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On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Come unto these yellow sands,

And then take hands:

Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd

The wild waves whist,

Foot it featly here and there

And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!


The watch-dogs bark:


Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticleer

Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!

William Shakespeare


Phoebus, arise!

And paint the sable skies

With azure, white, and red;

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed
That she may thy career 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 hair

In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair;

Chase hence the ugly night,

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.

-This is that happy morn,

That day, long-wished day

Of all my life so dark,

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn And fates my hopes betray),

Which, purely white, deserves

An everlasting diamond should it mark.

This is the morn should bring unto this grove.

My Love, to hear and recompense my love.
Fair King, who all preserves,

But show thy blushing beams,

And thou two sweeter eyes

Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams

Did once thy heart surprize.

Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise;

If that ye winds would hear

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your furious chiding stay;

Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play.

-The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star;
Night like a drunkard reels

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels;
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,

The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue; Here is the pleasant place

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas!

William Drummond of Hawthornden



When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,
And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay,

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate-
That Time will come and take my Love away:
-This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

William Shakespeare

6 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

O! none, unless this miracle have might:

That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

William Shakespeare



Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
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.

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 sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

Christopher Marlowe



Fain would I change that note

To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,

Fancying that that harm'd me;
Yet when this thought doth come:
"Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight,"

I have no other choice

Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,

I do adore thee;

I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee!




Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave,

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