Summer is come, for every spray now springs ;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new-repaired scale ;
The adder all her slough away she slings ;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale :
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.
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 prease
Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw;
O 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 to light;