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Tir'd with all these, from these would I Have from the forests shook three sumbe gone,

mers' pride, Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn


In process of the seasons have I seen. No longer mourn for me when I am dead Three April perfumes in three hot Junes Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

burn'd, Give warning to the world that I am fled Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are From this vile world, with vilest worms to

green. dwell.

Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Nay, if you read this line, remember not. Steal from his figure and no pace perceiv'd; The hand that writ it; for I love you so So your sweet hue, which methinks still That I in your sweet thoughts would be

doth stand, forgot

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd: If thinking on me then should make you For fear of which, hear this, thou age unwoe.

bred; O, if, I say, you look upon this verse

Ere you were born was beauty's summer When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

dead. Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into When in the chronicle of wasted time your moan

I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And mock you with me after I am gone. And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights;

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, That time of year thou mayst in me be Of band, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, hold

I see their antique pen would have express'd When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do Even such a beauty as you master now. hang

So all their praises are but prophecies Upon those boughs which shake against the | Of this our time, all you prefiguring; cold,

And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet | They had not skillenough your worth to sing: birds sang.

For we, which now behold these present In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

days, As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues Which by and by black night doth take

to praise. away, Death's second self, that seals up all in

116 rest.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire Admit impediments. Love is not love That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, Which alters when it alteration finds, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Or bends with the remover to remove. Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd | 0, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark by.

That looks on tempests and is never shaken; This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy It is the star to every wand'ring bark, love more strong, I

Whose worth 's unknown, although his To love that well which thou must leave

height be taken. ere long.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips

and cheeks 104

Within his bending sickle's compass come; To me, fair friend, you never can be old, Love alters not with his brief hours and For as you were when first your eye I

weeks, ey'd,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Such seems your beauty still. Three win If this be error and upon me proved, ters cold

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.





I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and

bowers, Of April, May, of June and July-flowers; I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails,

wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal

cakes; I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness; I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece Of balın, of oil, of spice and ambergris; I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write How roses first came red and lilies white; 10 I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy King; I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall) Of bearen, and hope to have it after all.

Thy frown last night did bid me go, But whither only grief does know. I do beseech thee ere we part, If merciful as fair thou art, Or else desir'st that maids should tell Thy pity by love's chronicle, O Dianeme, rather kill Me, than to make me languish still ! 'Tis cruelty in thee to th' height Thus, thus to wound, not kill outright; Yet there's a way found, if you please, By sudden death to give me ease; And thus devis'd, do thou but this — Bequeath to me one parting kiss, So sup'rabundant joy shall be The executioner of me.



CUPID, as he lay among
Roses, by a bee was stung;
Whereupon, in anger flying
To his mother, said thus, crying:
Help! oh help! your boy's a-dying.
And why, my pretty lad, said she ?
Then, blubbering, replied he:
A winged snake has bitten me,
Which country people call a bee.
At which she smiled; then, with her hairs
And kisses drying up his tears:
Alas! said she, my wag, if this
Such a pernicious torment is,
Come tell me then, how great's the smart
Of those thou woundest with thy dart !

A SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Isto a fine distraction:
An erring lace which here and there
Enthralls the crimson stomacher :
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat:
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.

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SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Which, starlike, sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free;
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;

Whenas that ruby which you wear, ). Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

DEAR, though to part it be a hell, Yet, Dianeme, now farewell :

Will last to be a precious stone

And open fields and we not see't ? When all your world of beauty's gone. 10 Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey

The proclamation made for May: 40

And siu no more, as we have done, by staying; CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying. Get up, get up for shame, the blooming There's not a budding boy or girl this day morn

But is got up, and gone to bring in May. Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. A deal of youth, ere this, is come See how Aurora throws her fair

Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Fresh-quilted colours through the air: | Some have despatch'd their cakes and Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see

cream The dew bespangling herb and tree.

Before that we have left to dream: Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the And some bave wept, and woo'd, and east

plighted troth, Above an hour since : yet you not dress'd; | And chose their priest, ere we can cast off Nay ! not so much as out of bed ?

sloth: When all the birds have matins said to Many a green-gown has been given; 51 And sung their thankful hymns, 't is sin, Many a kiss, both odd and even: Nay, profanation to keep in,

Many a glance too bas been sent Whereas a thousand virgins on this day

From out the eye, love's firmament; Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. Many a jest told of the keys betraying

This night, and locks pick'd, yet we're not Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen

a-Maying. To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green,

Come, let us go while we are in our prime; And sweet as Flora. Take no care And take the harmless folly of the time. For jewels for your gown or hair :

We shall grow old a pace, and die Fear not; the leaves will strew

Before we know our liberty. Gems in abundance upon you :

Our life is short, and our days run Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, As fast away as does the sun; Against you come, some orient pearls un- | And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, wept;

Once lost, can ne'er be found again, Come and receive them while the light So when or you or I are made Hangs on the dew-locks of the night : A fable, song, or fleeting shade, And Titan on the eastern hill

All love, all liking, all delight Retires himself, or else stands still

Lies drowned with us in endless night. Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief | Then while time serves, and we are but dein praying :

caying, Few beads are best when once we go Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying.

a-Maying. Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, THE CAPTIV'D BEE, OR THE mark

LITTLE FILCHER How each field turns a street, each street a park


As Julia once a-slumbering lay Made green and trimm'd with trees: It chanced a bee did fly that way, see how

After a dew or dew-like shower, Devotion gives each house a bough To tipple freely in a flower. Or branch: each porch, each door ere For some rich flower he took the lip this

Of Julia, and began to sip; An ark, a tabernacle is,

But when he felt he sucked from thence Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; Honey, and in the quintessence, As if here were those cooler shades of love. He drank so much be scarce could stir, Can such delights be in the street

So Julia took the pilferer.

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Bid me to live, and I will live

Thy Protestant to be, Or bid me love, and I will give

A loving heart to thee.

And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t'excuse:
Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But, taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much syrup ran at waste.
Besides, know this: I never sting
The flower that gives me nourishing; 20
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey that I bear away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of honey 'fore her ladyship:
And told her, as some tears did fall,
That that he took, and that was all.
At which she smiled, and bade him go
And take his bag; but thus much know:
When next be came a-pilfering so,
He should from her full lips derive 30
Honey enough to fill his hive.

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YE may simper, blush and smile,
And perfume the air awhile;
But, sweet things, ye must be gone,
Fruit, ye know, is coming on;
Then, ahl then, where is your grace,
Whenas cherries come in place ?

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

The very eyes of me:
And hast command of every part

To live and die for thee.

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Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day

Has run
But to the evensong;
And, having prayed together, we

Will go with you along.


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A LITTLE mushroom table spread,
After short prayers, they set on bread;
A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat,
With some small glittering grit to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was stery'd;
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,

Shopper, 10
The merry cricket, puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstrelsy.
And now we must imagine, first,
The elves present, to quench his thirst,
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew
Brought and besweetened in a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery butterflies:
Of wbich he eats, and tastes a little
Of that we call the cuckoo's spittle.
A little fuzz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands;
That was too coarse: but then forthwith
He ventures boldly on the pith
Of sugar'd rush, and eats the sagg
And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag:
Gladding his palate with some store
Of emmets' eggs; what would he more ? 30
But beards of mice, a newt's stewed thigh,
A bloated earwig and a fly;
With the red-capp'd worm that's shut
Within the concave of a nut,
Brown as his tooth. A little moth
Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth:
With withered cherries, mandrakes' ears,
Moles' eyes ; to these the slain stag's tears
The unctuous dewlaps of a snail,
The broke-heart of a nightingale

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