Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

W. Shakespeare

XXI

A SUPPLICATION

'ORGET not yet the tried intent

Of such a truth as I have meant; My great travail so gladly spent,

Forget not yet !

Forget not yet when first began
The
weary

life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none tell can ;

Forget not yet!

Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,

Forget not yet !

Forget not ! O, forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss -

Forget not yet !

Forget not then thine own approved
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved —

Forget not this !

Sir T. Wyat

XXII

TO AURORA

O

IF thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harın,

And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest ; Then thou wouldst melt the ice out of thy breast And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.

O if thy pride did not our joys controul,
What world of loving wonders shouldst thou see !
For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul ;

Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,
And if that aught mischanced thou shouldst not moan
Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ;
No, I would have my share in what were thine :

And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,
This happy harmony would make them none.

W. Alexander, Earl of Sterline

XXIII

TRUE LOVE

L

ET me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments.

Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove : ---

O no ! it is an ever-fixéd mark
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ;

It is the star to every wandering bark
Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come ;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev’n to the edge of doom :

If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

W. Shakespeare

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven :

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides :
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it bides :
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

Sir P. Sidney

XXV

WERE

LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE
TERE I as base as is the lowly plain,

And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,

1

Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my

Love.

Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.

Were

you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, My love should shine on you like to the sun, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done,

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.

7. Sylvester

XXVI

CARPE DIEM

O ?

O stay and hear ! your true-love 's coming

That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers' meeting –

Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 't is not hereafter ;
Present mirth hath present laughter ;

What's to come is still unsure :
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth 's a stuff will not endure.

W. Shakespeare

XXVII

WINTER

WHEN

HEN icicles hang by the wall

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail ;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl

Tuwhoo !
Tuwhit! tuwhoo! A merry note !
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl

Tuwhoo !
Tuwhit ! tuwhoo! A merry note !
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

W. Shakespeare

XXVIII

THA

HAT time of year thou may'st in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,