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And wilt thou leave me thus,
Sir T. Wyat
THE NIGHTINGALE As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring ; Every thing did banish moan Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull’st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; Teru, teru, by and by : That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For her griefs so lively shown
R. Barne field
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making :
And mournfully bewailing,
What grief her breast oppresseth
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish
But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken,
But I, who, daily craving,
Have more cause to lament me,
Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
Sir P. Sidney
Seal'd in vain !
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, --
IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HONIO
Though thou be black as night
Though here thou liv’st disgraced,
That so have scorchéd thee
As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth,
Follow her, while yet her glory shineth !
There comes a luckless night
That will dim all her light ; -And this the black unhappy shade divineth. Follow still, since so thy fates ordainéd !
The sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainéd.
me! what eyes hath Love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight : Or if they have, where is my judgment fled That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so ? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No, How can it ? O how can love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? No maryel then though I mistake my view : The sun itself secs not till heaven clears. þ cunning Love ! with tears thou keep’st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find !
Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!
For who a sleeping lion dares provoke ? It shall suffice me here to sit and see 1. Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke : | What sight can more content a lover's mind
Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind ?