Shall I come, sweet love, to thee,
When the evening beams are set?
Shall I not excluded be?

Will you find no feigned let?
Let me not, for pity, more,
Tell the long hours at your door!

Who can tell what thief or foe,
In the covert of the night,
For his prey will work my woe,
Or through wicked foul despite?
may I die unredrest,

So

Ere my long love be possest.

But to let such dangers pass,

Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 'Tis enough in such a place

To attend love's joys in vain.

Do not mock me in thy bed,

While these cold nights freeze me dead.

Campion.

264

The Dream

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme

For reason, much too strong for fantasy.
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet

My dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it.

Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light,

Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me;
Yet I thought thee

(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,

And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art, When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when

Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then,

I must confess, it could not choose but be

Profane, to think thee anything but thee.

Coming and staying showed thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.

That love is weak where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,

If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
Thou camest to kindle, go'st to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

Donne.

Phyllida's Love-call

Phyllida. Corydon, arise, my Corydon,
Titan shineth clear.

Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon,
Who is it that I hear?

Phyllida. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,
Arise then, arise then;

Arise and keep thy flock with me.

Corydon. Phyllida, my true love, is it she?
I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee.

Phyllida. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon,
Eat them for my sake.

Corydon. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport for thee to make.

Phyllida. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,
To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk. Corydon. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet to withstand the heat.

Phyllida. I will gather flowers, my Corydon,
To set in thy cap.

Corydon. I will gather pears, my lovely one,
To put in thy lap.

Phyllida. I will buy my true love garters gay,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

Corydon. I will buy my true love yellow say,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about her middle small.

Phyllida. When my Corydon sits on a hill
Making melody-

Corydon. When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
Singing cheerily

Phyllida. Sure methinks my true love doth excel
For sweetness, for sweetness,

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. Corydon. And methinks my true love bears the bell For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.

Phyllida. Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
Been, alack, her swain-

Corydon. Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
Been in Ida plain-
Phyllida. Cynthia Endymion had refused,
Preferring, preferring,

My Corydon to play withal.

Corydon. The queen of love had been excused,
Bequeathing, bequeathing,

My Phyllida the golden ball.

Phyllida. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon,
Whither shall I fly?

Corydon. Under yonder beech, my lovely one,
While she passeth by.

Phyllida. Say to her thy true love was not here:
Remember, remember,

To-morrow is another day.

Corydon. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear:
Farewell then, farewell then,
Heaven keep our loves alway.

Anonymous.

266

See, see, mine own sweet jewel,
What I have for my darling:
A robin red-breast and a starling.
These I give both in hope to move thee;
Yet thou say'st I do not love thee.

Anonymous.

267

Fain I would, but oh I dare not,

66

spare not;

Speak my thoughts at full to praise her:
Speak the best," cries Love, "and
Thy speech can no higher raise her:
Thy speech than thy thoughts are lower,
Yet thy thoughts doth not half know her."

Anonymous.

268

How many new years have grown old
Since first your servant old was new!
How many long hours have I told

Since first my love was vowed to you!
And yet, alas! she doth not know
Whether her servant love or no.