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

MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? 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

WHEN

XXVII

WINTER

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 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

'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,

Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by:

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more

strong,

To love that well which thou must leave erelong.
W. Shakespeare

XXIX

REMEMBRANCE

WE

HEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste;

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell❜d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before :

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

W. Shakespeare

REVOLUTIONS

IKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity once in the main of light

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
W. Shakespeare

XXXI

`AREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing,
My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.

Nature herself her shape admires ;
The Gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:
Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosaline,

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

•BE

EAUTY sat bathing by a spring
Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.

My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
To see what was forbidden :
But better memory said, fie!

So vain desire was chidden :-
Hey nonny nonny O!
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,
And sometimes fall a-weeping,