XVII THE UNCHANGEABLE O never say that I was false of heart, As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; That is my home of love; if I have ranged, XVIII W. Shakespeare To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, W. Shakespeare 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 XIX ROSALINE Like to the clear in highest sphere Of selfsame color is her hair Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud Or like the silver crimson shroud That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace; Her lips are like two budded roses Within which bounds she balm encloses Apt to entice a deity: Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her neck is like a stately tower Heigh ho, for Rosaline! Her paps are centers of delight, Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, Heigh ho, would she were mine! 5 IO 15 20 25 30 With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue Her body every way is fed, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: Nature herself her shape admires; Heigh ho, would she were mine! Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan 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! XX COLIN T. Lodge 5 ΙΟ Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her; My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye But better memory said, fie! So vain desire was chidden : Hey nonny nonny O! 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, 15 20 25 30 So I awaked, as wise this while As when I fell a-sleeping: Hey nonny nonny O! Hey nonny nonny! The Shepherd Tonie XXI A PICTURE1 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, Take thou thy strongest arrow That will through bone and marrow, And me and thee of grief and fear deliver :- Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee! Anon. XXII A SONG FOR MUSIC2 Weep you no more, sad fountains: Look how the snowy mountains View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies, Sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets: Doth not the sun rise smiling, When fair at even he sets? 1 From John Wilbye's "First Set of English Madrigals," 1598. 2 From John Dowland's "Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs," 1603. 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes! While She lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies, Sleeping! 5 Anon. XXIII TO HIS LOVE Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, ΤΟ By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 15 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, W. Shakespeare XXIV TO HIS LOVE When in the chronicle of wasted time 20 25 |