Forget not yet the tried intentOf such a truth as I have meant;My great travail so gladly spentForget not yet!Forget not yet when first began5The weary life ye know, since whanThe suit, the service none tell can;Forget not yet!Forget not yet the great assays,The cruel wrong, the scornful ways;10The painful patience in delays,Forget not yet!Forget not! oh! forget not this,How long ago hath been, and isThe mind that never meant amiss—15Forget not yet!Forget not then thine own approved,The which so long hath thee so loved,Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—Forget not this!20Sir Thomas Wyat.
Forget not yet the tried intentOf such a truth as I have meant;My great travail so gladly spentForget not yet!Forget not yet when first began5The weary life ye know, since whanThe suit, the service none tell can;Forget not yet!Forget not yet the great assays,The cruel wrong, the scornful ways;10The painful patience in delays,Forget not yet!Forget not! oh! forget not this,How long ago hath been, and isThe mind that never meant amiss—15Forget not yet!Forget not then thine own approved,The which so long hath thee so loved,Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—Forget not this!20Sir Thomas Wyat.
Forget not yet the tried intentOf such a truth as I have meant;My great travail so gladly spentForget not yet!
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant;
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet when first began5The weary life ye know, since whanThe suit, the service none tell can;Forget not yet!
Forget not yet when first began5
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service none tell can;
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays,The cruel wrong, the scornful ways;10The painful patience in delays,Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways;10
The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet!
Forget not! oh! forget not this,How long ago hath been, and isThe mind that never meant amiss—15Forget not yet!
Forget not! oh! forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss—15
Forget not yet!
Forget not then thine own approved,The which so long hath thee so loved,Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—Forget not this!20Sir Thomas Wyat.
Forget not then thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—
Forget not this!20
Sir Thomas Wyat.
If women could be fair, and yet not fond,Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,I would not marvel that they make men bondBy service long to purchase their good will;But when I see how frail those creatures are,5I muse that men forget themselves so far.To mark the choice they make, and how they change,How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan;Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,These gentle birds that fly from man to man;10Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,To pass the time when nothing else can please,And train them to our lure with subtle oath,15Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;And then we say when we their fancy try,To play with fools, oh what a fool was I!Earl of Oxford.
If women could be fair, and yet not fond,Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,I would not marvel that they make men bondBy service long to purchase their good will;But when I see how frail those creatures are,5I muse that men forget themselves so far.To mark the choice they make, and how they change,How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan;Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,These gentle birds that fly from man to man;10Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,To pass the time when nothing else can please,And train them to our lure with subtle oath,15Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;And then we say when we their fancy try,To play with fools, oh what a fool was I!Earl of Oxford.
If women could be fair, and yet not fond,Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,I would not marvel that they make men bondBy service long to purchase their good will;But when I see how frail those creatures are,5I muse that men forget themselves so far.
If women could be fair, and yet not fond,
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
I would not marvel that they make men bond
By service long to purchase their good will;
But when I see how frail those creatures are,5
I muse that men forget themselves so far.
To mark the choice they make, and how they change,How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan;Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,These gentle birds that fly from man to man;10Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
To mark the choice they make, and how they change,
How oft from Phœbus they do flee to Pan;
Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,
These gentle birds that fly from man to man;10
Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,
And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,To pass the time when nothing else can please,And train them to our lure with subtle oath,15Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;And then we say when we their fancy try,To play with fools, oh what a fool was I!Earl of Oxford.
Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,
To pass the time when nothing else can please,
And train them to our lure with subtle oath,15
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;
And then we say when we their fancy try,
To play with fools, oh what a fool was I!
Earl of Oxford.
Give place, ye lovers, here beforeThat spent your boasts and brags in vain:My lady’s beauty passeth moreThe best of yours, I dare well say’n,Than doth the sun the candle light,5Or brightest day the darkest night.And thereto hath a troth as justAs had Penelope the fair;For what she saith, ye may it trust,As it by writing sealèd were;10And virtues hath she many mo,Than I with pen have skill to show.I could rehearse, if that I would,The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,When she had lost the perfect mould,15The like to whom she could not paint:With wringing hands how she did cry,And what she said, I know it, I.I know she swore with raging mind,Her kingdom only set apart,20There was no loss by law of kindThat could have gone so near her heart;And this was chiefly all her pain:‘She could not make the like again.’Sith Nature thus gave her the praise25To be the chiefest work she wrought;In faith, methink! some better waysOn your behalf might well be sought,Than to compare, as ye have done,To match the candle with the sun.30Earl of Surrey.
Give place, ye lovers, here beforeThat spent your boasts and brags in vain:My lady’s beauty passeth moreThe best of yours, I dare well say’n,Than doth the sun the candle light,5Or brightest day the darkest night.And thereto hath a troth as justAs had Penelope the fair;For what she saith, ye may it trust,As it by writing sealèd were;10And virtues hath she many mo,Than I with pen have skill to show.I could rehearse, if that I would,The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,When she had lost the perfect mould,15The like to whom she could not paint:With wringing hands how she did cry,And what she said, I know it, I.I know she swore with raging mind,Her kingdom only set apart,20There was no loss by law of kindThat could have gone so near her heart;And this was chiefly all her pain:‘She could not make the like again.’Sith Nature thus gave her the praise25To be the chiefest work she wrought;In faith, methink! some better waysOn your behalf might well be sought,Than to compare, as ye have done,To match the candle with the sun.30Earl of Surrey.
Give place, ye lovers, here beforeThat spent your boasts and brags in vain:My lady’s beauty passeth moreThe best of yours, I dare well say’n,Than doth the sun the candle light,5Or brightest day the darkest night.
Give place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain:
My lady’s beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well say’n,
Than doth the sun the candle light,5
Or brightest day the darkest night.
And thereto hath a troth as justAs had Penelope the fair;For what she saith, ye may it trust,As it by writing sealèd were;10And virtues hath she many mo,Than I with pen have skill to show.
And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealèd were;10
And virtues hath she many mo,
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,When she had lost the perfect mould,15The like to whom she could not paint:With wringing hands how she did cry,And what she said, I know it, I.
I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,
When she had lost the perfect mould,15
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringing hands how she did cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I know she swore with raging mind,Her kingdom only set apart,20There was no loss by law of kindThat could have gone so near her heart;And this was chiefly all her pain:‘She could not make the like again.’
I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,20
There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart;
And this was chiefly all her pain:
‘She could not make the like again.’
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise25To be the chiefest work she wrought;In faith, methink! some better waysOn your behalf might well be sought,Than to compare, as ye have done,To match the candle with the sun.30Earl of Surrey.
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise25
To be the chiefest work she wrought;
In faith, methink! some better ways
On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.30
Earl of Surrey.
When first mine eyes did view and markThy beauty fair for to behold,And when mine ears ’gan first to harkThe pleasant words that thou me told,I would as then I had been free5From ears to hear, and eyes to see.And when in mind I did consentTo follow thus my fancy’s will,And when my heart did first relentTo taste such bait, myself to spill,10I would my heart had been as thine,Or else thy heart as soft as mine.O flatterer false! thou traitor born,What mischief more might thou deviseThan thy dear friend to have in scorn,15And him to wound in sundry wise;Which still a friend pretends to be,And art not so by proof I see?Fie, fie upon such treachery!William Hunnis.
When first mine eyes did view and markThy beauty fair for to behold,And when mine ears ’gan first to harkThe pleasant words that thou me told,I would as then I had been free5From ears to hear, and eyes to see.And when in mind I did consentTo follow thus my fancy’s will,And when my heart did first relentTo taste such bait, myself to spill,10I would my heart had been as thine,Or else thy heart as soft as mine.O flatterer false! thou traitor born,What mischief more might thou deviseThan thy dear friend to have in scorn,15And him to wound in sundry wise;Which still a friend pretends to be,And art not so by proof I see?Fie, fie upon such treachery!William Hunnis.
When first mine eyes did view and markThy beauty fair for to behold,And when mine ears ’gan first to harkThe pleasant words that thou me told,I would as then I had been free5From ears to hear, and eyes to see.
When first mine eyes did view and mark
Thy beauty fair for to behold,
And when mine ears ’gan first to hark
The pleasant words that thou me told,
I would as then I had been free5
From ears to hear, and eyes to see.
And when in mind I did consentTo follow thus my fancy’s will,And when my heart did first relentTo taste such bait, myself to spill,10I would my heart had been as thine,Or else thy heart as soft as mine.
And when in mind I did consent
To follow thus my fancy’s will,
And when my heart did first relent
To taste such bait, myself to spill,10
I would my heart had been as thine,
Or else thy heart as soft as mine.
O flatterer false! thou traitor born,What mischief more might thou deviseThan thy dear friend to have in scorn,15And him to wound in sundry wise;Which still a friend pretends to be,And art not so by proof I see?Fie, fie upon such treachery!William Hunnis.
O flatterer false! thou traitor born,
What mischief more might thou devise
Than thy dear friend to have in scorn,15
And him to wound in sundry wise;
Which still a friend pretends to be,
And art not so by proof I see?
Fie, fie upon such treachery!
William Hunnis.
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair,And I might have gone near to love thee,Had I not found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak, had power to move thee;But I can let thee now alone,5As worthy to be loved by none.I do confess thou’rt sweet, but findThee such an unthrift of thy sweets,Thy favours are but like the wind,That kisses everything it meets:10And since thou can with more than one,Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.The morning rose that untouched stands,Armed with her briars, how sweetly smellsBut, plucked and strained through ruder hands,15Her scent no longer with her dwells.But scent and beauty both are gone,And leaves fall from her, one by one.Such fate ere long will thee betide,When thou hast handled been a while;20Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;—And I will sigh, while some will smile,To see thy love for more than oneHath brought thee to be loved by none.Sir Robert Aytoun.
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair,And I might have gone near to love thee,Had I not found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak, had power to move thee;But I can let thee now alone,5As worthy to be loved by none.I do confess thou’rt sweet, but findThee such an unthrift of thy sweets,Thy favours are but like the wind,That kisses everything it meets:10And since thou can with more than one,Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.The morning rose that untouched stands,Armed with her briars, how sweetly smellsBut, plucked and strained through ruder hands,15Her scent no longer with her dwells.But scent and beauty both are gone,And leaves fall from her, one by one.Such fate ere long will thee betide,When thou hast handled been a while;20Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;—And I will sigh, while some will smile,To see thy love for more than oneHath brought thee to be loved by none.Sir Robert Aytoun.
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair,And I might have gone near to love thee,Had I not found the slightest prayerThat lips could speak, had power to move thee;But I can let thee now alone,5As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak, had power to move thee;
But I can let thee now alone,5
As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thou’rt sweet, but findThee such an unthrift of thy sweets,Thy favours are but like the wind,That kisses everything it meets:10And since thou can with more than one,Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.
I do confess thou’rt sweet, but find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,
That kisses everything it meets:10
And since thou can with more than one,
Thou’rt worthy to be kissed by none.
The morning rose that untouched stands,Armed with her briars, how sweetly smellsBut, plucked and strained through ruder hands,15Her scent no longer with her dwells.But scent and beauty both are gone,And leaves fall from her, one by one.
The morning rose that untouched stands,
Armed with her briars, how sweetly smells
But, plucked and strained through ruder hands,15
Her scent no longer with her dwells.
But scent and beauty both are gone,
And leaves fall from her, one by one.
Such fate ere long will thee betide,When thou hast handled been a while;20Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;—And I will sigh, while some will smile,To see thy love for more than oneHath brought thee to be loved by none.Sir Robert Aytoun.
Such fate ere long will thee betide,
When thou hast handled been a while;20
Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;—
And I will sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love for more than one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
Sir Robert Aytoun.
While that the sun with his beams hotScorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,Philon the shepherd, late forgot,Sitting beside a crystal fountain,In shadow of a green oak tree5Upon his pipe this song playèd 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,10I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;And evermore you sobbed and sighed,Burning in flames beyond all measure:Three days endured your love to me,And it was lost in other three!15Adieu 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;20Full 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,25Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.Sure you have made me passing gladThat you your mind so soon removèd,Before that I the leisure had30To choose you for my best belovèd:For all your love was past and doneTwo days before it was begun:—Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;35Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.Anon.
While that the sun with his beams hotScorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,Philon the shepherd, late forgot,Sitting beside a crystal fountain,In shadow of a green oak tree5Upon his pipe this song playèd 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,10I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;And evermore you sobbed and sighed,Burning in flames beyond all measure:Three days endured your love to me,And it was lost in other three!15Adieu 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;20Full 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,25Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.Sure you have made me passing gladThat you your mind so soon removèd,Before that I the leisure had30To choose you for my best belovèd:For all your love was past and doneTwo days before it was begun:—Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;35Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.Anon.
While that the sun with his beams hotScorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,Philon the shepherd, late forgot,Sitting beside a crystal fountain,In shadow of a green oak tree5Upon his pipe this song playèd he:Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
While that the sun with his beams hot
Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
Sitting beside a crystal fountain,
In shadow of a green oak tree5
Upon his pipe this song playèd 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,10I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;And evermore you sobbed and sighed,Burning in flames beyond all measure:Three days endured your love to me,And it was lost in other three!15Adieu 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,10
I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;
And evermore you sobbed and sighed,
Burning in flames beyond all measure:
Three days endured your love to me,
And it was lost in other three!15
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;20Full 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,25Untrue 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;20
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,25
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Sure you have made me passing gladThat you your mind so soon removèd,Before that I the leisure had30To choose you for my best belovèd:For all your love was past and doneTwo days before it was begun:—Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;35Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.Anon.
Sure you have made me passing glad
That you your mind so soon removèd,
Before that I the leisure had30
To choose you for my best belovèd:
For all your love was past and done
Two days before it was begun:—
Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;35
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Anon.
Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire,In finding fault with her too portly pride:The thing which I do most in her admire,Is of the world unworthy most envíed;For in those lofty looks is close implied5Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour,Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour;That boldness innocence bears in her eyes;10And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,Spreads in defiance of all enemies.Was never in this world ought worthy tried,Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.Edmund Spenser.
Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire,In finding fault with her too portly pride:The thing which I do most in her admire,Is of the world unworthy most envíed;For in those lofty looks is close implied5Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour,Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour;That boldness innocence bears in her eyes;10And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,Spreads in defiance of all enemies.Was never in this world ought worthy tried,Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.Edmund Spenser.
Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire,In finding fault with her too portly pride:The thing which I do most in her admire,Is of the world unworthy most envíed;For in those lofty looks is close implied5Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour,Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour;That boldness innocence bears in her eyes;10And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,Spreads in defiance of all enemies.Was never in this world ought worthy tried,Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.Edmund Spenser.
Rudely thou wrongest my dear hearts desire,
In finding fault with her too portly pride:
The thing which I do most in her admire,
Is of the world unworthy most envíed;
For in those lofty looks is close implied5
Scorn of base things and sdeign of foul dishonour,
Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour;
That boldness innocence bears in her eyes;10
And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,
Spreads in defiance of all enemies.
Was never in this world ought worthy tried,
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.
Edmund Spenser.
Like as a huntsman after weary chace,Seeing the game from him escaped away,Sits down to rest him in some shady place,With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey;So after long pursuit and vain assay,5When I all weary had the chace forsook,The gentle deer returned the self-same way,Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook;There she beholding me with milder look,Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,10Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,And with her own good-will her firmly tied;Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wildSo goodly won, with her own will beguiled.Edmund Spenser.
Like as a huntsman after weary chace,Seeing the game from him escaped away,Sits down to rest him in some shady place,With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey;So after long pursuit and vain assay,5When I all weary had the chace forsook,The gentle deer returned the self-same way,Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook;There she beholding me with milder look,Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,10Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,And with her own good-will her firmly tied;Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wildSo goodly won, with her own will beguiled.Edmund Spenser.
Like as a huntsman after weary chace,Seeing the game from him escaped away,Sits down to rest him in some shady place,With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey;So after long pursuit and vain assay,5When I all weary had the chace forsook,The gentle deer returned the self-same way,Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook;There she beholding me with milder look,Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,10Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,And with her own good-will her firmly tied;Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wildSo goodly won, with her own will beguiled.Edmund Spenser.
Like as a huntsman after weary chace,
Seeing the game from him escaped away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,
With panting hounds beguilèd of their prey;
So after long pursuit and vain assay,5
When I all weary had the chace forsook,
The gentle deer returned the self-same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook;
There she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide,10
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own good-will her firmly tied;
Strange thing meseemed to see a beast so wild
So goodly won, with her own will beguiled.
Edmund Spenser.
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,Within that temple where the vestal flameWas wont to burn; and passing by that wayTo see that buried dust of living fame,Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,5All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen:At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,For they this Queen attended; in whose steadOblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse.10Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief,And cursed the access of that celestial thief.Sir Walter Raleigh.
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,Within that temple where the vestal flameWas wont to burn; and passing by that wayTo see that buried dust of living fame,Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,5All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen:At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,For they this Queen attended; in whose steadOblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse.10Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief,And cursed the access of that celestial thief.Sir Walter Raleigh.
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,Within that temple where the vestal flameWas wont to burn; and passing by that wayTo see that buried dust of living fame,Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,5All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen:At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,For they this Queen attended; in whose steadOblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse.10Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief,And cursed the access of that celestial thief.Sir Walter Raleigh.
Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,5
All suddenly I saw The Fairy Queen:
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;
And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,
For they this Queen attended; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura’s hearse.10
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,
Where Homer’s spright did tremble all for grief,
And cursed the access of that celestial thief.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
Come live with me, and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.And we will sit upon the rocks,5Seeing the shepherds feed their flocksBy shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,10A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,15With buckles of the purest gold;A belt of straw and ivy-buds,With coral clasps and amber studs:And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me, and be my love.20Thy silver dishes for thy meat,As precious as the gods do eat,Shall, on an ivory table, bePrepared each day for thee and me.The shepherd swains shall dance and sing25For thy delight each May-morning.If these delights thy mind may move,Come live with me, and be my love.Christopher Marlowe.
Come live with me, and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.And we will sit upon the rocks,5Seeing the shepherds feed their flocksBy shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,10A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,15With buckles of the purest gold;A belt of straw and ivy-buds,With coral clasps and amber studs:And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me, and be my love.20Thy silver dishes for thy meat,As precious as the gods do eat,Shall, on an ivory table, bePrepared each day for thee and me.The shepherd swains shall dance and sing25For thy delight each May-morning.If these delights thy mind may move,Come live with me, and be my love.Christopher Marlowe.
Come live with me, and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, [or] hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,5Seeing the shepherds feed their flocksBy shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.
And we will sit upon the rocks,5
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,10A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,10
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,15With buckles of the purest gold;
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-linèd slippers for the cold,15
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy-buds,With coral clasps and amber studs:And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me, and be my love.20
A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.20
Thy silver dishes for thy meat,As precious as the gods do eat,Shall, on an ivory table, bePrepared each day for thee and me.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall, on an ivory table, be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing25For thy delight each May-morning.If these delights thy mind may move,Come live with me, and be my love.Christopher Marlowe.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing25
For thy delight each May-morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Christopher Marlowe.
If all the world and Love were young,And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,These pretty pleasures might me moveTo live with thee, and be thy love,Time drives the flocks from field to fold,5When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;Then Philomel becometh dumb,The rest complains of cares to come.The flowers do fade, and wanton fieldsTo wayward winter reckoning yields;10A honey tongue, a heart of gall,Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;15In folly ripe, in reason rotten.Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,Thy coral clasps and amber studs,All these in me no means can move,To come to thee, and be thy love.20What should we talk of dainties then,Of better meat than’s fit for men?These are but vain: that’s only goodWhich God hath blessed and sent for food.But could youth last, and love still breed,25Had joys no date, nor age no need;Then those delights my mind might move,To live with thee, and be thy love.Anon.
If all the world and Love were young,And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,These pretty pleasures might me moveTo live with thee, and be thy love,Time drives the flocks from field to fold,5When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;Then Philomel becometh dumb,The rest complains of cares to come.The flowers do fade, and wanton fieldsTo wayward winter reckoning yields;10A honey tongue, a heart of gall,Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;15In folly ripe, in reason rotten.Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,Thy coral clasps and amber studs,All these in me no means can move,To come to thee, and be thy love.20What should we talk of dainties then,Of better meat than’s fit for men?These are but vain: that’s only goodWhich God hath blessed and sent for food.But could youth last, and love still breed,25Had joys no date, nor age no need;Then those delights my mind might move,To live with thee, and be thy love.Anon.
If all the world and Love were young,And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,These pretty pleasures might me moveTo live with thee, and be thy love,
If all the world and Love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love,
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,5When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;Then Philomel becometh dumb,The rest complains of cares to come.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,5
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
Then Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fieldsTo wayward winter reckoning yields;10A honey tongue, a heart of gall,Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;10
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;15In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;15
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,Thy coral clasps and amber studs,All these in me no means can move,To come to thee, and be thy love.20
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move,
To come to thee, and be thy love.20
What should we talk of dainties then,Of better meat than’s fit for men?These are but vain: that’s only goodWhich God hath blessed and sent for food.
What should we talk of dainties then,
Of better meat than’s fit for men?
These are but vain: that’s only good
Which God hath blessed and sent for food.
But could youth last, and love still breed,25Had joys no date, nor age no need;Then those delights my mind might move,To live with thee, and be thy love.Anon.
But could youth last, and love still breed,25
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Anon.
Like to Diana in her summer weed,Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,Goes fair Samela;Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,5Is fair Samela;As fair Aurora in her morning grey,Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,Is fair Samela;Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,10Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move,Shines fair Samela;Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivoryOf fair Samela;15Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams,Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony;Thus fair SamelaPasseth fair Venus in her bravest hue,And Juno in the show of majesty,20For she’s Samela:Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,For beauty, wit, and matchless dignityYield to Samela.Robert Greene.
Like to Diana in her summer weed,Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,Goes fair Samela;Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,5Is fair Samela;As fair Aurora in her morning grey,Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,Is fair Samela;Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,10Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move,Shines fair Samela;Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivoryOf fair Samela;15Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams,Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony;Thus fair SamelaPasseth fair Venus in her bravest hue,And Juno in the show of majesty,20For she’s Samela:Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,For beauty, wit, and matchless dignityYield to Samela.Robert Greene.
Like to Diana in her summer weed,Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,Goes fair Samela;Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,5Is fair Samela;As fair Aurora in her morning grey,Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,Is fair Samela;Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,10Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move,Shines fair Samela;Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivoryOf fair Samela;15Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams,Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony;Thus fair SamelaPasseth fair Venus in her bravest hue,And Juno in the show of majesty,20For she’s Samela:Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,For beauty, wit, and matchless dignityYield to Samela.Robert Greene.
Like to Diana in her summer weed,
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela;
Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,5
Is fair Samela;
As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,
Is fair Samela;
Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,10
Whenas her brightness Neptune’s fancy move,
Shines fair Samela;
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
Of fair Samela;15
Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams,
Her brows’ bright arches framed of ebony;
Thus fair Samela
Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
And Juno in the show of majesty,20
For she’s Samela:
Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity
Yield to Samela.
Robert Greene.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come!Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.Lovely forms do flow5From concent divinely framed,Heaven is music, and thy beauty’sBirth is heavenly.These dull notes we singDiscords need for helps to grace them;10Only beauty purely lovingKnows no discord;But still moves delight,Like clear springs renewed by flowing,Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal.15Thomas Campion.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come!Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.Lovely forms do flow5From concent divinely framed,Heaven is music, and thy beauty’sBirth is heavenly.These dull notes we singDiscords need for helps to grace them;10Only beauty purely lovingKnows no discord;But still moves delight,Like clear springs renewed by flowing,Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal.15Thomas Campion.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come!Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’sSilent music, either otherSweetly gracing.
Rose-cheeked Laura, come!
Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty’s
Silent music, either other
Sweetly gracing.
Lovely forms do flow5From concent divinely framed,Heaven is music, and thy beauty’sBirth is heavenly.
Lovely forms do flow5
From concent divinely framed,
Heaven is music, and thy beauty’s
Birth is heavenly.
These dull notes we singDiscords need for helps to grace them;10Only beauty purely lovingKnows no discord;
These dull notes we sing
Discords need for helps to grace them;10
Only beauty purely loving
Knows no discord;
But still moves delight,Like clear springs renewed by flowing,Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal.15Thomas Campion.
But still moves delight,
Like clear springs renewed by flowing,
Ever perfect, ever in them-selves eternal.15
Thomas Campion.
See the chariot at hand here of Love,Wherein my lady rideth!Each that draws is a swan or a dove,And well the car Love guideth.As she goes, all hearts do duty5Unto her beauty,And enamoured do wish, so they mightBut enjoy such a sight,That they still were to run by her side,Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.10Do but look on her eyes, they do lightAll that Love’s world compriseth!Do but look on her hair, it is brightAs Love’s star when it riseth!Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother15Than words that soothe her!And from her arched brows, such a graceSheds itself through the face,As alone there triumphs to the lifeAll the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife.20Have you seen but a bright lily grow,Before rude hands have touched it?Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow,Before the soil hath smutched it?Have you felt the wool of the beaver?25Or swan’s down ever?Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar?Or the nard in the fire?Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee?O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!30Ben Jonson.
See the chariot at hand here of Love,Wherein my lady rideth!Each that draws is a swan or a dove,And well the car Love guideth.As she goes, all hearts do duty5Unto her beauty,And enamoured do wish, so they mightBut enjoy such a sight,That they still were to run by her side,Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.10Do but look on her eyes, they do lightAll that Love’s world compriseth!Do but look on her hair, it is brightAs Love’s star when it riseth!Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother15Than words that soothe her!And from her arched brows, such a graceSheds itself through the face,As alone there triumphs to the lifeAll the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife.20Have you seen but a bright lily grow,Before rude hands have touched it?Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow,Before the soil hath smutched it?Have you felt the wool of the beaver?25Or swan’s down ever?Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar?Or the nard in the fire?Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee?O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!30Ben Jonson.
See the chariot at hand here of Love,Wherein my lady rideth!Each that draws is a swan or a dove,And well the car Love guideth.As she goes, all hearts do duty5Unto her beauty,And enamoured do wish, so they mightBut enjoy such a sight,That they still were to run by her side,Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.10
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty5
Unto her beauty,
And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.10
Do but look on her eyes, they do lightAll that Love’s world compriseth!Do but look on her hair, it is brightAs Love’s star when it riseth!Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother15Than words that soothe her!And from her arched brows, such a graceSheds itself through the face,As alone there triumphs to the lifeAll the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife.20
Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love’s world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love’s star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother15
Than words that soothe her!
And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good of the elements’ strife.20
Have you seen but a bright lily grow,Before rude hands have touched it?Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow,Before the soil hath smutched it?Have you felt the wool of the beaver?25Or swan’s down ever?Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar?Or the nard in the fire?Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee?O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!30Ben Jonson.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow,
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?25
Or swan’s down ever?
Or have smelt o’ the bud of the briar?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag o’ the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!30
Ben Jonson.
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,Not royal in their smells alone,But in their hue;Maiden-pinks, of odour faint;Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,5And sweet thyme true;Primrose, first-born child of Ver,Merry spring-time’s harbinger,With her bells dim;Oxlips in their cradles growing,10Marigolds on death-beds blowing,Lark-heels trim;All, dear Nature’s children sweet,Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,Blessing their sense!15Not an angel of the air,Bird melodious, or bird fair,Be absent hence!The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, norThe boding raven, nor chough hoar,20Nor chattering pie,May on our bride-house perch or sing,Or with them any discord bring,But from it fly!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,Not royal in their smells alone,But in their hue;Maiden-pinks, of odour faint;Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,5And sweet thyme true;Primrose, first-born child of Ver,Merry spring-time’s harbinger,With her bells dim;Oxlips in their cradles growing,10Marigolds on death-beds blowing,Lark-heels trim;All, dear Nature’s children sweet,Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,Blessing their sense!15Not an angel of the air,Bird melodious, or bird fair,Be absent hence!The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, norThe boding raven, nor chough hoar,20Nor chattering pie,May on our bride-house perch or sing,Or with them any discord bring,But from it fly!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,Not royal in their smells alone,But in their hue;Maiden-pinks, of odour faint;Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,5And sweet thyme true;
Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden-pinks, of odour faint;
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,5
And sweet thyme true;
Primrose, first-born child of Ver,Merry spring-time’s harbinger,With her bells dim;Oxlips in their cradles growing,10Marigolds on death-beds blowing,Lark-heels trim;
Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time’s harbinger,
With her bells dim;
Oxlips in their cradles growing,10
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim;
All, dear Nature’s children sweet,Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,Blessing their sense!15Not an angel of the air,Bird melodious, or bird fair,Be absent hence!
All, dear Nature’s children sweet,
Lie ’fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,
Blessing their sense!15
Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious, or bird fair,
Be absent hence!
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, norThe boding raven, nor chough hoar,20Nor chattering pie,May on our bride-house perch or sing,Or with them any discord bring,But from it fly!Beaumont and Fletcher.
The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,20
Nor chattering pie,
May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!
Beaumont and Fletcher.
You that do search for every purling spring,Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which growsNear thereabouts, into your posy wring;You that do dictionaries’ method bring5Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woesWith new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing;You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be suchAs do bewray a want of inward touch:10And sure at length stoln goods do come to light.But if (both for your love and skill) your nameYou seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame,Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite.Sir Philip Sidney.
You that do search for every purling spring,Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which growsNear thereabouts, into your posy wring;You that do dictionaries’ method bring5Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woesWith new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing;You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be suchAs do bewray a want of inward touch:10And sure at length stoln goods do come to light.But if (both for your love and skill) your nameYou seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame,Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite.Sir Philip Sidney.
You that do search for every purling spring,Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which growsNear thereabouts, into your posy wring;You that do dictionaries’ method bring5Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woesWith new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing;You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be suchAs do bewray a want of inward touch:10And sure at length stoln goods do come to light.But if (both for your love and skill) your nameYou seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame,Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite.Sir Philip Sidney.
You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your posy wring;
You that do dictionaries’ method bring5
Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch’s long deceasèd woes
With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing;
You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch:10
And sure at length stoln goods do come to light.
But if (both for your love and skill) your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to’ endite.
Sir Philip Sidney.
Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,The indifferent Judge between the high and low;With shield of proof shield me from out the prease5Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease;I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light,10A rosy garland, and a weary head:And if these things, as being thine by right,Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in meLivelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.Sir Philip Sidney.
Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,The indifferent Judge between the high and low;With shield of proof shield me from out the prease5Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease;I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light,10A rosy garland, and a weary head:And if these things, as being thine by right,Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in meLivelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.Sir Philip Sidney.
Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,The indifferent Judge between the high and low;With shield of proof shield me from out the prease5Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease;I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light,10A rosy garland, and a weary head:And if these things, as being thine by right,Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in meLivelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.Sir Philip Sidney.
Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release,
The indifferent Judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease5
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.
Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light,10
A rosy garland, and a weary head:
And if these things, as being thine by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me
Livelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.
Sir Philip Sidney.
To yield to those I cannot but disdain,Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;It is the beauty of the better parts,With which I mind my fancies for to chain.Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain,5But only curlèd locks and wanton looks,Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,Which may well take, but cannot well retain.He that began to yield to the outward grace,And then the treasures of the mind doth prove,10He who as ’twere was with the mask in love,What doth he think whenas he sees the face?No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,That inward worth would never let him go.Earl of Stirling.
To yield to those I cannot but disdain,Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;It is the beauty of the better parts,With which I mind my fancies for to chain.Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain,5But only curlèd locks and wanton looks,Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,Which may well take, but cannot well retain.He that began to yield to the outward grace,And then the treasures of the mind doth prove,10He who as ’twere was with the mask in love,What doth he think whenas he sees the face?No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,That inward worth would never let him go.Earl of Stirling.
To yield to those I cannot but disdain,Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;It is the beauty of the better parts,With which I mind my fancies for to chain.Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain,5But only curlèd locks and wanton looks,Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,Which may well take, but cannot well retain.He that began to yield to the outward grace,And then the treasures of the mind doth prove,10He who as ’twere was with the mask in love,What doth he think whenas he sees the face?No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,That inward worth would never let him go.Earl of Stirling.
To yield to those I cannot but disdain,
Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;
It is the beauty of the better parts,
With which I mind my fancies for to chain.
Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain,5
But only curlèd locks and wanton looks,
Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,
Which may well take, but cannot well retain.
He that began to yield to the outward grace,
And then the treasures of the mind doth prove,10
He who as ’twere was with the mask in love,
What doth he think whenas he sees the face?
No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,
That inward worth would never let him go.
Earl of Stirling.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,5For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe,And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er10The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before:—But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.William Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,5For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe,And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er10The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before:—But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.William Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,5For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe,And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er10The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before:—But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.William Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,5
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long-since-cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er10
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before:—
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
William Shakespeare.
From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell5Of different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;10They were but sweet, but figures of delight,Drawn after you—you pattern of all those.Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play.William Shakespeare.
From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell5Of different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;10They were but sweet, but figures of delight,Drawn after you—you pattern of all those.Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play.William Shakespeare.
From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell5Of different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;10They were but sweet, but figures of delight,Drawn after you—you pattern of all those.Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play.William Shakespeare.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell5
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;10
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you—you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
William Shakespeare.
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odour which doth in it live.The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye5As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonlyWhen summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;But, for their virtue only is their show,They live unwooed, and unrespected fade;10Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.William Shakespeare.
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odour which doth in it live.The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye5As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonlyWhen summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;But, for their virtue only is their show,They live unwooed, and unrespected fade;10Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.William Shakespeare.
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odour which doth in it live.The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye5As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonlyWhen summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;But, for their virtue only is their show,They live unwooed, and unrespected fade;10Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.William Shakespeare.
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye5
As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed, and unrespected fade;10
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.
William Shakespeare.
A good that never satisfies the mind,A beauty fading like the April flowers,A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,A honour that more fickle is than wind,5A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers,A treasury which bankrupt time devours,A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,A vain delight our equals to command,A style of greatness, in effect a dream,10A swelling thought of holding sea and land,A servile lot, decked with a pompous name;Are the strange ends we toil for here below,Till wisest death make us our errors know.William Drummond.
A good that never satisfies the mind,A beauty fading like the April flowers,A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,A honour that more fickle is than wind,5A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers,A treasury which bankrupt time devours,A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,A vain delight our equals to command,A style of greatness, in effect a dream,10A swelling thought of holding sea and land,A servile lot, decked with a pompous name;Are the strange ends we toil for here below,Till wisest death make us our errors know.William Drummond.
A good that never satisfies the mind,A beauty fading like the April flowers,A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,A honour that more fickle is than wind,5A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers,A treasury which bankrupt time devours,A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,A vain delight our equals to command,A style of greatness, in effect a dream,10A swelling thought of holding sea and land,A servile lot, decked with a pompous name;Are the strange ends we toil for here below,Till wisest death make us our errors know.William Drummond.
A good that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April flowers,
A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined,
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A honour that more fickle is than wind,5
A glory at opinion’s frown that lowers,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness, in effect a dream,10
A swelling thought of holding sea and land,
A servile lot, decked with a pompous name;
Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
Till wisest death make us our errors know.
William Drummond.
Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade,The morning’s darling late, the summer’s queen,Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green,As high as it did raise, bows low the head:Right so my life, contentments being dead,5Or in their contraries but only seen,With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the nightHastes darkly to imprison on his way,10Think on thy home, my soul, and think arightOf what yet rests thee of life’s wasting day;Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn,And twice it is not given thee to be born.William Drummond.
Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade,The morning’s darling late, the summer’s queen,Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green,As high as it did raise, bows low the head:Right so my life, contentments being dead,5Or in their contraries but only seen,With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the nightHastes darkly to imprison on his way,10Think on thy home, my soul, and think arightOf what yet rests thee of life’s wasting day;Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn,And twice it is not given thee to be born.William Drummond.
Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade,The morning’s darling late, the summer’s queen,Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green,As high as it did raise, bows low the head:Right so my life, contentments being dead,5Or in their contraries but only seen,With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the nightHastes darkly to imprison on his way,10Think on thy home, my soul, and think arightOf what yet rests thee of life’s wasting day;Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn,And twice it is not given thee to be born.William Drummond.
Look how the flower which lingeringly doth fade,
The morning’s darling late, the summer’s queen,
Spoiled of that juice which kept it fresh and green,
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:
Right so my life, contentments being dead,5
Or in their contraries but only seen,
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,
And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.
As doth the pilgrim therefore, whom the night
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,10
Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright
Of what yet rests thee of life’s wasting day;
Thy sun posts westward, passèd is thy morn,
And twice it is not given thee to be born.
William Drummond.
Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines,Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines.She sat her by these muskèd eglantines,5The happy place the print seems yet to bear;Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds did lend an ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face:10Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,Here first I got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?William Drummond.
Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines,Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines.She sat her by these muskèd eglantines,5The happy place the print seems yet to bear;Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds did lend an ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face:10Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,Here first I got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?William Drummond.
Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines,Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines.She sat her by these muskèd eglantines,5The happy place the print seems yet to bear;Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds did lend an ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face:10Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,Here first I got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?William Drummond.
Alexis, here she stayed; among these pines,
Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair;
Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,
More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines.
She sat her by these muskèd eglantines,5
The happy place the print seems yet to bear;
Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,
To which winds, trees, beasts, birds did lend an ear.
Me here she first perceived, and here a morn
Of bright carnations did o’erspread her face:10
Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,
Here first I got a pledge of promised grace:
But ah! what served it to be happy so?
Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?
William Drummond.
Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers;The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers,Thou turn’st, sweet youth; but ah! my pleasant hours5And happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;10But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air,Is gone; nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come,When thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb.William Drummond.
Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers;The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers,Thou turn’st, sweet youth; but ah! my pleasant hours5And happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;10But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air,Is gone; nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come,When thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb.William Drummond.
Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers;The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers,Thou turn’st, sweet youth; but ah! my pleasant hours5And happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;10But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air,Is gone; nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come,When thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb.William Drummond.
Sweet spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flowers;
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their showers,
Thou turn’st, sweet youth; but ah! my pleasant hours5
And happy days with thee come not again;
The sad memorials only of my pain
Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.
Thou art the same which still thou wast before,
Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;10
But she, whose breath embalmed thy wholesome air,
Is gone; nor gold nor gems her can restore.
Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come,
When thine, forgot, lie closèd in a tomb.
William Drummond.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part—Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,That thus so cleanly I myself can free;Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,5And when we meet at any time again,Be it not seen in either of our browsThat we one jot of former love retain.Now at the last gasp of love’s latest breath,When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,10When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,And innocence is closing up his eyes,—Now if thou would’st, when all have given him over,From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!Michael Drayton.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part—Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,That thus so cleanly I myself can free;Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,5And when we meet at any time again,Be it not seen in either of our browsThat we one jot of former love retain.Now at the last gasp of love’s latest breath,When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,10When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,And innocence is closing up his eyes,—Now if thou would’st, when all have given him over,From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!Michael Drayton.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part—Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,That thus so cleanly I myself can free;Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,5And when we meet at any time again,Be it not seen in either of our browsThat we one jot of former love retain.Now at the last gasp of love’s latest breath,When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,10When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,And innocence is closing up his eyes,—Now if thou would’st, when all have given him over,From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!Michael Drayton.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part—
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,5
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love’s latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,10
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes,—
Now if thou would’st, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!
Michael Drayton.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:Violets plucked, the sweetest rainMakes not fresh nor grow again;Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;5Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see:Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,Why should sadness longer last?Grief is but a wound to woe;Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.10Beaumont and Fletcher.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:Violets plucked, the sweetest rainMakes not fresh nor grow again;Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;5Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see:Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,Why should sadness longer last?Grief is but a wound to woe;Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.10Beaumont and Fletcher.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:Violets plucked, the sweetest rainMakes not fresh nor grow again;Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;5Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see:Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,Why should sadness longer last?Grief is but a wound to woe;Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.10Beaumont and Fletcher.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that’s gone:
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;5
Fate’s hidden ends eyes cannot see:
Joys as wingèd dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;
Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.10
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivingLock me in delight awhile;Let some pleasing dreams beguileAll my fancies; that from thenceI may feel an influence,5All my powers of care bereaving!Though but a shadow, but a sliding,Let me know some little joy!We that suffer long annoyAre contented with a thought,10Through an idle fancy wrought:Oh, let my joys have some abiding!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivingLock me in delight awhile;Let some pleasing dreams beguileAll my fancies; that from thenceI may feel an influence,5All my powers of care bereaving!Though but a shadow, but a sliding,Let me know some little joy!We that suffer long annoyAre contented with a thought,10Through an idle fancy wrought:Oh, let my joys have some abiding!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceivingLock me in delight awhile;Let some pleasing dreams beguileAll my fancies; that from thenceI may feel an influence,5All my powers of care bereaving!
Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies; that from thence
I may feel an influence,5
All my powers of care bereaving!
Though but a shadow, but a sliding,Let me know some little joy!We that suffer long annoyAre contented with a thought,10Through an idle fancy wrought:Oh, let my joys have some abiding!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy!
We that suffer long annoy
Are contented with a thought,10
Through an idle fancy wrought:
Oh, let my joys have some abiding!
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Lay a garland on my hearseOf the dismal yew;Maidens, willow branches bear;Say, I died true.My love was false, but I was firm5From my hour of birth.Upon my buried body lieLightly, gentle earth!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Lay a garland on my hearseOf the dismal yew;Maidens, willow branches bear;Say, I died true.My love was false, but I was firm5From my hour of birth.Upon my buried body lieLightly, gentle earth!Beaumont and Fletcher.
Lay a garland on my hearseOf the dismal yew;Maidens, willow branches bear;Say, I died true.
Lay a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;
Maidens, willow branches bear;
Say, I died true.
My love was false, but I was firm5From my hour of birth.Upon my buried body lieLightly, gentle earth!Beaumont and Fletcher.
My love was false, but I was firm5
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie
Lightly, gentle earth!
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light,Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground:Praised be her beams, the glory of the night,Praised be her power, by which all powers abound.Praised be her nymphs, with whom she decks the woods,Praised be her knights, in whom true honour lives:6Praised be that force by which she moves the floods,Let that Diana shine which all these gives.In heaven Queen she is among the spheres,She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure;10Eternity in her oft change she bears,She beauty is, by her the fair endure.Time wears her not, she doth his chariot guide,Mortality below her orb is placed;By her the virtue of the stars down slide,15In her is Virtue’s perfect image cast.A knowledge pure it is her worth to know:With Circe let them dwell that think not so.Anon.
Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light,Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground:Praised be her beams, the glory of the night,Praised be her power, by which all powers abound.Praised be her nymphs, with whom she decks the woods,Praised be her knights, in whom true honour lives:6Praised be that force by which she moves the floods,Let that Diana shine which all these gives.In heaven Queen she is among the spheres,She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure;10Eternity in her oft change she bears,She beauty is, by her the fair endure.Time wears her not, she doth his chariot guide,Mortality below her orb is placed;By her the virtue of the stars down slide,15In her is Virtue’s perfect image cast.A knowledge pure it is her worth to know:With Circe let them dwell that think not so.Anon.
Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light,Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground:Praised be her beams, the glory of the night,Praised be her power, by which all powers abound.
Praised be Diana’s fair and harmless light,
Praised be the dews, wherewith she moists the ground:
Praised be her beams, the glory of the night,
Praised be her power, by which all powers abound.
Praised be her nymphs, with whom she decks the woods,Praised be her knights, in whom true honour lives:6Praised be that force by which she moves the floods,Let that Diana shine which all these gives.
Praised be her nymphs, with whom she decks the woods,
Praised be her knights, in whom true honour lives:6
Praised be that force by which she moves the floods,
Let that Diana shine which all these gives.
In heaven Queen she is among the spheres,She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure;10Eternity in her oft change she bears,She beauty is, by her the fair endure.
In heaven Queen she is among the spheres,
She, mistress-like, makes all things to be pure;10
Eternity in her oft change she bears,
She beauty is, by her the fair endure.
Time wears her not, she doth his chariot guide,Mortality below her orb is placed;By her the virtue of the stars down slide,15In her is Virtue’s perfect image cast.A knowledge pure it is her worth to know:With Circe let them dwell that think not so.Anon.
Time wears her not, she doth his chariot guide,
Mortality below her orb is placed;
By her the virtue of the stars down slide,15
In her is Virtue’s perfect image cast.
A knowledge pure it is her worth to know:
With Circe let them dwell that think not so.
Anon.
It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make men better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere.A lily of a day5Is fairer far in May,Although it fall and die that night;It was the plant and flower of light.In small proportions we just beauties see,And in short measures life may perfect be.10Ben Jonson.
It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make men better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere.A lily of a day5Is fairer far in May,Although it fall and die that night;It was the plant and flower of light.In small proportions we just beauties see,And in short measures life may perfect be.10Ben Jonson.
It is not growing like a treeIn bulk, doth make men better be;Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere.A lily of a day5Is fairer far in May,Although it fall and die that night;It was the plant and flower of light.In small proportions we just beauties see,And in short measures life may perfect be.10Ben Jonson.
It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make men better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere.
A lily of a day5
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night;
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see,
And in short measures life may perfect be.10
Ben Jonson.
Fair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;But putting to the main,5At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train,Landed King Harry.And taking many a fort,Furnished in warlike sort,10Marched towards AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopped his way,Where the French general lay15With all his power.Which in his height of pride,King Henry to deride,His ransom to provideTo the King sending;20Which he neglects the while,As from a nation vile,Yet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.And turning to his men,25Quoth our brave Henry then,‘Though they to one be ten,Be not amazèd.Yet have we well begun,Battles so bravely won30Have ever to the sunBy fame been raisèd.‘And for myself,’ quoth he,‘This my full rest shall be;England ne’er mourn for me,35Nor more esteem me.Victor I will remain,Or on this earth lie slain,Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.40‘Poictiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell:No less our skill is,Than when our grandsire great,45Claiming the regal seatBy many a warlike feat,Lopped the French lilies.’The Duke of York so dread,The eager vaward led;50With the main Henry sped,Amongst his henchmen.Exeter had the rear,A braver man not there,O Lord! how hot they were55On the false Frenchmen!They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear was wonder;60That with the cries they make,The very earth did shake,Trumpet to trumpet spake,Thunder to thunder.Well it thine age became,65O noble ErpinghamWhich did the signal aimTo our hid forces;When from a meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,70The English archeryStuck the French horses.With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard long,That like to serpents stung,75Piercing the weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.80When down their bows they threw,And forth their bilbows drew,And on the French they flew;Not one was tardy;Arms were from shoulders sent;85Scalps to the teeth were rent,Down the French peasants went,Our men were hardy.This while our noble king,His broad sword brandishing,90Down the French host did ding,As to o’erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent,His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dent95Bruisèd his helmet.Gloucester, that duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For famous England stood,With his brave brother;100Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.Warwick in blood did wade,105Oxford the foe invade,And cruel slaughter made,Still as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and Willoughby110Bare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.Upon Saint Crispin’s dayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delay115To England to carry.Oh, when shall EnglishmenWith such acts fill a pen,Or England breed againSuch a King Harry!120Michael Drayton.
Fair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;But putting to the main,5At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train,Landed King Harry.And taking many a fort,Furnished in warlike sort,10Marched towards AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopped his way,Where the French general lay15With all his power.Which in his height of pride,King Henry to deride,His ransom to provideTo the King sending;20Which he neglects the while,As from a nation vile,Yet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.And turning to his men,25Quoth our brave Henry then,‘Though they to one be ten,Be not amazèd.Yet have we well begun,Battles so bravely won30Have ever to the sunBy fame been raisèd.‘And for myself,’ quoth he,‘This my full rest shall be;England ne’er mourn for me,35Nor more esteem me.Victor I will remain,Or on this earth lie slain,Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.40‘Poictiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell:No less our skill is,Than when our grandsire great,45Claiming the regal seatBy many a warlike feat,Lopped the French lilies.’The Duke of York so dread,The eager vaward led;50With the main Henry sped,Amongst his henchmen.Exeter had the rear,A braver man not there,O Lord! how hot they were55On the false Frenchmen!They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear was wonder;60That with the cries they make,The very earth did shake,Trumpet to trumpet spake,Thunder to thunder.Well it thine age became,65O noble ErpinghamWhich did the signal aimTo our hid forces;When from a meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,70The English archeryStuck the French horses.With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard long,That like to serpents stung,75Piercing the weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.80When down their bows they threw,And forth their bilbows drew,And on the French they flew;Not one was tardy;Arms were from shoulders sent;85Scalps to the teeth were rent,Down the French peasants went,Our men were hardy.This while our noble king,His broad sword brandishing,90Down the French host did ding,As to o’erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent,His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dent95Bruisèd his helmet.Gloucester, that duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For famous England stood,With his brave brother;100Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.Warwick in blood did wade,105Oxford the foe invade,And cruel slaughter made,Still as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and Willoughby110Bare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.Upon Saint Crispin’s dayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delay115To England to carry.Oh, when shall EnglishmenWith such acts fill a pen,Or England breed againSuch a King Harry!120Michael Drayton.
Fair stood the wind for FranceWhen we our sails advance,Nor now to prove our chanceLonger will tarry;But putting to the main,5At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,With all his martial train,Landed King Harry.
Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,5
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,Furnished in warlike sort,10Marched towards AgincourtIn happy hour;Skirmishing day by dayWith those that stopped his way,Where the French general lay15With all his power.
And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,10
Marched towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French general lay15
With all his power.
Which in his height of pride,King Henry to deride,His ransom to provideTo the King sending;20Which he neglects the while,As from a nation vile,Yet with an angry smile,Their fall portending.
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
To the King sending;20
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile,
Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,25Quoth our brave Henry then,‘Though they to one be ten,Be not amazèd.Yet have we well begun,Battles so bravely won30Have ever to the sunBy fame been raisèd.
And turning to his men,25
Quoth our brave Henry then,
‘Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazèd.
Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won30
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raisèd.
‘And for myself,’ quoth he,‘This my full rest shall be;England ne’er mourn for me,35Nor more esteem me.Victor I will remain,Or on this earth lie slain,Never shall she sustainLoss to redeem me.40
‘And for myself,’ quoth he,
‘This my full rest shall be;
England ne’er mourn for me,35
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.40
‘Poictiers and Cressy tell,When most their pride did swell,Under our swords they fell:No less our skill is,Than when our grandsire great,45Claiming the regal seatBy many a warlike feat,Lopped the French lilies.’
‘Poictiers and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is,
Than when our grandsire great,45
Claiming the regal seat
By many a warlike feat,
Lopped the French lilies.’
The Duke of York so dread,The eager vaward led;50With the main Henry sped,Amongst his henchmen.Exeter had the rear,A braver man not there,O Lord! how hot they were55On the false Frenchmen!
The Duke of York so dread,
The eager vaward led;50
With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.
Exeter had the rear,
A braver man not there,
O Lord! how hot they were55
On the false Frenchmen!
They now to fight are gone,Armour on armour shone,Drum now to drum did groan,To hear was wonder;60That with the cries they make,The very earth did shake,Trumpet to trumpet spake,Thunder to thunder.
They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;60
That with the cries they make,
The very earth did shake,
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,65O noble ErpinghamWhich did the signal aimTo our hid forces;When from a meadow by,Like a storm suddenly,70The English archeryStuck the French horses.
Well it thine age became,65
O noble Erpingham
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,70
The English archery
Stuck the French horses.
With Spanish yew so strong,Arrows a cloth-yard long,That like to serpents stung,75Piercing the weather;None from his fellow starts,But playing manly parts,And like true English hearts,Stuck close together.80
With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,75
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.80
When down their bows they threw,And forth their bilbows drew,And on the French they flew;Not one was tardy;Arms were from shoulders sent;85Scalps to the teeth were rent,Down the French peasants went,Our men were hardy.
When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbows drew,
And on the French they flew;
Not one was tardy;
Arms were from shoulders sent;85
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went,
Our men were hardy.
This while our noble king,His broad sword brandishing,90Down the French host did ding,As to o’erwhelm it;And many a deep wound lent,His arms with blood besprent,And many a cruel dent95Bruisèd his helmet.
This while our noble king,
His broad sword brandishing,90
Down the French host did ding,
As to o’erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent95
Bruisèd his helmet.
Gloucester, that duke so good,Next of the royal blood,For famous England stood,With his brave brother;100Clarence, in steel so bright,Though but a maiden knight,Yet in that furious fightScarce such another.
Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his brave brother;100
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.
Warwick in blood did wade,105Oxford the foe invade,And cruel slaughter made,Still as they ran up;Suffolk his axe did ply,Beaumont and Willoughby110Bare them right doughtily,Ferrers and Fanhope.
Warwick in blood did wade,105
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made,
Still as they ran up;
Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby110
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.
Upon Saint Crispin’s dayFought was this noble fray,Which fame did not delay115To England to carry.Oh, when shall EnglishmenWith such acts fill a pen,Or England breed againSuch a King Harry!120Michael Drayton.
Upon Saint Crispin’s day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay115
To England to carry.
Oh, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry!120
Michael Drayton.