XX THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. Come live with me, and be my love, And we will sit upon the rocks, And I will make thee beds of roses, A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy silver dishes for thy meat, Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing If these delights thy mind may move, Christopher Marlowe. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 Lovely forms do flow From concent divinely framed ; Heaven is music, and thy beauty's Birth is heavenly. These dull notes we sing Discords need for helps to grace them; Only beauty purely loving Knows no discord; But still moves delight, Like clear springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them Selves eternal. Thomas Campion. XXIV TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. See the chariot at hand here of Love, Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty, And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, 5 Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 10 Do but look on her eyes, they do light Than words that soothe her! 15 And from her arched brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o' the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it? Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag o' the bee? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she! 20 25 30 Ben Jonson. XXV A BRIDAL SONG. Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Maiden-pinks, of odour faint; Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Oxlips in their cradles growing, 5 ΙΟ All, dear Nature's children sweet, Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense! Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor May on our bride-house perch or sing, But from it fly! Beaumont and Fletcher. 15 20 XXVI SONNET. You that do search for every purling spring, 5 You that poor Petrarch's long deceased woes With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing; You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such And sure at length stoln goods do come to light. Stella behold, and then begin to' endite. Sir Philip Sidney. XXVII SONNET. Come Sleep, O Sleep, that certain knot of peace, Sir Philip Sidney. 5 10 XXVIII To yield to those I cannot but disdain, With which I mind my fancies for to chain. Those that have nought wherewith men's minds to gain, 5 Earl of Stirling. 10 |