ACK clouds away, and welcome day,
PACE With night we banish sorrow:
Sweet air, blow soft, mount, lark, aloft,
To give my love good-morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing! nightingale sing!
To give my love good-morrow,
To give my love good-morrow,
Notes from them all I'll borrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin-redbreast!
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each bill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush, in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow.
SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR
HALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheek with care, 'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be!
Should my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well disposèd nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be!
Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her merit's value known,
Make me quite forget my own?
Be sure with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of best,
If she seem not such to me,
What care I how good she be!
'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?"
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want of richness find,
Think what with them they would do
Who, without them, dare to woo—
And, unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be!
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve:
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her
For, if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be!
TO THE VIRGINS TO MAKE MUCH
ATHER ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while you may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
'HEN 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 bond-slave is my heart.
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Snap 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!
DARE not ask a kisse,
I dare not beg a smile,
Lest having that or this,
I might grow proud the while.
No, no, the utmost share
Of my desire shall be
Only to kisse the aire
That lately kissed thee.
LOVE ME NOT FOR COMELY GRACE
OVE me not for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart;
For those may fail or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why.
So hast thou the same reason still
To dote upon me ever.
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