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Thou, for whom ev'n Jove would swear
Juno but an Æthiop were ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

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My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
My rams speed not; all is amiss;
Love is dying, faith's defying.

Heart's denying, causer of this.

All my merry jiggs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost (God wot;)
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd, without remove.
One silly cross wrought all my loss;

O! frowning fortune, cursed fickle dame !
For now I see inconstancy

More in women than in men remain.

In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me living in thrall ;
Heart is bleeding, all help needing;
O! cruel speeding, fraughted with gall !
My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell,
My weather's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont t' have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;

With sighs so deep, procures to weep
In howling wise to see my doleful plight!
How sighs resound thro' heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight.

Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye;
Herds stand weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs black peeping fearfully.

All our pleasure known to us poor swains;
All our merry meetings on the plains;
All our evening sport from us has fled;
All our love is lost, for love is dead.

Farewell, sweet love, thy like ne'er was,
For a sweet content, of all my woe the cause;
Poor Coridon must live alone,

Other help for him, I see, that there is none.


When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike;
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy (partly all might)
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st 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 lov'st her well,
And set her person forth to sale.
What tho' her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembling 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,
Please never thou to choose anew.

When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, tho' she put it 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,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought,
Think women still to strive with men
To sin, and never for to saint:
There is no heaven (by holy them)
When time with age shall 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 on th' ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long.

Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewraid.


Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is, as mine;
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity;
Mine own self-love, quite contrary I read,
Self, so self-loving, were iniquity:

'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days..


Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme ;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents,
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry;
Nor Mar's sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn.
The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity,

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity,

That wear this world out to the ending doom.

So till the judgment, that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.


So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare;
Since seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carconet.

So is the time that keeps you, as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe, which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.

Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had to triumph, being lack'd to hope.


Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eye-lids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight!
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee,
So far from home, into my deeds to pry
To find out shames, and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?"
O no, thy love, tho' much, is not so great;
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love, that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake.

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.


No longer mourn for me when I am dead;
When you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world, that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell..

Nay, if you read this line remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then, should make you woe.
O! if (I say) you look upon this verse,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay;
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay :
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me, after I am gone.

O! lest the world should task you to recite
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love;
After my death (dear love!) forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove:
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart.
O lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue;
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you;
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth;
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

But be contented, when that fell arrest,
Without all bail, shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee.

The earth can have but earth, which is his due ;
My sprite is thine, the better part of me.
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.

The worth of that is that which it contains;
And that is this, and this with thee remains.

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That thou art blam'd, shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair:

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