VI.

If mufic and fweet poetry agree, As they must needs, the fifter and the brother, Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Because thou lov't the one, and I the other. Downland to thee is dear, whofe heavenly touch Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; Spenfer to me, whofe deep conceit is fuch, = As paffing all conceit, needs no defence.

Thou lov't to hear the sweet melodious found,
That Phœbus' lute, the queen of mufic, makes;`
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
= Whenas himself to finging he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

Paler for forrow than her milk white dove,
For Adon's fake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her ftand fhe takes upon a fteep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She filly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he fhould not påfs thofe grounds;
Once, quoth the, did I fee a fair sweet youth
Here in thefe brakes deep wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a fpectacle of ruth!
See in my thigh, quoth the, here was the fore:
She fhewed her's; he faw more wounds than
one,

And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

Fair Venus with Adonis fitting by her,
Under a myrtle fhade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, fhe fell to him. [me;
Even thus, quoth fhe, the warlike god embrac'd
And then the clipt Adonis in her arms:
Even thus, quoth fhe, the warlike god unlac'd me,
As if the boy fhould ufe like loving charms,
Even thus, quoth fhe, he seized on my lips,
And with her lips on his did act the feizure;
And as the fetched breath, away he skips, [fure.
And would not take her meaning nor her plea-
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kifs and clip me till I run away!

Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care: Youth like fummer morn,

Age like winter weather; Youth like fummer brave,

Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is fhort,

Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee;
Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defy thee;

O fweet fhepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'ft too long.

XI.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A fhining glofs, that fadeth fuddenly;
A flower that dies, when firft it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glafs, that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a glofs, a glass, a flower,
Loft, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as good loft are feld or never found,
As faded glofs no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glafs no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's loft,
In spite of phyfic, painting, pain, and cost.

Lord how mine eyes threw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning
Doth cite each moving sense from idle reft. [rife
Not daring truft the office of mine eyes,

While Philomela fits and fings, I fit and mark,
And with her lays were tuned like the lark;

For the doth welcome day-light with her ditty, And drives away dark difmal dreaming night; The night fo pack'd, I poft unto my pretty; Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished fight Sorrow chang'd to folace, folace mix'd with forrow;

For why the figh'd, and bade me come to

morrow.

Were I with her, the night would poft too foon; But now are minutes added to the hours

On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whofe month was ever May,
Spy'd a bloffom paffing fair,
Playing in the wanton air,
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unfeen, 'gan paffage find;
That the lover, fick to death,
Wifh'd himself to heaven's breath:
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph fo!
But alas! my hand hath fworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, fo apt to pluck a fweet.
Do not call it fin in me,
That I am forfworn for thee;
Thou for whom even Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

My flocks feed not, My ewes breed not,

My rams speed not,

All is amifs

Love's denying,
Faith's defying,

Heart's denying,

Caufer of this.

XVI.

All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is loft, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One filly cross

Brought all my lofs;

O frowning fortune, curfed, fickle dame!

When as thine eye has close the dame,
And ftall'd the deer that thou should't strike,
Let ren rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial might:

Take counfel of fome wifer head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'ft thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Left fhe fome fubtle practice fmell;
(A cripple foon can find a halt :)

But plainly fay thou lov'ft her well,
And fet her perfon forth to fale,

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late fhe will repent,
That thus diffembled her delight;
And twice defire, ere it be day,
That which with fcorn fhe put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and fay thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to fay;

"Had women been fo ftrong as men,
In faith you had not had it then."

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend,-and chiefly there
Where thy defert may merit praife,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with affured truft,
And in thy fuit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Prefs thou never to choose anew:

When time fhall ferve, be thou not flack
To proffer, though the put thee back.

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Diffembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them fhall not know.
Have you not heard it faid full oft,

A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

Think women ftill to ftrive with men,
To fin, and never for to faint:
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age fhall them attaint.
Were kiffes all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.

But foft; enough,-too much I fear, Left that my mistress hear my fong; She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear, To teach my tongue to be fo long:

Yet will the blufh, here be it faid, To hear her fecrets so bewray'd.

As it fell upon a day,

XVIII.

in the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleafant shade

Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beafts did leap, and birds did fing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breaft up-till a thorn,
And there fung the dolefull'ft ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would the cry,
Teru, Teru, by and by :

That to hear her fo complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, fo lively fhewn,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ;
None take pity on thy pain:
Senfelefs trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beafts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead:
All thy fellow birds do fing,
Careless of thy forrowing,

If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandement;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before,
Ufe his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need;
If thou forrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot fleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear the part.
These are certain figns to know
Faithful friend from flattering foc.

XIX.

Take, oh, take those lips away,

That fo fweetly were forfworn; And thofe eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn; But by my kiffes bring again, Seals of love, but feal'd in vain. Hide, oh, hide thofe hills of [now Which thy frozen bofom bears, On whofe tops the pinks that grow, Are of thofe that April wears. But first fet my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

xx.

Let the bird of loudeft lay,
On the fole Arabian tree,
Herald fad and trumpet be,

To whofe found chafte wings obey.

But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,

To this troop come thou not near.

From this feffion interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, feather'd king Keep the obfequy fo ftrict.

Let the priest in furplice white, That defunctive mufic can,

FROM off a hill whofe concave womb re-worded

A plaintful story from a fistering vale,
My fpirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I lay to lift the fad-tun'd tale;
Ere long efpy'd a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,

Sometimes her level'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd
To the orbed earth; fometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and no where fix'd,
The mind and fight diftractedly commix'd.

Her hair, nor loofe, nor ty'd in formal plait,
Proclaim'd in her a carclefs hand of pride;
For fome, untuck'd, defcended her heav'd hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek befide;
Some in her threaden fillet ftill did bide,
And, true to bondage, would not break from
thence,

Though flackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund the drew
Of amber, cryftal, and of bedded jet,
Which one by one the in a river threw,
Upon whofe weeping margent she was set,—
Like ufury, applying wet to wet,

Found yet more letters fadly pen'd in blood,
With fleided filk feat and affectedly
Enfwath'd, and feal'd to curious fecrecy.

These often bath'd the in her fluxive eyes,
And often kifs'd, and often 'gan to tear;
Cry'd, O falfe blood thou register of lies,
What unapproved witnefs doft thou bear!
Ink would have feem'd more black and damned
here!

This faid, in top of rage the lines the rents;
Big difcontent fo breaking their contents.

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh,
(Sometime a blufterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swifteft hours), obferved as they flew ;
Towards this afflicted fancy faftly drew;
And, privileg'd by age, defires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woc.

So flides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-dittant fits he by her fide;
When he again defires her, being fat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught apply'd
Which may her fuffering ecftafy affuage,
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age,

Father, the fays, though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old:
Not age, but forrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a fpreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had felf-apply'd
Love to myself, and to no love befide.

But woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful fuit (it was to gain my grace)
Of one by nature's outwards fo commended,