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Youth is full of sport,
Under the greenwood tree
Unto the sweet bird's throat-Come hither, come hither, come hither !
Here shall he see
Who doth ambition shun
And pleased with what he gets Come hither, come hither, come hither !
Here shall he see
It was a lover and his lass
With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino !
Sweet lovers love the Spring.
With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino !
PRESENT IN ABSENCE
Absence, hear thou this protestation
Against thy strength,
Distance, and length;
For hearts of truest mettle
His mind hath found
To hearts that cannot vary
By absence this good means I gain,
That I can catch her,
Where none can match her,
There I embrace and kiss her ;
IIA ANIORIS High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be, And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet More oft than to a chamber-melody, Now, blesséd you bear onward blesséd me To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet ; My Muse and I must you of duty greet With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully; Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed ; By no encroachment wrong’d, nor time forgot ; Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; And that you know I envy you no lot Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss,Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss !
Sir P. Sidney
ABSENCE Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire ? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require : 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
How like a winter hath my absence been
A CONSOLATION When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate; Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possest, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
XVIII To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;