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A strange passion of a lover.
1 Laugh sometimes with little lust;
So jest I oft, and feel no joy;
And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.
Then like the lark, that past the night
Yet, when she spies the pleasant light,
She sends sweet notes from out her breast,
So sing I now, because I think
How joys approach when sorrows shrink.
And as fair Philomene again
Can watch and sing when other sleep,
To 'wray the wo that makes her weep,
The which to thee, dear wench, I write,
I pray God grant thee deep delight,
I cannot live; it will not be;
I die to think to part from thee. *
The lullaby of a lover
Sing lullaby, as women do,
Wherewith they bring their babes to rest; And lullaby can I sing too,
As womanly as can the best. With lullaby they still the child; And, if I be not much beguil'd. Full many wanton babes have I, Which must be still'd with lullaby.
First lullaby my youthful years!
It is now time to go to bed:
Have won the haven within my head.
Next, lullaby my gazing eyes,
Which wonted were to glance apace;
For every glass may now suffice
With lullaby then wink awhile;
With lullaby your looks beguile;
Let no fair face, nor beauty bright,
Entice you eft with vain delight.
And lullaby, my wanton will!
Let reason's rule now rein thy thought, Since all too late I find by skill
How dear I have thy fancies bought;
Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes,
I can no mo delays devise;
But* welcome pain, let pleasure pass.
With lullaby now take your leave,
With lullaby your dreams deceive,
And, when you rise with waking eye,
Remember then this1 lullaby.
* Ed, 157a, " Gascoigne'i." VOL. II. N
THE DOLE OF DISDAIN.
Written by a Lover disdainfully rejected, contrary to former promise.
I Must alledge, and thou canst tell
And how thou seem'dst to like me well;
To be thy lord, thy knight, thy king,
And how much more I list not sing.
And canst thou now, thou cruel one,
Is all thy promise past and gone i
If that be so, what rests for me,
But thus, in song, to say to thee?
If Cresside's name were not so known,
If bruit of pride were not so blown
For hault disdain thou mightst be she,
Or Cresside for inconstancy. . . .