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So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived :
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, ---
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.

W. Shakespeare



Like to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair
Whether unfolded, or in twines :

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline !
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink;
The Gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think

Heigh ho, would she were mine !
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace ;

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline !
Her lips are like two budded roses
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
Within which bounds she balm encloses
Apt to entice a deity :

Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Her neck is like a stately tower
Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes :

Heigh ho, for Rosaline !
Her paps are centres of delight,
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light
To feed perfection with the same :

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

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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 :

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline !
Nature herself her shape admires ;
The Gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light :

Heigh ho, would she were mine!
Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosaline,
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!

T. Lodge

Beauty sat bathing by a spring

Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,

The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye

To see what was forbidden :
But better memory said, fie!
So vain desire was chidden :-

Hey nonny nonny O!

Hey nonny nonny !
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,

And sometimes fall a-weeping,
So I awaked, as wise this while
As when I fell a-sleeping :

Hey nonny nonny O!
Hey nonny nonny !

The Shepherd Tonic

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Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory,
Subdue her heart, who makes me gladl and sorry :

Out of thy golden quiver
Take thou thy strongest arrow

That will through bone and marrow,
And me and thee of grief and fear deliver :-
But come behind, for if she look upon thee,
Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee!




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Weep you no more, sad fountains :

What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste !
But my Sun's heavenly eyes

View not your weeping,

That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies,

Sleep is a reconciling,

A rest that peace begets :-
Doth not the sun rise smiling,
When fair at even he sets?

-Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes !

Melt not in weeping!

While She lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies,

Sleeping !


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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date :
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d:
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'..
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

W. Shakespeare


When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ;
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring ;
And for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing :
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

IV. Shakespeare



Turn back, you wanton flyer,
And answer my desire

With mutual greeting.
Yet bend a little nearer,-
True beauty still shines clearer

In closer meeting !
Hearts with hearts delighted

Should strive to be united,
Each other's arms with arms enchaining,

Hearts with a thought,
Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining.

What harvest half so sweet is
As still to reap the kisses

Grown ripe in sowing ?
And straight to be receiver
Of that which thou art giver,

Rich in bestowing ?
There is no strict observing

Of times' or seasons' swerving,
There is ever one fresh spring abiding ;-

Then what we sow with our lips
Let us reap, love's gains dividing.

T. Campion



Never love unless you can
Bear with all the faults of man !
Men sometimes will jealous be
Though but little cause they see,
And hang the head as discontent,
And speak what straight they will repent.

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