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INTRODUCTION.

The Passionate Pilgrim was published by William Jaggard, in 1599. It was a piratical bookseller's venture, and although the popular name of Shakespeare was put upon the title-page the little volume really consisted of a collection from several authors. Shakespeare, as Heywood tells us, was much offended when Jaggard, in 1612, republished the volume, with added poems of Heywood, and with Shakespeare's name upon the title-page: a cancel of the title-page was thereupon made, and one printed without any author's name. Of the collection, Nos. I., II., ÏII., V., XII., and XVII., are probably Shakespeare's; Nos. IV., VI., VII., IX., and XIX. are possibly Shakespeare's; and the rest are certainly not Shakespeare's. After the fifteenth poem in the original collection occurs a second title-Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music.

I.

why not

WHEN my love swears that she is made of
truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd

youth,

Unskylful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd
be.

II.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman color'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell :
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell;

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20

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out

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If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;

Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like 60

osiers bow'd.

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Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend ;

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:

Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.

Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong,

To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly

tongue.

VI.

70

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,

A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green
brim :
80

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, Yet not so wistly as this queen on him.

He, spying her, bounced in, whereas he stood:

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood !'

VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined, Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!

How many tales to please me hath she coined, Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!

Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were

jestings.

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire

flameth;

She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;

She framed the love, and yet she foil'd the framing;

She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning. Was this a lover, or a lecher whether? 101 Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

VILL

If music and sweet poetry agree,

As they must needs, the sister and the brother Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and

me,

Because thou lovest the one, and I the other. Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 110
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music,
makes;

And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee re-

main.

IX.

Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,

Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: 121
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good
will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those
grounds:

'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth

Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,

Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!

See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the

sore.

She showed hers: he saw more wounds than

one,

And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 130

X.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd soon vaded,

Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!

Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why I craved nothing of thee still: 146

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

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Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: 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. 160

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,

XIII.

170

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly ;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once 's for ever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.

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XIV.

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Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share: 181 She bade good night that kept my rest away; And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay. Farewell,' quoth she, and come again tomorrow' [row. Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorYet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 'T may be, again to make ine wander thither: Wander,' a word for shadows like myself, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

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Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air:

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230

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,
'Air,' quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet:
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.

Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love."

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250

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When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
†As well as fancy partial might:

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.
And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,-
A cripple soon can find a halt ;-

But plainly say thou lovest her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:
"When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,

301

310

320

330

A woman's nay doth stand for nought? 340 †Think women still to strive with men, To sin and never for to saint:

There is no heaven, by holy then,

When time with age doth them attaint.

Were kisses all the joys in bed,

One woman would another wed.

But, soft enough, too much, I fear;
Lest that my mistress hear my song,
She will not stick to round me i' the ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:

Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.

[xx.]

Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yields.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,

With coral clasps and amber studs ; And if these pleasures may thee move. Then live with me and be my love.

LOVE'S ANSWER.

350

360

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And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry;
'Tereu, tereu!' by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee
King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.

Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find:

Every man will be thy friend

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering,
'Pity but he were a king;'
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandement:
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown;
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

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