There saw I Love

upon

the wall,

How he his banner did display; "Alarm! alarm!" he 'gan to call,

And bade his soldiers keep array.

The arms, the which that Cupid bare, Were pierced hearts with tears besprent, In silver and sable, to declare

The steadfast love he always meant.

There might you see his band all drest
In colours like to white and black;
With powder and with pellets, prest▾
To bring the fort to spoil and sack.

2

Good-will, the master of the shot,

Stood in the rampire, brave and proud: For 'spence of powder, he spar'd not "Assault! assault!" to cry aloud.

There might you hear the cannons roar;
Each piece discharg'd a lover's look;
Which had the power to rend, and tore
In any place whereas they took;

And even with the trumpet's sown

I

The scaling-ladders were up set: And Beauty walked up and down, With bow in hand, and arrows whet.

Then first Desire began to scale,
And shrouded him under his targe,
As one the worthiest of them all,
And aptest for to give the charge.

Then pushed soldiers with their pikes, And halberdiers, with handy strokes;

The hargabushe2 in flash it lights,

And dims the air with misty smokes.

And, as it is the 3 soldiers use,

When shot and powder 'gins to want, I hanged up my flag of truce And pleaded for my lifés grant.

When Fancy thus had made her breach,
And Beauty enter'd with her band,
With bag and baggage (silly wretch)
I yielded into Beauty's hand.

Then Beauty bade to blow retreat,
And every soldier to retire,

And Mercy mild with speed to fet
Me captive bound as prisoner.

"Madam," quoth I, "sith that this day

"Hath served

you at all

assays,

"I yield to you without delay,

"Here of the fortress all the keys.

"And sith that I have been the mark
"At whom you shot at with your eye,
"Needs must you with your handy-wark,*
"Or salve my sore, or let me die."

The aged Lover renounceth Love. *

I loath that I did love

In youth that I thought sweet,
As time requires for my behove,
Methinks they are not meet.

My lusts they do me leave,

My fancies all be 3 fled;

1 Fetch, Ed. 1567, "set."

2 Work.

* The editor of Reliques of Anc. Poetry has given some different readings in this poem, from a MS. in the Museum. Vide II. 186. 8 So ed. I.-Ed. 1567, " are."

And tract of time begins to weave

Gray hairs upon my head.

For Age with stealing steps

Hath claw'd me with his crowch,

And lusty Life away she leaps,
As there had been none such.

My Muse doth not delight
Me, as she did before:

My hand and pen are not in plight
As they have been of yore,

For Reason me denies

This youthly idle Rhyme; And day by day to me she cries, "Leave off these toys in time."

The wrinkles in my brow,

The furrows in my face,

Say, limping Age will hedge' him now, Where Youth must give him place.

The harbinger of Death

To me I see him ride:

The cough, the cold, the gasping breath

Doth bid me to provide

A pick-axe and a spade,

And eke a shrouding-sheet, A house of clay for to be made For such a guest most meet.

Methinks I hear the clerk,

That knolls the careful knell ; And bids me leave my woful wark Ere Nature me compel.

My keepers knit the knot

That Youth did laugh to scorn, Of me that clean shall be forgot, As I had not been born.

Thus must I Youth give up,
Whose badge I long did wear:
To them I yield the wanton cup
That better may it bear.

Lo here the bared' scull!
By whose bald sign I know
That stooping Age away shall pull
Which youthful years did sow.

For Beauty with her band

These crooked cares hath wrought,

1 Ed. 1567, (6 barehead."