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SONNET.

I MUST not grieve my love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile; Flowers have a time before they come to seed,

And she is young, and now must sport the while. And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years,

I

And learn to gather flowers before they wither, And where the sweetest blossom2 first appears,

Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither!

Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air,

And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise; Pity and smiles do best become the fair,

3

Pity and smiles must only yield thee 3 praise. Make me to 4 say, when all my griefs are gone, Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one!

AN ODE.

[This first appeared in ed. 1594.]

Now each creature joys the other,
Passing happy days and hours,

"Ah."

"blossoms."

"shall yield thee lasting."

4" I hope to."

One bird reports unto another

In the fall of silver showers;
Whilst the earth, our common mother,
Hath her bosom deck'd with flowers.

: Whilst the greatest torch of heaven

With bright rays warms Flora's lap, Making nights and days both even, Cheering plants with fresher sap; My field of flowers quite bereaven, Wants refresh of better hap.

Echo, daughter of the air,

Babbling guest of rocks and hills, Knows the name of my fierce fair, And sounds the accents of my ills:

Each thing pities my despair,

Whilst that she her lover kills.

Whilst that she (O cruel maid !)

Doth me and my love despise,

My life's flourish is decay'd

That depended on her eyes:
But her will must be obey'd,

And well he ends, for love who dies.

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PASTORAL.

[First printed in ed. 1602.]

Он happy golden age!

Not for that rivers ran

With streams of milk and honey dropt from trees;

Not that the earth did gage

Unto the husbandman

Her voluntary fruits, free, without fees;

Not for, no cold did freeze,

Nor any cloud beguile

Th' eternal flowering spring,

Wherein liv'd every thing,

And whereon th' heavens perpetually did smile;

Not for, no ship had brought

From foreign shores, or wars, or wares ill sought:

But only for, that name,

That idle name of wind,

That idol of deceit, that empty sound,

Call'd HONOUR, which became

The tyrant of the mind,

And so torments our nature without ground,

Was not yet vainly found:

Nor yet sad griefs imparts,
Amidst the sweet delights

Of joyful amorous wights,

Nor were his hard laws known to freeborn hearts;

But golden laws, like these

Which Nature wrote-THAT'S LAWFUL WHICH

DOTH PLEASE.

Then amongst flowers and springs,

Making delightful sport,

Sat lovers, without conflict, without flame,

And nymphs and shepherds sings,

Mixing, in wanton sort,

Whisperings with songs, then kisses with the same

Which from affection came.

The naked virgin then

Her roses fresh reveals,

Which now her veil conceals,

The tender apples in her bosom seen:

And oft in rivers clear

The lovers with their loves consorting were.

HONOUR! thou first didst close

The spring of all delight,

Denying water to the amorous thirst:

Thou taught'st fair eyes to lose

The glory of their light,

Restrain'd from men, and ou themselves revers'd:

Thou in a lawn didst first

Those golden hairs incase,

Late spread unto the wind:

Thou mad'st loose grace unkind,

Gav'st bridle to their words, art to their pace:

Oh, HONOUR, it is thou

That mak'st that stealth which Love doth free allow :

It is thy work that brings

Our griefs and torments thus.

But, thou fierce lord of Nature and of Love,

The qualifier of kings,

What dost thou here with us

That are below thy power, shut from above?

Go; and from us remove!

Trouble the mighty's sleep,

Let us, neglected, base,

Live still without thy grace,

And th' use of th' ancient happy ages keep!

Let's love! this life of ours

Can make no truce with time, that all devours.
Let's love! the sun doth set and rise again,
But when as our short light

Comes once to set, it makes eternal night.

SONG.

[In "Hymen's Triumph."]

LOVE is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing;

A plant that with most cutting grows;
Most barren with best using:

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