XV DIAPHENIA IAPHENIA like the daffadowndilly, DAHENTAI, far as the lily, Heigh ho, how I do love thee ! I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams; How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me. Diaphenia like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, Fair sweet, how I do love thee! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power; For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia like to all things blessed Dear joy, how I do love thee ! As the birds do love the spring, Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! H. Constable L XVI ROSALINE IKE to the clear in highest sphere Of selfsame colour is her hair Whether unfolded, or in twines : Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud Or like the silver crimson shroud Her lips are like two budded roses Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her neck is like a stately tower Her paps are centres of delight, With orient pearl, with ruby red, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! Nature herself her shape admires ; Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan Since for a fair there's fairer none, Nor for her virtues so divine: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline; Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine! T. Lodge XVII COLIN EAUTY sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her; My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye But better memory said, fie! Hey nonny nonny! Into a slumber then I fell, When fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell Her feature or her fashion. But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, So I awaked, as wise this while Hey nonny nonny O ! Hey nonny nonny! XVIII The Shepherd Tonie TO HIS LOVE HALL I compare thee to a summer's day? Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, XIX TO HIS LOVE HEN in the chronicle of wasted time WH And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best So all their praises are but prophecies For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. W. Shakespeare XX LOVE'S PERJURIES N a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air : Through the velvet leaves the wind Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. That I ain forsworn for thee: |