: She hath an art to break them with her eyes. Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so: Since she is fair and ever kind to me,Though she be wild and wanton-like in show, Those little stains in youth I will not see. That she be constant, heaven I oft implore; If prayers prevail not, I can do no more. Leave it alone, it will not much exceed: Free beauty, if you strive to yoke, you lose, And for affection strange distaste you breed. What nature hath not taught no art can frame; Wild-born be wild still, though by force you tame. Thus saith my Chloris bright When we of love sit down and talk together:—“Beware of Love, dear; Love is a walking sprite, And Love is this and that And, O, I know not what, And comes and goes again I wot not whether.” No, no, these are but bugs to breed amazing, For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing. Thus saith my Galatea: Love long hath been deluded,When shall it be concluded? The young nymphs all are wedded: Ah, then why do I tarry? Oh, let me die or marry. To his sweet lute Apollo sang the motions of the spheres, The wondrous orders of the stars whose course divides the years,And all the mysteries above; But none of this could Midas move: Which purchased him his ass’s ears. Then Pan with his rude pipe began the country wealth t’ advance, To boast of cattle, flocks of sheep, and goats on hills that dance, With much more of this churlish kind, That quite transported Midas’ mind, And held him wrapt in trance. This wrong the God of Music scorned from such a sottish judge, And bent his angry bow at Pan, which made the piper trudge: Then Midas’ head he so did trim That every age yet talks of him And Phoebus’ right revengÈd grudge. To plead my faith, where faith hath no reward, To move remorse where favour is not borne,To heap complaints where she doth not regard, Were fruitless, bootless, vain, and yield but scorn. I lovÈd her whom all the world admired, I was refused of her that can love none, And my vain hopes which far too high aspired Is dead and buried and for ever gone. Forget my name since you have scorned my love, And woman-like do not too late lament: Since for your sake I do all mischief prove, I none accuse nor nothing do repent: I was as fond as ever she was fair, Yet loved I not more than I now despair. To shorten winter’s sadness See where the nymphs with gladnessFa la la! Right wantonly a-mumming. Fa la la! Though masks encloud their beauty, Yet give the eye her duty. Fa la la! When Heaven is dark it shineth And unto love inclineth. Fa la la! Toss not my soul, O Love, ’twixt hope and fear! Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,Or surely fall! I care not which appear, So one will close me in a certain band. When once of ill the uttermost is known; The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown! Take me, Assurance, to thy blissful hold! Or thou Despair, unto thy darkest cell! Each hath full rest: the one, in joys enroll’d; Th’ other, in that he fears no more, is well. When once the uttermost of ill is known, The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown. Turn all thy thoughts to eyes, Turn all thy hairs to ears,Change all thy friends to spies And all thy joys to fears; True love will yet be free In spite of jealousy. Turn darkness into day, Conjectures into truth, Believe what th’ envious say, Let age interpret youth: True love will yet be free In spite of jealousy. Wrest every word and look, Rack every hidden thought; Or fish with golden hook, True love cannot be caught: For that will still be free In spite of jealousy. Unto the temple of thy beauty, And to the tomb where pity lies,I, pilgrim-clad with zeal and duty, Do offer up my heart, mine eyes. On love’s burning altar lies, Conducted thither by desire To be beauty’s sacrifice. But pity on thy sable hearse, Mine eyes the tears of sorrow shed; What though tears cannot fate reverse, Yet are they duties to the dead. O, Mistress, in thy sanctuary Why wouldst thou suffer cold disdain To use his frozen cruelty, And gentle pity to be slain? Pity that to thy beauty fled, And with thy beauty should have lived, Ah, in thy heart lies buriÈd, And nevermore may be revived; Yet this last favour, dear, extend, To accept these vows, these tears I shed, Duties which I thy pilgrim send, To beauty living, pity dead. Upon a hill the bonny boy Sweet Thyrsis sweetly played,And called his lambs their master’s joy, And more he would have said; But love that gives the lover wings Withdrew his mind from other things. For Milla was his note; The silly pipe could never get This lovely name by rote: With that they both fell in a sound, He fell a-sleep, his pipe to ground. Upon a summer’s day Love went to swim, And cast himself into a sea of tears;The clouds called in their light, and heaven waxed dim, And sighs did raise a tempest, causing fears; The naked boy could not so wield his arms, But that the waves were masters of his might, And threatened him to work far greater harms If he devisÈd not to scape by flight: Then for a boat his quiver stood instead, His bow unbent did serve him for a mast, Whereby to sail his cloth of veil he spread, His shafts for oars on either board he cast: From shipwreck safe this wag got thus to shore, And sware to bathe in lovers’ tears no more. Vain men! whose follies make a god of love; Whose blindness, beauty doth immortal deem,Praise not what you desire, but what you prove; Count those things good that are, not those that seem. Nor make of women, more than women be. How fair an entrance breaks the way to love! How rich the golden hope, and gay delight! What heart cannot a modest beauty move? Who seeing clear day once will dream of night? She seemed a saint, that brake her faith with me; But proved a woman, as all other be. So bitter is their sweet that True Content Unhappy men in them may never find: Ah! but without them, none. Both must consent, Else uncouth are the joys of either kind. Let us then praise their good, forget their ill! Men must be men, and women women still. Wake, sleepy Thyrsis, wake For Love and Venus’ sake!Come, let us mount the hills Which Zephyrus with cool breath fills; Or let us tread new alleys, In yonder shady valleys. Rise, rise, rise, rise! Lighten thy heavy eyes: And the green meads divide: But stream nor fire shall part This and this joinÈd heart. We be soldiers three, Pardona moy je vous an pree,Lately come forth of the Low Country With never a penny of money. Fa la la la lantido dilly. Here, good fellow, I drink to thee, Pardona moy je vous an pree, To all good fellows wherever they be, With never a penny of money. And he that will not pledge me this, Pardona moy je vous an pree, Pays for the shot whatever it is, With never a penny of money. Charge it again, boy, charge it again, Pardona moy je vous an pree, As long as there is any ink in thy pen, With never a penny of money. We be three poor mariners, Newly come from the seas;We spend our lives in jeopardy While others live at ease. Shall we go dance the round, the round, Shall we go dance the round? And he that is a bully boy Come pledge me on this ground! We care not for those martial men That do our states disdain; But we care for the merchant men Who do our states maintain: To them we dance this round, around, To them we dance this round; And he that is a bully boy Come pledge me on this ground! We must not part as others do, With sighs and tears, as we were two:Though with these outward forms we part, We keep each other in our heart. What search hath found a being, where I am not, if that thou be there? Survey the world as sun and moon, And everywhere our triumphs keep O’er absence which makes others weep: By which alone a power is given To live on earth, as they in heaven. We shepherds sing, we pipe, we play, With pretty sport we pass the day:Fa la! We care for no gold, But with our fold We dance And prance As pleasure would. Fa la! Wedded to will is witless, And seldom he is skilfulThat bears the name of wise and yet is wilful. To govern he is fitless But by his fond affection. O that it might be treason For men to rule by will and not by reason. Weep no more, thou sorry boy; Love’s pleased and anger’d with a toy.Love a thousand passion brings, Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings. If she smiles, he dancing goes, And thinks not on his future woes: If she chide with angry eye, Sits down, and sighs “Ah me, I die!” Yet again, as soon revived, Joys as much as late he grieved. Change there is of joy and sadness, Sorrow much, but more of gladness. Then weep no more, thou sorry boy, Turn thy tears to weeping joy. Sigh no more “Ah me! I die!” But dance, and sing, and ti-hy cry. Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast?Look how the snowy mountains Heaven’s sun doth gently waste! But my sun’s heavenly eyes, View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets; Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at ev’n he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes! Melt not in weeping, While she lies sleeping, Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. Welcome, sweet pleasure, My wealth and treasure;There’s no delaying, No no! This mirth delights me When sorrow frights me. Then sing we all Fa la la la la! Sorrow, content thee, Mirth must prevent thee: Though much thou grievest Thou none relievest. No no! Joy, come delight me, Though sorrow spite me. Then sing we all Fa la la la la! Grief is disdainful, Sottish and painful: Then wait on pleasure, And lose no leisure. No no! Heart’s ease it lendeth And comfort sendeth. Then sing we all Fa la la la la! Were I a king, I might command content; Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment, Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears. A doubtful choice, of three things one to crave; A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave. Were my heart as some men’s are, thy errors would not move me, But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me. Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting, Than th’ obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting; Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting. Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season; Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason. What hap had I to marry a shrow! For she hath given me many a blow,And how to please her alack I do not know. From morn to even her tongue ne’er lies, Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries, Yet I can scarce keep her talents If I go abroad and late come in,— “Sir knave,” saith she, “Where have you been?” And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin. What is our life? a play of passion: Our mirth? the music of division.Our mothers’ wombs the tyring-houses be Where we are drest for this short comedy: Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is That sits and marks whoe’er doth act amiss: Are like drawn curtains when the play is done: Thus march we playing to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest,—that’s no jest. What needeth all this travail and turmoiling, Short’ning the life’s sweet pleasureTo seek this far-fetched treasure In those hot climates under Phoebus broiling? O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer In my sweet lady’s face, where Nature showeth Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth? Rubies and diamonds dainty And orient pearls such plenty, Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us, Or either Indies, East or West, do send us! What pleasure have great princes More dainty to their choiceThan herdsmen wild, who careless In quiet life rejoice, Sing sweet in summer morning? Their dealings plain and rightful, Are void of all deceit; They never know how spiteful, It is to kneel and wait On favourite presumptuous Whose pride is vain and sumptuous. All day their flocks each tendeth; At night, they take their rest; More quiet than who sendeth His ship into the East, Where gold and pearl are plenty; But getting, very dainty. For lawyers and their pleading, They ’steem it not a straw; They think that honest meaning Is of itself a law: Whence conscience judgeth plainly, They spend no money vainly. O happy who thus liveth! Not caring much for gold; With clothing which sufficeth To keep him from the cold. Though poor and plain his diet Yet merry it is, and quiet. What poor astronomers are they, Take women’s eyes for stars!And set their thoughts in battle ’ray, To fight such idle wars; When in the end they shall approve ’Tis but a jest drawn out of Love. And Love itself is but a jest Devised by idle heads, To catch young Fancies in the nest, And lay them in fool’s beds; That being hatched in beauty’s eyes They may be fledged ere they be wise. But yet it is a sport to see, How Wit will run on wheels! While Wit cannot persuaded be, With that which Reason feels, That women’s eyes and stars are odd And Love is but a feignÈd god! But such as will run mad with Will, I cannot clear their sight But leave them to their study still, To look where is no light! Till time too late, we make them try, They study false Astronomy! What then is love, sings Corydon, Since Phyllida is grown so coy?A flattering glass to gaze upon, A busy jest, a serious toy, A flower still budding, never blown, A scanty dearth in fullest store Yielding least fruit where most is sown. My daily note shall be therefore— Heigh ho, chil love no more. ’Tis like a morning dewy rose Spread fairly to the sun’s arise, But when his beams he doth disclose That which then flourish’d quickly dies; It is a seld-fed dying hope, A promised bliss, a salveless sore, An aimless mark, and erring scope. My daily note shall be therefore,— Heigh ho, chil love no more. ’Tis like a lamp shining to all, Whilst in itself it doth decay; It seems to free whom it doth thrall, And lead our pathless thoughts astray. It is the spring of wintered hearts Parched by the summer’s heat before Faint hope to kindly warmth converts. My daily note shall be therefore— Heigh ho, chil love no more. When Flora fair the pleasant tidings bringeth Of summer sweet with herbs and flowers adornÈd,The nightingale upon the hawthorn singeth And Boreas’ blasts the birds and beasts have scornÈd; When fresh Aurora with her colours painted, Mingled with spears of gold, the sun appearing, Delights the hearts that are with love acquainted, And maying maids have then their time of cheering; All creatures then with summer are delighted, The beasts, the birds, the fish with scale of silver; Then stately dames by lovers are invited To walk in meads or row upon the river. I all alone am from these joys exilÈd, No summer grows where love yet never smilÈd. When I was otherwise than now I am, I lovÈd more but skillÈd not so muchFair words and smiles could have contented then, My simple age and ignorance was such: But at the length experience made me wonder That hearts and tongues did lodge so far asunder. Look to the east but west keeps on the way; My sovereign sweet her count’nance settled so, To feed my hope while she her snares might lay: And when she saw that I was in her danger, Good God, how soon she provÈd then a ranger! I could not choose but laugh, although too late, To see great craft decypher’d in a toy; I love her still, but such conditions hate Which so profanes my paradise of joy. Love whets the wits, whose pain is but a pleasure; A toy, by fits to play withal at leisure. When thou must home to shades of underground, And there arrived, a new admirÈd guest,The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights, And all these triumphs for thy beauty sake: When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me. de???? ????, de????? t? d? t? p????, ?? p???? e?p?, ?a? p????, ?????? p??????, de???? ????; Meleag. When younglings first on Cupid fix their sight, And see him naked, blindfold, and a boy,Though bow and shafts and firebrand be his might, Yet ween they he can work them none annoy; And therefore with his purple wings they play, For glorious seemeth love though light as feather, And when they have done they ween to scape away, For blind men, say they, shoot they know not whither. But when by proof they find that he did see, And that his wound did rather dim their sight, They wonder more how such a lad as he Should be of such surpassing power and might. But ants have galls, so hath the bee his sting: Then shield me, heavens, from such a subtle thing! Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking; Where least I come there most my heart abideth;Where most I love I never show my liking; From what my mind doth hold my body slideth; A coy regard where most my soul attendeth. Despiteful thus unto myself I languish, And in disdain myself from joy I banish. These secret thoughts enwrap me so in anguish That life, I hope, will soon from body vanish, And to some rest will quickly be conveyÈd That on no joy, while so I lived, hath stayÈd. A Mourning-Song for the Death of Sir Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. Where shall a sorrow great enough be sought For this sad ruin which the Fates have wrought,Unless the Fates themselves should weep and wish Their curbless power had been controlled in this? For thy loss, worthiest Lord, no mourning eye Has flood enough; no muse nor elegy Enough expression to thy worth can lend; No, though thy Sidney had survived his friend. Dead, noble Brooke shall be to us a name Of grief and honour still, whose deathless fame Such Virtue purchased as makes us to be Unjust to Nature in lamenting thee; Wailing an old man’s fate as if in pride And heat of Youth he had untimely died. s???? p?? ? ???, ?a? pa??????. Pallad. Whether men do laugh or weep, Whether they do wake or sleep,Whether they die young or old, Whether they feel heat or cold; There is underneath the sun Nothing in true earnest done. All our pride is but a jest, None are worst and none are best; Grief and joy and hope and fear Play their pageants everywhere: Vain Opinion all doth sway, And the world is but a play. Powers above in clouds do sit, Mocking our poor apish wit, That so lamely with such state Their high glory imitate. No ill can be felt but pain, And that happy men disdain. While that the sun with his beams hot ScorchÈd the fruits in vale and mountain,Philon, the shepherd, late forgot Sitting beside a chrystal fountain In shadow of a green oak-tree, Upon his pipe this song play’d he: Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. So long as I was in your sight, I was your heart, your soul, your treasure; And evermore you sobb’d and sigh’d, Burning in flames beyond all measure. Three days endured your love for me, And it was lost in other three. Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Another shepherd you did see, To whom your heart was soon enchainÈd; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtainÈd: Soon came a third your love to win; And we were out, and he was in. Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new Love. That you your mind so soon removÈd, Before that I the leisure had To choose you for my best belovÈd: For all my love was past and done Two days, before it was begun. Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Whilst youthful sports are lasting, To feasting turn our fasting.Fa la la! With revels and with wassails Make grief and care our vassals. Fa la la! For youth it well beseemeth That pleasure he esteemeth. Fa la la! And sullen age is hated That mirth would have abated. Fa la la! White as lilies was her face: When she smilÈdShe beguilÈd, Quitting faith with foul disgrace. Virtue’s service thus neglected. Heart with sorrows hath infected. When I swore my heart her own, She disdainÈd; I complainÈd, Yet she left me overthrown: Careless of my bitter grieving, Ruthless, bent to no relieving. Vows and oaths and faith assured, Constant ever, Changing never,— Yet she could not be procured To believe my pains exceeding From her scant respect proceeding. O that love should have the art, By surmises, And disguises, To destroy a faithful heart; Or that wanton-looking women Should reward their friends as foemen. Quickly choosÈd. Shortly loosÈd; For their pride is to remove. Out, alas! their looks first won us, And their pride hath straight undone us. To thyself, the sweetest Fair! Thou hast wounded, And confounded Changeless faith with foul despair; And my service hast enviÈd And my succours hast deniÈd. By thine error thou hast lost Heart unfeignÈd, Truth unstainÈd. And the swain that lovÈd most, More assured in love than many, Move despised in love than any. For my heart, though set at nought, Since you will it, Spoil and kill it! I will never change my thought: But grieve that beauty e’er was born Thus to answer love with scorn. Whither so fast? see how the kindly flowers Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay:The climbing wood-bine, clipping all these bowers, Clips thee likewise for fear thou pass away; Fortune our friend, our foe will not gainsay. Stay but awhile, Phoebe no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I’ll my Phoebe kiss. Fear not, the ground seeks but to kiss thy feet; Hark, hark, how Philomela sweetly sings! Whilst water-wanton fishes as they meet Strike crotchet time amidst these crystal springs, And Zephyrus amongst the leaves sweet murmur rings. Stay but awhile, Phoebe no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I’ll my Phoebe kiss. See how the helitrope, herb of the sun, Though he himself long since be gone to bed, Is not of force thine eye’s bright beams to shun, But with their warmth his goldy leaves unspread, And on my knee invites thee rest thy head. Stay but awhile, Phoebe no tell-tale is; She her Endymion, I’ll my Phoebe kiss. Who likes to love, let him take heed! And wot you why?Among the gods it is decreed That Love shall die; And every wight that takes his part Shall forfeit each a mourning heart. The cause is this, as I have heard: A sort of dames, Whose beauty he did not regard Nor secret flames, Complained before the gods above That gold corrupts the god of love. The gods did storm to hear this news, And there they swore, That sith he did such dames abuse He should no more Be god of love, but that he should Both die and forfeit all his gold. His bow and shafts they took away Before his eyes, And gave these dames a longer day For to devise Who should them keep, and they be bound That love for gold should not be found. They did agree To give them to a maiden chaste, Whom I did see, Who with the same did pierce my breast: Her beauty’s rare, and so I rest. 1. Who made thee, Hob, forsake the plough And fall in love?2. Sweet beauty, which hath power to bow The gods above. 1. What dost thou serve? 2. A shepherdess; One such as hath no peer, I guess. 1. What is her name who bears thy heart Within her breast? 2. Silvana fair, of high desert, Whom I love best. 1. O, Hob, I fear she looks too high. 2. Yet love I must, or else I die. Who prostrate lies at women’s feet. And calls them darlings dear and sweet;And praising oft a foolish face; Are oftentimes deceived at last, Then catch at nought and hold it fast. Who would have thought that face of thine Had been so full of doubleness,Or that within those crystal eyn Had been so much unstableness? Thy face so fair, thy look so strange! Who would have thought of such a change? Why are you Ladies staying, And your Lords gone a-maying?Run apace and meet them And with your garlands greet them. ’Twere pity they should miss you, For they will sweetly kiss you. Wilt thou, Unkind! thus ’reave me Of my heart and so leave me?Farewell! But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel, Kiss me, Sweet, my Jewel! Farewell! Hope by disdain grows cheerless, Fear doth love, love doth fear; Beauty peerless, Farewell! If no delays can move thee, Life shall die, death shall live Still to love thee. Farewell! Yet be thou mindful ever! Heat from fire, fire from heat, None can sever. Farewell! True love cannot be changÈd, Though delight from desert Be estrangÈd. Farewell! Wise men patience never want, Good men pity cannot hide;Feeble spirits only vaunt Of revenge, the poorest pride: He alone forgive that can Bears the true soul of a man. Some there are debate that seek, Making trouble their content; Happy if they wrong the meek, Vex them that to peace are bent: Such undo the common tie Of mankind, Society. Kindness grown is lately cold, Conscience hath forgot her part; BlessÈd times were known of old Long ere Law became an art: Shame deterred, not statutes then; Honest love was law to men. Deeds from love, and words, that flow, Foster like kind April showers; In the warm sun all things grow, Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers: All so thrives his gentle rays Whereon human love displays. Woeful Heart, with grief oppressÈd! Since my fortunes most distressÈdFrom my joys hath me removÈd, Follow those sweet eyes adorÈd! Those sweet eyes wherein are storÈd All my pleasures best belovÈd. Fly my breast—leave me forsaken— Wherein Grief his seat hath taken, All his arrows through me darting! Thou mayst live by her sunshining: I shall suffer no more pining By thy loss than by her parting. Ye bubbling springs that gentle music makes To lovers’ plaints with heart-sore throbs immixed,When as my dear this way her pleasure takes, Tell her with tears how firm my love is fixed; And, Philomel, report my timerous fears, And, echo, sound my heigh-ho’s in her ears: But if she asks if I for love will die, Tell her, Good faith, good faith, good faith,—not I. You blessÈd bowers whose green leaves now are spreading, Shadow the sunshine from my mistress’ face,And you, sweet roses, only for her bedding When weary she doth take her resting-place; You fair white lilies and pretty flowers all, Give your attendance at my mistress’ call. You that wont to my pipe’s sound Daintily to tread your ground,Jolly shepherds and nymphs sweet, (Lirum, lirum.) Here met together Under the weather, Hand in hand uniting, The lovely god come greet. (Lirum, lirum) Lo, triumphing, brave comes he, All in pomp and majesty, Monarch of the world and king. (Lirum, lirum.) Dare to resist him, We our voices uniting, Of his high acts will sing. (Lirum, lirum.) Your shining eyes and golden hair, Your lily-rosÈd lips so fair;Your various beauties which excel, Men cannot choose but like them well: Yet when for them they say they’ll die, Believe them not,—they do but lie. |
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