A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your furious chiding stay ;
Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play.

- The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air
Makes vanish every star :
Night like a drunkard reels

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels:
The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue;
Here is the pleasant place -

And nothing wanting is, save She, alas!

W. Drummond of Hawthornden

W1

III

TIME AND LOVE

I

HEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;

When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay,

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate

That Time will come and take my Love away :

This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

W. Shakespeare

IV

2

INCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

But sad amortality versways their power,

How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

O how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?

O fearful meditation! where, alack!
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ?

O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
W. Shakespeare

V

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS

LOVE

OME live with me and be my Love,

Cand we will all the pleasures prove
COM

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
And 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,
Fair lined slippers 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,
Come live with me and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,

Shall on an ivory table be

Prepared each day for thee and me.

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.

C. Marlowe

VI

A MADRIGAL

Cannot live together:

‘RABBED Age and Youth

Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care;

Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare :

Youth is full of sport,

Age's breath is short,

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 sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

W. Shakespeare

U

VII

NDER the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets —

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

IT

With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino ! That o'er the green cornfield did pass

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding:
Sweet lovers love the Spring.

Between the acres of the rye
These pretty country folks would lie :

This carol they began that hour,
How that life was but a flower :

And therefore take the present time

With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino !

For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding:

Sweet lovers love the Spring.

W. Shakespeare