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There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

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

A gown

made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linéd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs :
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be

my

Love.
C. Marlowe

VI

A MADRIGAL

C

"RABBED 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 :
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.

W. Shakespeare

VII

UND

NDER the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat —
Come hither, come hither, come hither !

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Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets
Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

W. Shakespeare

VIII

Iwith do key and a ho, and a hey-nonino !

5

That o'er the green cornfield did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding :

Sweet lovers love the Spring.

Between the acres of the rye
These pretty country folks would lie :

This carol they began that hour,
How that life was but a flower :

And therefore take the present time

With a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino !
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding :
Sweet lovers love the Spring.

W. Shakespeare

IX

PRESENT IN ABSENCE

A

BSENCE, hear thou my protestation

Against thy strength,

Distance, and length;
Do what thou canst for alteration :

For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth join, and Time doth settle.

Who loves a mistress of such quality,

He soon hath found

Affection's ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.

To hearts that cannot vary
Absence is Presence, Time doth tarry.

X By absence this good means I gain,

That I can catch her,

Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my brain :

There I embrace and kiss her ;
And so I both enjoy and miss her.

Anon.

X

ABSENCE

B

EING

your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and time of your desire ?
I have no precious time at all to spend
Nor services to do, till you require :

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Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu :

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ;

So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

W. Shakespeare

XI

H

OW like a winter hath my absence been

From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere !

And yet this time removed was summer's time :
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease :

Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me

hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute ;

Or if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near.

W. Shakespeare

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