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My words have charm'd her, for secure she sleeps,

Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps :

Dreams often more than waking passions move. Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee : That she in peace may wake and pity me.

T. Campion

LIII

THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
While that the sun with his beams hot
Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
Sitting beside a crystal fountain,

In shadow of a green oak tree

Upon his pipe this song play'd he :
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
So long as I was in your sight
I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;
And evermore you sobb’d and sigh'd
Burning in flames beyond all measure :

-Three days endured your love to me,

And it was lost in other three !
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
Another Shepherd you did see
To whom your heart was soon enchainéd ;
Full soon your love was leapt from me,
Full soon my place he had obtainéd.

Soon came a third, your love to win,

And we were out and he was in.
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love,
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love;
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Sure you have made me passing glad
That you your mind so soon removed,
Before that I the leisure had
To choose you for my best belovéd :

For all your love was past and done

Two days before it was begun :Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Anoni

LIV

DVICE TO . LOVER

The sea hath many thousand sands,
The sun hath motes as many;
The sky is full of stars, and Love
As full of woes as any :
Believe me, that do know the elf,
And make no trial by thyself !
It is in truth a pretty toy
For babes to play withal :-
But O! the honeys of our youth
Are oft our age's gall !
Self-proof in time will make thee know
He was a prophet told thee so ;
A prophet that, Cassandra-like,
Tells truth without belief;
For headstrong Youth will run his race,
Although his goal be grief :-
Love's Martyr, when his heat is past,
Proves Care's Confessor at the last.

192011,

LV

A RENUNCIATION

Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,

For all those rosy ornaments in thee,-
Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight,

Nor fair, nor sweet—unless thou pity me!
I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shalt prove
That beauty is no beauty without love.
-Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine : Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,

I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine : -Now show it, if thou be a woman rightEmbrace and kiss and love me in despite !

T. Campion

LVI
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly :
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :

Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh:
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

As friend remember'd not.
Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly :
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :

Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

W. Shakespeare

LVII

A SWEET LULLABY
Come little babe, come silly soul,
Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,
Born as I doubt to all our dole,
And to thy self unhappy chief :

Sing Lullaby and lap it warm,

Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.
Thou little think'st and less dost know,
The cause of this thy mother's moan,
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone :

Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail ?

And knowest not yet what thou dost ail.
Come little wretch, ah silly heart,
Mine only joy, what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart
That may the destinies implore :

'Twas I, I say, against my will,

I wail the time, but be thou still. And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face ! Would God Himself He might thee see, No doubt thou would'st soon purchase grace, I know right well, for thee and me :

But come to mother, babe, and play,

For father false is filed away.
Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance,
Thy father home again to send,
If death do strike me with his lance,
Yet mayst thou me to him commend :

If any ask thy mother's name,

Tell how by love she purchased blame.
Then will his gentle heart soon yield,
I know him of a noble mind,
Although a Lion in the field,

A Lamb in town thou shalt him find :

Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid,

His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad,
Although in woe I seem to moan,
Thy father is no rascal lad,
A noble youth of blood and bone :

His glancing looks, if he once smile,

Right honest women may beguile.
Come, little boy, and rock asleep,
Sing lullaby and be thou still,
I that can do nought else but weep;
Will sit by thee and wail my fill :

God bless my babe, and lullaby
From this thy father's quality!

Anon.

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LVIII

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies !
How silently, and with how wan a face !
What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries !
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel’st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace,
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem’d there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be ?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ?
Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness?

Sir P. Sidney

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