Sweet love, begone a while, See how my little flock, That lov'd to feed on high, Do headlong tumble down the rock, And in the valley die. The bushes and the trees, That were so fresh and green, Do all their dainty colours leese, And not a leaf is seen. The black-bird and the thrush, That made the woods to ring, With all the rest, are now at hush, And not a note they sing. Sweet Philomel, the bird That hath the heavenly throat, Doth now, alas! not once afford The flowers have had a frost, The herbs have lost their savour; And Phillida the fair hath lost For me her wonted favour. Thus all these careful sights That now to hope upon delights It is but mere deceit. And therefore, my sweet muse, That know'st what help is best, Do now thy heavenly cunning use To set my heart at rest. And in a dream bewray What fate shall be my friend; Whether my life shall still decay, Or when my sorrows end. ANONYMOUS. THE STURDY ROCK. From Percy's Collection. THE sturdy rock, for all his strength, Yea, man himself, unto whose will Doth fade at length, and fall away. But virtue sits triumphing still the throne of glorious fame; Jpon hough spiteful death man's body kill, Yet hurts he not his virtuous name. By life or death whate'er betides, The state of virtue never slides. THE PRAISE OF AMARGANA. THE sun, the season, in each thing Revives new pleasures; the sweet spring Hath put to flight the winter keen, To glad our lovely summer queen. The paths where Amargana treads The groves put on their rich array, The woods at her fair sight rejoice, Great Pan, our god, for her dear sake, And every swain his chance doth prove, C. MARLOW. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. 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, With 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; Slippers lin'd choicely 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, Then live with me, and be my love. 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. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. THE NYMPH's REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD. IF F that the world and love were young, But time drives flocks from field to fold, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, But could youth last and love still breed, |