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And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among :
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay ! say nay!
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart
Neither for pain nor smart :
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay ! say nay !

And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty !
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay ! say nay !

Sir T. Wyat

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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
Made me think upon mine own.
-Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes

pity on thy pain :
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead :
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing :
Even so, poor bird, like thee
None alive will pity me.

R. Barnefield


Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born,
Relieve my languish, and restore the light;
With dark forgetting of my care return.
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth :
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow ;
Never let rising Sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow :
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

S. Daniel


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 hewailing,
Her throat in tunes expresseth

What grief her breast oppresseth
For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing.
() Philomela fair, O take some gladness,
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness :

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,
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
Full womanlike complains her will was broken.

But I, who, daily craving,
Cannot have to content me,

Have more cause to lament me,
Since wanting is more woe than too much having.
O Philomela fair, O take some gladness
That here is juster cause of plaintsul sadness :

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

Sir P. Sidney



Take, () take those lips away
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,

Bring again-
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,

Seal'd in vain !

II'. Shakespeare



Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, -
Nay I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free ;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes,
--Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover !

M. Drayton



Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow !

Though thou be black as night

And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow !
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth !

Though here thou liv'st disgraced,

And she in heaven is placed,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth !
Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth,

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 ordained !

The sun must have his shade,

Till both at once do fade,The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainéd.

T. Campion



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 marvel then though I mistake my view :
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
þ cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-secing thy foul faults should find !

W. Shakespeare


Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me!
For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?

It shall suffice me here to sit and see

Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke : What sight can more content a lover's mind Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind ?

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