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 ; 35 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

ANON. 41

A RENUNCIATION
If women could be fair, and yet not fond,

Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
I would not marvel that they make men bond

By service long to purchase their good will ;
But when I see how frail those creatures are,
I muse that men forget themselves so far.

5

To mark the choice they make,and how they change,

How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan; Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,

These gentle birds that fly from man to man ; 10 Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ?

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,

To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure with subtle oath, 15

Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ;
And then we say when we their fancy try,
To play with fools, O what a fool was I!

E. VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.

42

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.

5

Heigh ho ! sing heigh hol unto the green holly :
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :

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

10
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot :
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp

15
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.

20 W. SHAKESPEARE.

43

MADRIGAL
My thoughts hold mortal strife
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries,

Peace to my soul to bring,
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize : 5

-But he, grim grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed and will not come.

W. DRUMMOND.

44

DIRGE OF LOVE
Come away, come away, Death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid ;

Fly away, fly away, breath ;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yet,

O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true

Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown ; 10

Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown :
A thousand thousand sighs to save,

Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,

15 To weep there.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

45

FIDELE

Fear no more the heat o' the sun

Nor the furious winter's rages ;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone and ta’en thy wages :
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

5

Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak :

10
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

15
Thou hast finish'd joy and moan :
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

46

A SEA DIRGE

5

Full fathom five thy father lies :

Of his bones are coral made ;
Those are pearls that were his eyes :

Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :
Hark! now I hear them,-
Ding, dong, bell.

W. SHAKESPEARE.

A LAND DIRGE
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover

And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men,

Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm ; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 10

J, WEBSTER,

48

POST MORTEM

If thou survive my well-contented day
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall

cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover ;

Compare them with the bettering of the time, 5

And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme

Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafc me but this loving thought• Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,

10 A dearer birth than this his love had brought

To march in ranks of better equipage :
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

W. SHAKESPEARE.

49 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH No longer mourn for me when I am dead

Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world, that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell ; Nay, if you read this line, remember not

5 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if, I say, you

look upon

this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 10 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

But let your love even with my life decay ; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.

W. SHAKESPEARE. 50

MADRIGAL
Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head ?
How begot, how nourished ?

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