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BEATY, sweet love, is like the morning dew,
Whose short refresh upon the tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth shew, And straight 'tis gone as it had never been.
$ood doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish,
Short is the glory of the blushing rose:
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,
Yet which at length thou must be forc’d to lose.
When thou, surcharg’d with burthen of thy years,
Shall bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth,
And when in beauty's lease, expir'd, appears
The date of age, the calends of our death—
But ah! no more—this must not be foretold,
For women grieve to think they must be old.
I Must not grieve my love, whose eyes would read
Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile, Flowers have time before they come to seed,
And she is young, and now must sport the while.
And sport (sweet maid) in season of these years,
And learn to gather flowers before they wither,
And where the sweetest blossom first appears,
Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither.
Lighten forth smiles to cheer the clouded air,
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise;
Pity and smiles do best become the fair,
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that sigh’d for such a one.
Look, Delia, how we'esteem the half-blown rose,
The image of thy blush, and summer's honour;
Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose. ...
That full of beauty time bestows upon her! -
No sooner spreads her glory in the air,
But straither wide-blown pomp comes to decline;
She then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd, the fair:
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine!
No April can revive thy-wither'd flow’rs,...,
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now;
Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,
*I)issolves the beauty of the fairest brow. i - -
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain;
But love now, whilst thou may'st-be-lov'd again.
LE: others sing of knights and palladines,
In aged accents and untimely words,
Paint shadows in imaginary lines, so
Which well the reach of their high wits records;
But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes!
Authentic shall my verse in time to come;
Whenyet the unborn shallsay—“Lo,where she lies,
Whose beauty made him speak, that else was dumb!”
These are the arks, the trophies I erect,
That fortify thy name against old age;
And these thy sacred virtues must protect
Against the dark, and time's consuming rage.
Though the error of my youth they shall discover;
Suffice they shew—I liv'd, and was thy lover !
Roos. thy tresses to the Golden ore;
To Cytherea's son those arks of love;
Bequeath the Heavens' the stars that I adore;
And to the Orient do thy pearls remove:
Yield thy hands' pride unto the Ivory white;
To Arabian odours give othy breathing sweet;
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright;
To Thetis give the honour of thy feet:
Let Venus have thy graces her, resign'd; ; *...
And thy sweet voice give back unto the Spheres;
But then restore thy fierce and cruel mind
To Hyrcan tigers, and to ruthless bears: , , i.
Yield to the marble thyrhard heart again; - *
S6 shalt thou cease to plague, and I to plain.
A” whither, poor Forsaken twilt thou go,
To go from sorrow, and thine own distress;
When ev'ry place presents like face of woe,
And no remove can make thy sorrows less?
Yet go, Forsakeholeave these woods, these plains;
Leave her and all; afidall for her that leaves
Thee and othy love forform, and both disdains;
And of both wrongful-deems, and ill-conceives.
Seek out some place; and sée if any place
Can give the least release untoothy grief;
Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace,
Steat from thyself, and be thy care's own thief.
But yet what comfort shall I hereby gain?
Bearing the wound, I needs must feel the pain
IN the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing,
Forth I yode forsooth a maying.
When anon by a wood side,
Where that May was in his pride,
I espied, all alone, - -
Phillida and Corydon.
Much ado there was, God wot,
He would love and she would not;
She said, never man was true;
He says, none was false to you.
He said, he had lov'd her long ;
She says, love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss-her-then;
She says, maids must kiss no men,
Till they do for good and all ;
When she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth
Never lov’d a truer youth; - --
Then with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as seely shepherds use
When they will not love abuse;
Love that had been long deluded, -
Was with kisses sweet concluded;
And Phillida with garlands gay,
Was made the lady of the May.
* THE SHEPHERD's ADDRESS To HIs Muse.
Goo muse, rock me asleep
With some sweet harmony:
This weary eyes is not to keep
Thy wary company.
Sweet love, begone a while,
Thou seest my heaviness:
Beauty is born but to beguile
My heart of happiness.
See how my little flock,
That lov'd to feed on high,
Do headlong tumble down the rock,
And in the valley die. -
The bushes and the trees. - -
That were so fresh and green,
Do all their dainty colours leese, , ,
The black-bird and the thrush,
That made the woods to ring,
With all the rest, are now at hush,
And not a note they sing.
Sweet Philomel, the bird -
That hath the heavenly throat,
Doth now, alas! not once afford
Recording of a note.
The flowers have had a frost,
The herbs have lost their savour; "
And Phillida the fair hath lost
For me her wonted favour.
Thus all these careful sights
So kill me in conceit,
That now to hope upon delights
It is but mere deceit.
And therefore, my sweet muse,
That know'st what help is best, Do now thy heavenly cunning use To set my heart at rest.
And in a dream bewray
What fate shall be my friend;
Whether my life shall still decay,
Or when my sorrows end.