DROP, drop, slow tears,And bathe those beauteous feetWhich brought from HeavenThe news and Prince of Peace:Cease not, wet eyes,His mercy to entreat;To cry for vengeanceSin doth never cease.In your deep floodsDrown all my faults and fears;Nor let His eyeSee sin, but through my tears.
DROP, drop, slow tears,And bathe those beauteous feetWhich brought from HeavenThe news and Prince of Peace:Cease not, wet eyes,His mercy to entreat;To cry for vengeanceSin doth never cease.In your deep floodsDrown all my faults and fears;Nor let His eyeSee sin, but through my tears.
DROP, drop, slow tears,And bathe those beauteous feetWhich brought from HeavenThe news and Prince of Peace:Cease not, wet eyes,His mercy to entreat;To cry for vengeanceSin doth never cease.In your deep floodsDrown all my faults and fears;Nor let His eyeSee sin, but through my tears.
1583-1627
223.
DEAR Lord, receive my son, whose winning loveTo me was like a friendship, far aboveThe course of nature or his tender age;Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage:Let his pure soul, ordain’d seven years to beIn that frail body which was part of me,Remain my pledge in Heaven, as sent to showHow to this port at every step I go.
DEAR Lord, receive my son, whose winning loveTo me was like a friendship, far aboveThe course of nature or his tender age;Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage:Let his pure soul, ordain’d seven years to beIn that frail body which was part of me,Remain my pledge in Heaven, as sent to showHow to this port at every step I go.
DEAR Lord, receive my son, whose winning loveTo me was like a friendship, far aboveThe course of nature or his tender age;Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage:Let his pure soul, ordain’d seven years to beIn that frail body which was part of me,Remain my pledge in Heaven, as sent to showHow to this port at every step I go.
1585-1649
224.
PHŒBUS, arise!And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;Make an eternal spring!Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;Spread forth thy golden hairIn larger locks than thou wast wont before,And emperor-like decoreWith diadem of pearl thy temples fair:Chase hence the ugly nightWhich serves but to make dear thy glorious light.This is that happy morn,That day, long wishèd dayOf all my life so dark(If cruel stars have not my ruin swornAnd fates not hope betray),Which, only white, deservesA diamond for ever should it mark:This is the morn should bring into this groveMy Love, to hear and recompense my love.Fair King, who all preserves,But show thy blushing beams,And thou two sweeter eyesShalt see than those which by Penèus’ streamsDid once thy heart surprise:Nay, suns, which shine as clearAs thou when two thou did to Rome appear.Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:If that ye, winds, would hearA voice surpassing far Amphion’s lyre,Your stormy chiding stay;Let zephyr only breatheAnd with her tresses play,Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.The winds all silent are;And Phœbus in his chairEnsaffroning sea and airMakes vanish every star:Night like a drunkard reelsBeyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels:The fields with flowers are deck’d in every hue,The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue;Here is the pleasant place—And everything, save Her, who all should grace.
PHŒBUS, arise!And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;Make an eternal spring!Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;Spread forth thy golden hairIn larger locks than thou wast wont before,And emperor-like decoreWith diadem of pearl thy temples fair:Chase hence the ugly nightWhich serves but to make dear thy glorious light.This is that happy morn,That day, long wishèd dayOf all my life so dark(If cruel stars have not my ruin swornAnd fates not hope betray),Which, only white, deservesA diamond for ever should it mark:This is the morn should bring into this groveMy Love, to hear and recompense my love.Fair King, who all preserves,But show thy blushing beams,And thou two sweeter eyesShalt see than those which by Penèus’ streamsDid once thy heart surprise:Nay, suns, which shine as clearAs thou when two thou did to Rome appear.Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:If that ye, winds, would hearA voice surpassing far Amphion’s lyre,Your stormy chiding stay;Let zephyr only breatheAnd with her tresses play,Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.The winds all silent are;And Phœbus in his chairEnsaffroning sea and airMakes vanish every star:Night like a drunkard reelsBeyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels:The fields with flowers are deck’d in every hue,The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue;Here is the pleasant place—And everything, save Her, who all should grace.
PHŒBUS, arise!And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon’s mother from her Tithon’s bed,That she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each-where sing;Make an eternal spring!Give life to this dark world which lieth dead;Spread forth thy golden hairIn larger locks than thou wast wont before,And emperor-like decoreWith diadem of pearl thy temples fair:Chase hence the ugly nightWhich serves but to make dear thy glorious light.This is that happy morn,That day, long wishèd dayOf all my life so dark(If cruel stars have not my ruin swornAnd fates not hope betray),Which, only white, deservesA diamond for ever should it mark:This is the morn should bring into this groveMy Love, to hear and recompense my love.Fair King, who all preserves,But show thy blushing beams,And thou two sweeter eyesShalt see than those which by Penèus’ streamsDid once thy heart surprise:Nay, suns, which shine as clearAs thou when two thou did to Rome appear.Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise:If that ye, winds, would hearA voice surpassing far Amphion’s lyre,Your stormy chiding stay;Let zephyr only breatheAnd with her tresses play,Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death.
The winds all silent are;And Phœbus in his chairEnsaffroning sea and airMakes vanish every star:Night like a drunkard reelsBeyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels:The fields with flowers are deck’d in every hue,The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue;Here is the pleasant place—And everything, save Her, who all should grace.
225.
LIKE the Idalian queen,Her hair about her eyne,With neck and breast’s ripe apples to be seen,At first glance of the mornIn Cyprus’ gardens gathering those fair flow’rsWhich of her blood were born,I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.The Graces naked danced about the place,The winds and trees amazedWith silence on her gazed,The flowers did smile, like those upon her face;And as their aspen stalks those fingers band,That she might read my case,A hyacinth I wish’d me in her hand.
LIKE the Idalian queen,Her hair about her eyne,With neck and breast’s ripe apples to be seen,At first glance of the mornIn Cyprus’ gardens gathering those fair flow’rsWhich of her blood were born,I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.The Graces naked danced about the place,The winds and trees amazedWith silence on her gazed,The flowers did smile, like those upon her face;And as their aspen stalks those fingers band,That she might read my case,A hyacinth I wish’d me in her hand.
LIKE the Idalian queen,Her hair about her eyne,With neck and breast’s ripe apples to be seen,At first glance of the mornIn Cyprus’ gardens gathering those fair flow’rsWhich of her blood were born,I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.The Graces naked danced about the place,The winds and trees amazedWith silence on her gazed,The flowers did smile, like those upon her face;And as their aspen stalks those fingers band,That she might read my case,A hyacinth I wish’d me in her hand.
225.paramours] = sing. paramour. band] bound.
225.paramours] = sing. paramour. band] bound.
226.
THAT zephyr every yearSo soon was heard to sigh in forests here,It was for her: that wrapp’d in gowns of greenMeads were so early seen,That in the saddest months oft sung the merles,It was for her; for her trees dropp’d forth pearls.That proud and stately courtsDid envy those our shades and calm resorts,It was for her; and she is gone, O woe!Woods cut again do grow,Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done;But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.
THAT zephyr every yearSo soon was heard to sigh in forests here,It was for her: that wrapp’d in gowns of greenMeads were so early seen,That in the saddest months oft sung the merles,It was for her; for her trees dropp’d forth pearls.That proud and stately courtsDid envy those our shades and calm resorts,It was for her; and she is gone, O woe!Woods cut again do grow,Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done;But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.
THAT zephyr every yearSo soon was heard to sigh in forests here,It was for her: that wrapp’d in gowns of greenMeads were so early seen,That in the saddest months oft sung the merles,It was for her; for her trees dropp’d forth pearls.That proud and stately courtsDid envy those our shades and calm resorts,It was for her; and she is gone, O woe!Woods cut again do grow,Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done;But we, once dead, no more do see the sun.
227.
SWEET Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow’rs:The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show’rs.Thou turn’st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hoursAnd happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair;But she, whose breath embalm’d thy wholesome air,Is gone—nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,While thine forgot lie closèd in a tomb.
SWEET Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow’rs:The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show’rs.Thou turn’st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hoursAnd happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair;But she, whose breath embalm’d thy wholesome air,Is gone—nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,While thine forgot lie closèd in a tomb.
SWEET Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow’rs:The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show’rs.Thou turn’st, sweet youth, but ah! my pleasant hoursAnd happy days with thee come not again;The sad memorials only of my painDo with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours.Thou art the same which still thou wast before,Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair;But she, whose breath embalm’d thy wholesome air,Is gone—nor gold nor gems her can restore.Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,While thine forgot lie closèd in a tomb.
228.
ALEXIS, here she stay’d; 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 set her by these muskèd eglantines,—The happy place the print seems yet to bear:Her voice did sweeten here thy sugar’d lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend their ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face;Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,And I first got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?
ALEXIS, here she stay’d; 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 set her by these muskèd eglantines,—The happy place the print seems yet to bear:Her voice did sweeten here thy sugar’d lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend their ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face;Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,And I first got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?
ALEXIS, here she stay’d; 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 set her by these muskèd eglantines,—The happy place the print seems yet to bear:Her voice did sweeten here thy sugar’d lines,To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend their ear.Me here she first perceived, and here a mornOf bright carnations did o’erspread her face;Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born,And I first got a pledge of promised grace:But ah! what served it to be happy so?Sith passèd pleasures double but new woe?
229.
THE beauty and the lifeOf life’s and beauty’s fairest paragon—O tears! O grief!—hung at a feeble threadTo which pale Atropos had set her knife;The soul with many a groanHad left each outward part,And now did take his last leave of the heart:Naught else did want, save death, ev’n to be dead;When the afflicted band about her bed,Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks, eyes,Cried, ‘Ah! and can Death enter Paradise?’
THE beauty and the lifeOf life’s and beauty’s fairest paragon—O tears! O grief!—hung at a feeble threadTo which pale Atropos had set her knife;The soul with many a groanHad left each outward part,And now did take his last leave of the heart:Naught else did want, save death, ev’n to be dead;When the afflicted band about her bed,Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks, eyes,Cried, ‘Ah! and can Death enter Paradise?’
THE beauty and the lifeOf life’s and beauty’s fairest paragon—O tears! O grief!—hung at a feeble threadTo which pale Atropos had set her knife;The soul with many a groanHad left each outward part,And now did take his last leave of the heart:Naught else did want, save death, ev’n to be dead;When the afflicted band about her bed,Seeing so fair him come in lips, cheeks, eyes,Cried, ‘Ah! and can Death enter Paradise?’
230.
MY thoughts hold mortal strife;I do detest my life,And with lamenting criesPeace to my soul to bringOft call that prince which here doth monarchise:—But he, grim-grinning King,Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise.Late having deck’d with beauty’s rose his tomb,Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
MY thoughts hold mortal strife;I do detest my life,And with lamenting criesPeace to my soul to bringOft call that prince which here doth monarchise:—But he, grim-grinning King,Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise.Late having deck’d with beauty’s rose his tomb,Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
MY thoughts hold mortal strife;I do detest my life,And with lamenting criesPeace to my soul to bringOft call that prince which here doth monarchise:—But he, grim-grinning King,Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise.Late having deck’d with beauty’s rose his tomb,Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
231.
NEW doth the sun appear,The mountains’ snows decay,Crown’d with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.My soul, time posts away;And thou yet in that frostWhich flower and fruit hath lost,As if all here immortal were, dost stay.For shame! thy powers awake,Look to that Heaven which never night makes black,And there at that immortal sun’s bright rays,Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days!
NEW doth the sun appear,The mountains’ snows decay,Crown’d with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.My soul, time posts away;And thou yet in that frostWhich flower and fruit hath lost,As if all here immortal were, dost stay.For shame! thy powers awake,Look to that Heaven which never night makes black,And there at that immortal sun’s bright rays,Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days!
NEW doth the sun appear,The mountains’ snows decay,Crown’d with frail flowers forth comes the baby year.My soul, time posts away;And thou yet in that frostWhich flower and fruit hath lost,As if all here immortal were, dost stay.For shame! thy powers awake,Look to that Heaven which never night makes black,And there at that immortal sun’s bright rays,Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days!
232.
THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven’s King,Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,Which he than man more harmless found and mild.His food was locusts, and what young doth springWith honey that from virgin hives distill’d;Parch’d body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thingMade him appear, long since from earth exiled.There burst he forth: ‘All ye, whose hopes relyOn God, with me amidst these deserts mourn;Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!’—Who listen’d to his voice, obey’d his cry?Only the echoes, which he made relent,Rung from their marble caves ‘Repent! Repent!’
THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven’s King,Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,Which he than man more harmless found and mild.His food was locusts, and what young doth springWith honey that from virgin hives distill’d;Parch’d body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thingMade him appear, long since from earth exiled.There burst he forth: ‘All ye, whose hopes relyOn God, with me amidst these deserts mourn;Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!’—Who listen’d to his voice, obey’d his cry?Only the echoes, which he made relent,Rung from their marble caves ‘Repent! Repent!’
THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven’s King,Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,Which he than man more harmless found and mild.His food was locusts, and what young doth springWith honey that from virgin hives distill’d;Parch’d body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thingMade him appear, long since from earth exiled.There burst he forth: ‘All ye, whose hopes relyOn God, with me amidst these deserts mourn;Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!’—Who listen’d to his voice, obey’d his cry?Only the echoes, which he made relent,Rung from their marble caves ‘Repent! Repent!’
158?-1623
233.
LOVE is the blossom where there blowsEvery thing that lives or grows:Love doth make the Heav’ns to move,And the Sun doth burn in love:Love the strong and weak doth yoke,And makes the ivy climb the oak,Under whose shadows lions wild,Soften’d by love, grow tame and mild:Love no med’cine can appease,He burns the fishes in the seas:Not all the skill his wounds can stench,Not all the sea his fire can quench.Love did make the bloody spearOnce a leavy coat to wear,While in his leaves there shrouded laySweet birds, for love that sing and playAnd of all love’s joyful flameI the bud and blossom am.Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning beSee, see the flowers that belowNow as fresh as morning blow;And of all the virgin roseThat as bright Aurora shows;How they all unleavèd die,Losing their virginity!Like unto a summer shade,But now born, and now they fade.Every thing doth pass away;There is danger in delay:Come, come, gather then the rose,Gather it, or it you lose!All the sand of Tagus’ shoreInto my bosom casts his ore:All the valleys’ swimming cornTo my house is yearly borne:Every grape of every vineIs gladly bruised to make me wine:While ten thousand kings, as proud,To carry up my train have bow’d,And a world of ladies send meIn my chambers to attend me:All the stars in Heav’n that shine,And ten thousand more, are mine:Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning be!
LOVE is the blossom where there blowsEvery thing that lives or grows:Love doth make the Heav’ns to move,And the Sun doth burn in love:Love the strong and weak doth yoke,And makes the ivy climb the oak,Under whose shadows lions wild,Soften’d by love, grow tame and mild:Love no med’cine can appease,He burns the fishes in the seas:Not all the skill his wounds can stench,Not all the sea his fire can quench.Love did make the bloody spearOnce a leavy coat to wear,While in his leaves there shrouded laySweet birds, for love that sing and playAnd of all love’s joyful flameI the bud and blossom am.Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning beSee, see the flowers that belowNow as fresh as morning blow;And of all the virgin roseThat as bright Aurora shows;How they all unleavèd die,Losing their virginity!Like unto a summer shade,But now born, and now they fade.Every thing doth pass away;There is danger in delay:Come, come, gather then the rose,Gather it, or it you lose!All the sand of Tagus’ shoreInto my bosom casts his ore:All the valleys’ swimming cornTo my house is yearly borne:Every grape of every vineIs gladly bruised to make me wine:While ten thousand kings, as proud,To carry up my train have bow’d,And a world of ladies send meIn my chambers to attend me:All the stars in Heav’n that shine,And ten thousand more, are mine:Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning be!
LOVE is the blossom where there blowsEvery thing that lives or grows:Love doth make the Heav’ns to move,And the Sun doth burn in love:Love the strong and weak doth yoke,And makes the ivy climb the oak,Under whose shadows lions wild,Soften’d by love, grow tame and mild:Love no med’cine can appease,He burns the fishes in the seas:Not all the skill his wounds can stench,Not all the sea his fire can quench.Love did make the bloody spearOnce a leavy coat to wear,While in his leaves there shrouded laySweet birds, for love that sing and playAnd of all love’s joyful flameI the bud and blossom am.Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning be
See, see the flowers that belowNow as fresh as morning blow;And of all the virgin roseThat as bright Aurora shows;How they all unleavèd die,Losing their virginity!Like unto a summer shade,But now born, and now they fade.Every thing doth pass away;There is danger in delay:Come, come, gather then the rose,Gather it, or it you lose!All the sand of Tagus’ shoreInto my bosom casts his ore:All the valleys’ swimming cornTo my house is yearly borne:Every grape of every vineIs gladly bruised to make me wine:While ten thousand kings, as proud,To carry up my train have bow’d,And a world of ladies send meIn my chambers to attend me:All the stars in Heav’n that shine,And ten thousand more, are mine:Only bend thy knee to me,Thy wooing shall thy winning be!
1586-1616
234.
MORTALITY, behold and fear!What a change of flesh is here!Think how many royal bonesSleep within this heap of stones:Here they lie had realms and lands,Who now want strength to stir their hands:Where from their pulpits seal’d with dustThey preach, ‘In greatness is no trust.’Here’s an acre sown indeedWith the richest, royall’st seedThat the earth did e’er suck inSince the first man died for sin:Here the bones of birth have cried—‘Though gods they were, as men they died.’Here are sands, ignoble things,Dropt from the ruin’d sides of kings;Here’s a world of pomp and state,Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
MORTALITY, behold and fear!What a change of flesh is here!Think how many royal bonesSleep within this heap of stones:Here they lie had realms and lands,Who now want strength to stir their hands:Where from their pulpits seal’d with dustThey preach, ‘In greatness is no trust.’Here’s an acre sown indeedWith the richest, royall’st seedThat the earth did e’er suck inSince the first man died for sin:Here the bones of birth have cried—‘Though gods they were, as men they died.’Here are sands, ignoble things,Dropt from the ruin’d sides of kings;Here’s a world of pomp and state,Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
MORTALITY, behold and fear!What a change of flesh is here!Think how many royal bonesSleep within this heap of stones:Here they lie had realms and lands,Who now want strength to stir their hands:Where from their pulpits seal’d with dustThey preach, ‘In greatness is no trust.’Here’s an acre sown indeedWith the richest, royall’st seedThat the earth did e’er suck inSince the first man died for sin:Here the bones of birth have cried—‘Though gods they were, as men they died.’Here are sands, ignoble things,Dropt from the ruin’d sides of kings;Here’s a world of pomp and state,Buried in dust, once dead by fate.
1586-1639
235.
FLY hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!Tho’ the eyes be overtaken,Yet the heart doth ever wakenThoughts chain’d up in busy snaresOf continual woes and cares:Love and griefs are so exprestAs they rather sigh than rest.Fly hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!
FLY hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!Tho’ the eyes be overtaken,Yet the heart doth ever wakenThoughts chain’d up in busy snaresOf continual woes and cares:Love and griefs are so exprestAs they rather sigh than rest.Fly hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!
FLY hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!Tho’ the eyes be overtaken,Yet the heart doth ever wakenThoughts chain’d up in busy snaresOf continual woes and cares:Love and griefs are so exprestAs they rather sigh than rest.Fly hence, shadows, that do keepWatchful sorrows charm’d in sleep!
1588-1667
236.
ILOVED a lass, a fair one,As fair as e’er was seen;She was indeed a rare one,Another Sheba Queen:But, fool as then I was,I thought she loved me too:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Her hair like gold did glister,Each eye was like a star,She did surpass her sister,Which pass’d all others far;She would me honey call,She’d—O she’d kiss me too!But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Many a merry meetingMy love and I have had;She was my only sweeting,She made my heart full glad;The tears stood in her eyesLike to the morning dew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Her cheeks were like the cherry,Her skin was white as snow;When she was blithe and merryShe angel-like did show;Her waist exceeding small,The fives did fit her shoe:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!In summer time or winterShe had her heart’s desire;I still did scorn to stint herFrom sugar, sack, or fire;The world went round about,No cares we ever knew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!To maidens’ vows and swearingHenceforth no credit give;You may give them the hearing.But never them believe;They are as false as fair,Unconstant, frail, untrue:For mine, alas! hath left me,Falero, lero, loo!
ILOVED a lass, a fair one,As fair as e’er was seen;She was indeed a rare one,Another Sheba Queen:But, fool as then I was,I thought she loved me too:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Her hair like gold did glister,Each eye was like a star,She did surpass her sister,Which pass’d all others far;She would me honey call,She’d—O she’d kiss me too!But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Many a merry meetingMy love and I have had;She was my only sweeting,She made my heart full glad;The tears stood in her eyesLike to the morning dew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!Her cheeks were like the cherry,Her skin was white as snow;When she was blithe and merryShe angel-like did show;Her waist exceeding small,The fives did fit her shoe:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!In summer time or winterShe had her heart’s desire;I still did scorn to stint herFrom sugar, sack, or fire;The world went round about,No cares we ever knew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!To maidens’ vows and swearingHenceforth no credit give;You may give them the hearing.But never them believe;They are as false as fair,Unconstant, frail, untrue:For mine, alas! hath left me,Falero, lero, loo!
ILOVED a lass, a fair one,As fair as e’er was seen;She was indeed a rare one,Another Sheba Queen:But, fool as then I was,I thought she loved me too:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!
Her hair like gold did glister,Each eye was like a star,She did surpass her sister,Which pass’d all others far;She would me honey call,She’d—O she’d kiss me too!But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!
Many a merry meetingMy love and I have had;She was my only sweeting,She made my heart full glad;The tears stood in her eyesLike to the morning dew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!
Her cheeks were like the cherry,Her skin was white as snow;When she was blithe and merryShe angel-like did show;Her waist exceeding small,The fives did fit her shoe:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!
In summer time or winterShe had her heart’s desire;I still did scorn to stint herFrom sugar, sack, or fire;The world went round about,No cares we ever knew:But now, alas! she’s left me,Falero, lero, loo!
To maidens’ vows and swearingHenceforth no credit give;You may give them the hearing.But never them believe;They are as false as fair,Unconstant, frail, untrue:For mine, alas! hath left me,Falero, lero, loo!
237.
SHALL I, wasting in despair,Die because a woman’s fair?Or make pale my cheeks with care’Cause another’s rosy are?Be she fairer than the day,Or the flow’ry meads in May,If she think not well of me,What care I how fair she be?Shall my silly heart be pined’Cause I see a woman kind?Or a well disposèd natureJoinèd with a lovely feature?Be she meeker, kinder, thanTurtle-dove or pelican,If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?Shall a woman’s virtues moveMe to perish for her love?Or her well-deservings knownMake me quite forget my own?Be she with that goodness blestWhich may merit name of Best,If she be not such to me,What care I how good she be?’Cause her fortune seems too high,Shall I play the fool and die?She that bears a noble mind,If not outward helps she find,Thinks what with them he would doThat without them dares her woo;And unless that mind I see,What care I how great she be?Great, or good, or kind, or fair,I will ne’er the more despair;If she love me, this believe,I will die ere she shall grieve;If she slight me when I woo,I can scorn and let her go;For if she be not for me,What care I for whom she be?
SHALL I, wasting in despair,Die because a woman’s fair?Or make pale my cheeks with care’Cause another’s rosy are?Be she fairer than the day,Or the flow’ry meads in May,If she think not well of me,What care I how fair she be?Shall my silly heart be pined’Cause I see a woman kind?Or a well disposèd natureJoinèd with a lovely feature?Be she meeker, kinder, thanTurtle-dove or pelican,If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?Shall a woman’s virtues moveMe to perish for her love?Or her well-deservings knownMake me quite forget my own?Be she with that goodness blestWhich may merit name of Best,If she be not such to me,What care I how good she be?’Cause her fortune seems too high,Shall I play the fool and die?She that bears a noble mind,If not outward helps she find,Thinks what with them he would doThat without them dares her woo;And unless that mind I see,What care I how great she be?Great, or good, or kind, or fair,I will ne’er the more despair;If she love me, this believe,I will die ere she shall grieve;If she slight me when I woo,I can scorn and let her go;For if she be not for me,What care I for whom she be?
SHALL I, wasting in despair,Die because a woman’s fair?Or make pale my cheeks with care’Cause another’s rosy are?Be she fairer than the day,Or the flow’ry meads in May,If she think not well of me,What care I how fair she be?
Shall my silly heart be pined’Cause I see a woman kind?Or a well disposèd natureJoinèd with a lovely feature?Be she meeker, kinder, thanTurtle-dove or pelican,If she be not so to me,What care I how kind she be?
Shall a woman’s virtues moveMe to perish for her love?Or her well-deservings knownMake me quite forget my own?Be she with that goodness blestWhich may merit name of Best,If she be not such to me,What care I how good she be?
’Cause her fortune seems too high,Shall I play the fool and die?She that bears a noble mind,If not outward helps she find,Thinks what with them he would doThat without them dares her woo;And unless that mind I see,What care I how great she be?
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,I will ne’er the more despair;If she love me, this believe,I will die ere she shall grieve;If she slight me when I woo,I can scorn and let her go;For if she be not for me,What care I for whom she be?
238.
ME so oft my fancy drewHere and there, that I ne’er knewWhere to place desire beforeSo that range it might no more;But as he that passeth byWhere, in all her jollity,Flora’s riches in a rowDo in seemly order grow,And a thousand flowers standBending as to kiss his hand;Out of which delightful storeOne he may take and no more;Long he pausing doubteth whetherOf those fair ones he should gather.First the Primrose courts his eyes,Then the Cowslip he espies;Next the Pansy seems to woo him,Then Carnations bow unto him;Which whilst that enamour’d swainFrom the stalk intends to strain,(As half-fearing to be seen)Prettily her leaves betweenPeeps the Violet, pale to seeThat her virtues slighted be;Which so much his liking winsThat to seize her he begins.Yet before he stoop’d so lowHe his wanton eye did throwOn a stem that grew more high,And the Rose did there espy.Who, beside her previous scent,To procure his eyes contentDid display her goodly breast,Where he found at full exprestAll the good that Nature showersOn a thousand other flowers;Wherewith he affected takes it,His belovèd flower he makes it,And without desire of moreWalks through all he saw before.So I wand’ring but erewhileThrough the garden of this Isle,Saw rich beauties, I confess,And in number numberless.Yea, so differing lovely too,That I had a world to doEre I could set up my rest,Where to choose and choose the best.Thus I fondly fear’d, till Fate(Which I must confess in thatDid a greater favour to meThan the world can malice do me)Show’d to me that matchless flower.Subject for this song of our;Whose perfection having eyed,Reason instantly espiedThat Desire, which ranged abroad,There would find a period:And no marvel if it might,For it there hath all delight,And in her hath nature placedWhat each several fair one graced.Let who list, for me, advanceThe admirèd flowers of France,Let who will praise and beholdThe reservèd Marigold;Let the sweet-breath’d Violet nowUnto whom she pleaseth bow;And the fairest Lily spreadWhere she will her golden head;I have such a flower to wearThat for those I do not care.Let the young and happy swainsPlaying on the Britain plainsCourt unblamed their shepherdesses,And with their gold curlèd tressesToy uncensured, until IGrudge at their prosperity.Let all times, both present, past,And the age that shall be last,Vaunt the beauties they bring forth.I have found in one such worth,That content I neither careWhat the best before me were;Nor desire to live and seeWho shall fair hereafter be;For I know the hand of NatureWill not make a fairer creature.
ME so oft my fancy drewHere and there, that I ne’er knewWhere to place desire beforeSo that range it might no more;But as he that passeth byWhere, in all her jollity,Flora’s riches in a rowDo in seemly order grow,And a thousand flowers standBending as to kiss his hand;Out of which delightful storeOne he may take and no more;Long he pausing doubteth whetherOf those fair ones he should gather.First the Primrose courts his eyes,Then the Cowslip he espies;Next the Pansy seems to woo him,Then Carnations bow unto him;Which whilst that enamour’d swainFrom the stalk intends to strain,(As half-fearing to be seen)Prettily her leaves betweenPeeps the Violet, pale to seeThat her virtues slighted be;Which so much his liking winsThat to seize her he begins.Yet before he stoop’d so lowHe his wanton eye did throwOn a stem that grew more high,And the Rose did there espy.Who, beside her previous scent,To procure his eyes contentDid display her goodly breast,Where he found at full exprestAll the good that Nature showersOn a thousand other flowers;Wherewith he affected takes it,His belovèd flower he makes it,And without desire of moreWalks through all he saw before.So I wand’ring but erewhileThrough the garden of this Isle,Saw rich beauties, I confess,And in number numberless.Yea, so differing lovely too,That I had a world to doEre I could set up my rest,Where to choose and choose the best.Thus I fondly fear’d, till Fate(Which I must confess in thatDid a greater favour to meThan the world can malice do me)Show’d to me that matchless flower.Subject for this song of our;Whose perfection having eyed,Reason instantly espiedThat Desire, which ranged abroad,There would find a period:And no marvel if it might,For it there hath all delight,And in her hath nature placedWhat each several fair one graced.Let who list, for me, advanceThe admirèd flowers of France,Let who will praise and beholdThe reservèd Marigold;Let the sweet-breath’d Violet nowUnto whom she pleaseth bow;And the fairest Lily spreadWhere she will her golden head;I have such a flower to wearThat for those I do not care.Let the young and happy swainsPlaying on the Britain plainsCourt unblamed their shepherdesses,And with their gold curlèd tressesToy uncensured, until IGrudge at their prosperity.Let all times, both present, past,And the age that shall be last,Vaunt the beauties they bring forth.I have found in one such worth,That content I neither careWhat the best before me were;Nor desire to live and seeWho shall fair hereafter be;For I know the hand of NatureWill not make a fairer creature.
ME so oft my fancy drewHere and there, that I ne’er knewWhere to place desire beforeSo that range it might no more;But as he that passeth byWhere, in all her jollity,Flora’s riches in a rowDo in seemly order grow,And a thousand flowers standBending as to kiss his hand;Out of which delightful storeOne he may take and no more;Long he pausing doubteth whetherOf those fair ones he should gather.
First the Primrose courts his eyes,Then the Cowslip he espies;Next the Pansy seems to woo him,Then Carnations bow unto him;Which whilst that enamour’d swainFrom the stalk intends to strain,(As half-fearing to be seen)Prettily her leaves betweenPeeps the Violet, pale to seeThat her virtues slighted be;Which so much his liking winsThat to seize her he begins.
Yet before he stoop’d so lowHe his wanton eye did throwOn a stem that grew more high,And the Rose did there espy.Who, beside her previous scent,To procure his eyes contentDid display her goodly breast,Where he found at full exprestAll the good that Nature showersOn a thousand other flowers;Wherewith he affected takes it,His belovèd flower he makes it,And without desire of moreWalks through all he saw before.
So I wand’ring but erewhileThrough the garden of this Isle,Saw rich beauties, I confess,And in number numberless.Yea, so differing lovely too,That I had a world to doEre I could set up my rest,Where to choose and choose the best.Thus I fondly fear’d, till Fate(Which I must confess in thatDid a greater favour to meThan the world can malice do me)Show’d to me that matchless flower.Subject for this song of our;Whose perfection having eyed,Reason instantly espiedThat Desire, which ranged abroad,There would find a period:And no marvel if it might,For it there hath all delight,And in her hath nature placedWhat each several fair one graced.
Let who list, for me, advanceThe admirèd flowers of France,Let who will praise and beholdThe reservèd Marigold;Let the sweet-breath’d Violet nowUnto whom she pleaseth bow;And the fairest Lily spreadWhere she will her golden head;I have such a flower to wearThat for those I do not care.
Let the young and happy swainsPlaying on the Britain plainsCourt unblamed their shepherdesses,And with their gold curlèd tressesToy uncensured, until IGrudge at their prosperity.Let all times, both present, past,And the age that shall be last,Vaunt the beauties they bring forth.I have found in one such worth,That content I neither careWhat the best before me were;Nor desire to live and seeWho shall fair hereafter be;For I know the hand of NatureWill not make a fairer creature.
239.
HOW near me came the hand of Death,When at my side he struck my dear,And took away the precious breathWhich quicken’d my belovèd peer!How helpless am I thereby made!By day how grieved, by night how sad!And now my life’s delight is gone,—Alas! how am I left alone!The voice which I did more esteemThan music in her sweetest key,Those eyes which unto me did seemMore comfortable than the day;Those now by me, as they have been,Shall never more be heard or seen;But what I once enjoy’d in themShall seem hereafter as a dream.
HOW near me came the hand of Death,When at my side he struck my dear,And took away the precious breathWhich quicken’d my belovèd peer!How helpless am I thereby made!By day how grieved, by night how sad!And now my life’s delight is gone,—Alas! how am I left alone!The voice which I did more esteemThan music in her sweetest key,Those eyes which unto me did seemMore comfortable than the day;Those now by me, as they have been,Shall never more be heard or seen;But what I once enjoy’d in themShall seem hereafter as a dream.
HOW near me came the hand of Death,When at my side he struck my dear,And took away the precious breathWhich quicken’d my belovèd peer!How helpless am I thereby made!By day how grieved, by night how sad!And now my life’s delight is gone,—Alas! how am I left alone!
The voice which I did more esteemThan music in her sweetest key,Those eyes which unto me did seemMore comfortable than the day;Those now by me, as they have been,Shall never more be heard or seen;But what I once enjoy’d in themShall seem hereafter as a dream.
239.peer] companion.
239.peer] companion.
LORD! keep me faithful to the trustWhich my dear spouse reposed in me:To him now dead preserve me justIn all that should performèd be!For though our being man and wifeExtendeth only to this life,Yet neither life nor death should endThe being of a faithful friend.
LORD! keep me faithful to the trustWhich my dear spouse reposed in me:To him now dead preserve me justIn all that should performèd be!For though our being man and wifeExtendeth only to this life,Yet neither life nor death should endThe being of a faithful friend.
LORD! keep me faithful to the trustWhich my dear spouse reposed in me:To him now dead preserve me justIn all that should performèd be!For though our being man and wifeExtendeth only to this life,Yet neither life nor death should endThe being of a faithful friend.
1588-1643
240.
Welcome, welcome! do I sing,Far more welcome than the spring;He that parteth from you neverShall enjoy a spring for ever.He that to the voice is nearBreaking from your iv’ry pale,Need not walk abroad to hearThe delightful nightingale.Welcome, welcome, then....He that looks still on your eyes,Though the winter have begunTo benumb our arteries,Shall not want the summer’s sun.Welcome, welcome, then....He that still may see your cheeks,Where all rareness still reposes,Is a fool if e’er he seeksOther lilies, other roses.Welcome, welcome, then....He to whom your soft lip yields,And perceives your breath in kissing,All the odours of the fieldsNever, never shall be missing.Welcome, welcome, then....He that question would anewWhat fair Eden was of old,Let him rightly study you,And a brief of that behold.Welcome, welcome, then....
Welcome, welcome! do I sing,Far more welcome than the spring;He that parteth from you neverShall enjoy a spring for ever.He that to the voice is nearBreaking from your iv’ry pale,Need not walk abroad to hearThe delightful nightingale.Welcome, welcome, then....He that looks still on your eyes,Though the winter have begunTo benumb our arteries,Shall not want the summer’s sun.Welcome, welcome, then....He that still may see your cheeks,Where all rareness still reposes,Is a fool if e’er he seeksOther lilies, other roses.Welcome, welcome, then....He to whom your soft lip yields,And perceives your breath in kissing,All the odours of the fieldsNever, never shall be missing.Welcome, welcome, then....He that question would anewWhat fair Eden was of old,Let him rightly study you,And a brief of that behold.Welcome, welcome, then....
Welcome, welcome! do I sing,Far more welcome than the spring;He that parteth from you neverShall enjoy a spring for ever.
He that to the voice is nearBreaking from your iv’ry pale,Need not walk abroad to hearThe delightful nightingale.Welcome, welcome, then....
He that looks still on your eyes,Though the winter have begunTo benumb our arteries,Shall not want the summer’s sun.Welcome, welcome, then....
He that still may see your cheeks,Where all rareness still reposes,Is a fool if e’er he seeksOther lilies, other roses.Welcome, welcome, then....
He to whom your soft lip yields,And perceives your breath in kissing,All the odours of the fieldsNever, never shall be missing.Welcome, welcome, then....
He that question would anewWhat fair Eden was of old,Let him rightly study you,And a brief of that behold.Welcome, welcome, then....
241.
STEER, hither steer your wingèd pines,All beaten mariners!Here lie Love’s undiscover’d mines,A prey to passengers—Perfumes far sweeter than the bestWhich make the Phœnix’ urn and nest.Fear not your ships,Nor any to oppose you save our lips;But come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.For swelling waves our panting breasts,Where never storms arise,Exchange, and be awhile our guests:For stars gaze on our eyes.The compass Love shall hourly sing,And as he goes about the ring,We will not missTo tell each point he nameth with a kiss.—Then come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
STEER, hither steer your wingèd pines,All beaten mariners!Here lie Love’s undiscover’d mines,A prey to passengers—Perfumes far sweeter than the bestWhich make the Phœnix’ urn and nest.Fear not your ships,Nor any to oppose you save our lips;But come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.For swelling waves our panting breasts,Where never storms arise,Exchange, and be awhile our guests:For stars gaze on our eyes.The compass Love shall hourly sing,And as he goes about the ring,We will not missTo tell each point he nameth with a kiss.—Then come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
STEER, hither steer your wingèd pines,All beaten mariners!Here lie Love’s undiscover’d mines,A prey to passengers—Perfumes far sweeter than the bestWhich make the Phœnix’ urn and nest.Fear not your ships,Nor any to oppose you save our lips;But come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
For swelling waves our panting breasts,Where never storms arise,Exchange, and be awhile our guests:For stars gaze on our eyes.The compass Love shall hourly sing,And as he goes about the ring,We will not missTo tell each point he nameth with a kiss.—Then come on shore,Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
242.
AROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,Grew in a little garden all alone;A sweeter flower did Nature ne’er put forth,Nor fairer garden yet was never known:The maidens danced about it morn and noon.And learnèd bards of it their ditties made;The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moonWater’d the root and kiss’d her pretty shade.But well-a-day!—the gardener careless grew;The maids and fairies both were kept away,And in a drought the caterpillars threwThemselves upon the bud and every spray.God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,The fairest blossom of the garden dies.
AROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,Grew in a little garden all alone;A sweeter flower did Nature ne’er put forth,Nor fairer garden yet was never known:The maidens danced about it morn and noon.And learnèd bards of it their ditties made;The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moonWater’d the root and kiss’d her pretty shade.But well-a-day!—the gardener careless grew;The maids and fairies both were kept away,And in a drought the caterpillars threwThemselves upon the bud and every spray.God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,The fairest blossom of the garden dies.
AROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,Grew in a little garden all alone;A sweeter flower did Nature ne’er put forth,Nor fairer garden yet was never known:The maidens danced about it morn and noon.And learnèd bards of it their ditties made;The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moonWater’d the root and kiss’d her pretty shade.But well-a-day!—the gardener careless grew;The maids and fairies both were kept away,And in a drought the caterpillars threwThemselves upon the bud and every spray.God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,The fairest blossom of the garden dies.
243.
FOR her gait, if she be walking;Be she sitting, I desire herFor her state’s sake; and admire herFor her wit if she be talking;Gait and state and wit approve her;For which all and each I love her.Be she sullen, I commend herFor a modest. Be she merry,For a kind one her prefer I.Briefly, everything doth lend herSo much grace, and so approve her,That for everything I love her.
FOR her gait, if she be walking;Be she sitting, I desire herFor her state’s sake; and admire herFor her wit if she be talking;Gait and state and wit approve her;For which all and each I love her.Be she sullen, I commend herFor a modest. Be she merry,For a kind one her prefer I.Briefly, everything doth lend herSo much grace, and so approve her,That for everything I love her.
FOR her gait, if she be walking;Be she sitting, I desire herFor her state’s sake; and admire herFor her wit if she be talking;Gait and state and wit approve her;For which all and each I love her.
Be she sullen, I commend herFor a modest. Be she merry,For a kind one her prefer I.Briefly, everything doth lend herSo much grace, and so approve her,That for everything I love her.
244.
SO shuts the marigold her leavesAt the departure of the sun;So from the honeysuckle sheavesThe bee goes when the day is done;So sits the turtle when she is but one,And so all woe, as I since she is gone.To some few birds kind Nature hathMade all the summer as one day:Which once enjoy’d, cold winter’s wrathAs night they sleeping pass away.Those happy creatures are, that know not yetThe pain to be deprived or to forget.I oft have heard men say there beSome that with confidence professThe helpful Art of Memory:But could they teach Forgetfulness,I’d learn; and try what further art could doTo make me love her and forget her too.
SO shuts the marigold her leavesAt the departure of the sun;So from the honeysuckle sheavesThe bee goes when the day is done;So sits the turtle when she is but one,And so all woe, as I since she is gone.To some few birds kind Nature hathMade all the summer as one day:Which once enjoy’d, cold winter’s wrathAs night they sleeping pass away.Those happy creatures are, that know not yetThe pain to be deprived or to forget.I oft have heard men say there beSome that with confidence professThe helpful Art of Memory:But could they teach Forgetfulness,I’d learn; and try what further art could doTo make me love her and forget her too.
SO shuts the marigold her leavesAt the departure of the sun;So from the honeysuckle sheavesThe bee goes when the day is done;So sits the turtle when she is but one,And so all woe, as I since she is gone.
To some few birds kind Nature hathMade all the summer as one day:Which once enjoy’d, cold winter’s wrathAs night they sleeping pass away.Those happy creatures are, that know not yetThe pain to be deprived or to forget.
I oft have heard men say there beSome that with confidence professThe helpful Art of Memory:But could they teach Forgetfulness,I’d learn; and try what further art could doTo make me love her and forget her too.
Epitaphs
245.
MAY! Be thou never graced with birds that sing,Nor Flora’s pride!In thee all flowers and roses spring,Mine only died.
MAY! Be thou never graced with birds that sing,Nor Flora’s pride!In thee all flowers and roses spring,Mine only died.
MAY! Be thou never graced with birds that sing,Nor Flora’s pride!In thee all flowers and roses spring,Mine only died.
246.
UNDERNEATH this sable herseLies the subject of all verse:Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother:Death, ere thou hast slain anotherFair and learn’d and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
UNDERNEATH this sable herseLies the subject of all verse:Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother:Death, ere thou hast slain anotherFair and learn’d and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
UNDERNEATH this sable herseLies the subject of all verse:Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother:Death, ere thou hast slain anotherFair and learn’d and good as she,Time shall throw a dart at thee.
1591-1674
247.
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming mornUpon her wings presents the god unshorn.See how Aurora throws her fairFresh-quilted colours through the air:Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and seeThe dew bespangling herb and tree!Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the eastAbove an hour since, yet you not drest;Nay! not so much as out of bed?When all the birds have matins saidAnd sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin.Nay, profanation, to keep in,Whereas a thousand virgins on this daySpring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.Rise and put on your foliage, and be seenTo come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,And sweet as Flora. Take no careFor jewels for your gown or hair:Fear not; the leaves will strewGems in abundance upon you:Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.Come, and receive them while the lightHangs on the dew-locks of the night:And Titan on the eastern hillRetires himself, or else stands stillTill you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, markHow each field turns a street, each street a park,Made green and trimm’d with trees! see howDevotion gives each house a boughOr branch! each porch, each door, ere this,An ark, a tabernacle is,Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,As if here were those cooler shades of love.Can such delights be in the streetAnd open fields, and we not see’t?Come, we’ll abroad: and let’s obeyThe proclamation made for May,And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.There’s not a budding boy or girl this dayBut is got up and gone to bring in May.A deal of youth ere this is comeBack, and with white-thorn laden home.Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream,Before that we have left to dream:And some have wept and woo’d, and plighted troth,And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming mornUpon her wings presents the god unshorn.See how Aurora throws her fairFresh-quilted colours through the air:Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and seeThe dew bespangling herb and tree!Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the eastAbove an hour since, yet you not drest;Nay! not so much as out of bed?When all the birds have matins saidAnd sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin.Nay, profanation, to keep in,Whereas a thousand virgins on this daySpring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.Rise and put on your foliage, and be seenTo come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,And sweet as Flora. Take no careFor jewels for your gown or hair:Fear not; the leaves will strewGems in abundance upon you:Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.Come, and receive them while the lightHangs on the dew-locks of the night:And Titan on the eastern hillRetires himself, or else stands stillTill you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, markHow each field turns a street, each street a park,Made green and trimm’d with trees! see howDevotion gives each house a boughOr branch! each porch, each door, ere this,An ark, a tabernacle is,Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,As if here were those cooler shades of love.Can such delights be in the streetAnd open fields, and we not see’t?Come, we’ll abroad: and let’s obeyThe proclamation made for May,And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.There’s not a budding boy or girl this dayBut is got up and gone to bring in May.A deal of youth ere this is comeBack, and with white-thorn laden home.Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream,Before that we have left to dream:And some have wept and woo’d, and plighted troth,And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming mornUpon her wings presents the god unshorn.See how Aurora throws her fairFresh-quilted colours through the air:Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and seeThe dew bespangling herb and tree!Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the eastAbove an hour since, yet you not drest;Nay! not so much as out of bed?When all the birds have matins saidAnd sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin.Nay, profanation, to keep in,Whereas a thousand virgins on this daySpring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seenTo come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,And sweet as Flora. Take no careFor jewels for your gown or hair:Fear not; the leaves will strewGems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,Against you come, some orient pearls unwept.Come, and receive them while the lightHangs on the dew-locks of the night:And Titan on the eastern hillRetires himself, or else stands stillTill you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying:Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying.
Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, markHow each field turns a street, each street a park,Made green and trimm’d with trees! see howDevotion gives each house a boughOr branch! each porch, each door, ere this,An ark, a tabernacle is,Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove,As if here were those cooler shades of love.Can such delights be in the streetAnd open fields, and we not see’t?Come, we’ll abroad: and let’s obeyThe proclamation made for May,And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;But, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.
There’s not a budding boy or girl this dayBut is got up and gone to bring in May.A deal of youth ere this is comeBack, and with white-thorn laden home.Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream,Before that we have left to dream:And some have wept and woo’d, and plighted troth,And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth:
beads] prayers.
beads] prayers.
MANY a green-gown has been given,Many a kiss, both odd and even:Many a glance, too, has been sentFrom out the eye, love’s firmament:Many a jest told of the keys betrayingThis night, and locks pick’d: yet we’re not a-Maying!Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,And take the harmless folly of the time!We shall grow old apace, and dieBefore we know our liberty.Our life is short, and our days runAs fast away as does the sun.And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,Once lost, can ne’er be found again,So when or you or I are madeA fable, song, or fleeting shade,All love, all liking, all delightLies drown’d with us in endless night.Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.
MANY a green-gown has been given,Many a kiss, both odd and even:Many a glance, too, has been sentFrom out the eye, love’s firmament:Many a jest told of the keys betrayingThis night, and locks pick’d: yet we’re not a-Maying!Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,And take the harmless folly of the time!We shall grow old apace, and dieBefore we know our liberty.Our life is short, and our days runAs fast away as does the sun.And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,Once lost, can ne’er be found again,So when or you or I are madeA fable, song, or fleeting shade,All love, all liking, all delightLies drown’d with us in endless night.Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.
MANY a green-gown has been given,Many a kiss, both odd and even:Many a glance, too, has been sentFrom out the eye, love’s firmament:Many a jest told of the keys betrayingThis night, and locks pick’d: yet we’re not a-Maying!
Come, let us go, while we are in our prime,And take the harmless folly of the time!We shall grow old apace, and dieBefore we know our liberty.Our life is short, and our days runAs fast away as does the sun.And, as a vapour or a drop of rain,Once lost, can ne’er be found again,So when or you or I are madeA fable, song, or fleeting shade,All love, all liking, all delightLies drown’d with us in endless night.Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,Come, my Corinna, come, let’s go a-Maying.