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be gone,


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

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

turn'd 71

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

burnd, 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 stili 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 un

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,

106 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; 73

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, That time of year thou mayst in me be- Of hand, 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:

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,

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,

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.

birds sang

For we,





Thy frown last night did bid me go,

But whither only grief does know. [Publ. 1648)

I do beseech thee ere we part,

If merciful as fair thou art, THE ARGUMENT OF HIS BOOK Or else desir'st that maids should tell

Thy pity by love's chronicle, I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and o Dianeme, rather kill bowers,

Me, than to make me languish still ! Of April, May, of June and July-flowers; 'Tis cruelty in thee to th' height I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, Thus, thus to wound, not kill outright; wakes,

Yet there's a way found, if you please, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal By sudden death to give me ease; cakes;

And thus devis'd, do thou but this
I write of youth, of love, and have access Bequeath to me one parting kiss,
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness; So sup'rabundant joy shall be
I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece The executioner of me.
Of balm, of oil, of spice and ambergris;
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white; so THE WOUNDED CUPID
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The Court of Mab, and of the Fairy King; CUPID, as he lay among
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall) Roses, by a bee was stung;
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all. Whereupon, in anger flying

To his mother, said thus, crying:

Help! oh help! your boy's a-dying. DELIGHT IN DISORDER And why, my pretty lad, said she?

Then, blubbering, replied he: A SWEET disorder in the dress

A winged snake has bitten me, Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

Which country people call a bee. A lawn about the shoulders thrown

At which she smiled; then, with her hairs Into a fine distraction:

And kisses drying up his tears: An erring lace which here and there Alas! said she, my wag, if this Enthralls the crimson stomacher :

Such a pernicious torment is, A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Come tell me then, how great's the smart Ribbons to flow confusedly:

Of those thou woundest with thy dart ! 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 SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Is too precise in every part.

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; DEAR, though to part it be a hell,

Whenas that ruby which you wear, Yet, Dianeme, now farewell :

Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

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Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.



fields and we not see't ? Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey

The proclamation made for May:
And siu no more, as we have done, by staying;
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

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 The dew bespangling herb and tree.

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

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 apace, 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 mado 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 :


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


and green,






Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming,

mark How each field turns a street, each street a

park Made green and trimm'd with trees:

see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch: each porch, each door ere


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 street

As Julia once a-slumbering lay
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower.
For some rich flower he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he sucked from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir,
So Julia took the pilferer.




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;
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 he came a-pilfering so,
He should from her full lips derive
Honey enough to fill his hive.

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Bid me to weep, and I will weep

While I have eyes to see: And, having none, yet I will keep

A heart to weep 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 sterv'd;
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper,
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 ?
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


Why I tie about thy wrist,

Julia, this my silken twist;

For what other reason is't, But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art ? But thy bondslave is my heart; 'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, Knap the thread and thou art free: But 'tis otherwise with me; I am bound, and fast bound, so That from thee I cannot go; If I could, I would not so.





Shut not so soon ; the dull-ey'd night

Has not as yet begun


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