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Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound,
That Phæbus' lute, the queen of music, makes ;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

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Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love,


Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill :
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;
Once (quoth she) did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh (quoth she), here was the sore :

She showed hers; he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.


Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon faded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded !
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!

Like a green plum that hangs upon tree,

And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why? I craved nothing of thee still:

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

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Venus with young Adonis sitting by her,
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, she fell to him.
Even thus (quoth she) the warlike god embrac'd me;
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms :

Even thus (quoth she) the warlike god unlac'd me;
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Even thus (quoth she) he seized on my lips,
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.

Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!

Crabbed age and youth

Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,

Age is full of care:
Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer brave,

Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble,


is lame :
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:
Age, I do defy thee;
O sweet shepherd hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.


Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that's broken presently :

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,

Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

Good night, good rest.

Ah! neither be


share : She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,


To descant on the doubts of my decay.

Farewell (quoth she), and come again to-morrow;

Fare well, I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether :
May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
May be, again to make me wander thither:

Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.



Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ;
For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack's, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;

For why? she sigh’d, and bade me come to-morrow.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!

Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow;
Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.


It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest eye could see,

Her fancy fell a turning.
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practice either, alas it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain,
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain,

Alas she could not help it !
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away ;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay ;

For now my song is ended.


On a day (alack the day !)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath:
Air (quoth he), thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so !
But alas ! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom even Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were:
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.


My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,

All is amiss :
Love's denying,
Faith's defying,
Heart's renying,

Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;

O frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see,

More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,

Living in thrall :
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
(0 cruel speeding!)

Fraughted with gall.


My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid ;
With sighs so deep,
Procures to weep,

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not

Forth; they die :
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back creeping

All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was

For sweet content, the cause of all my moan:
Poor Coridon
Must live alone,

Other help for him I see that there is none.


When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall’d the deer that thou would'st strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial tike:

Take counsel of some wiser head,

Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com’st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell ;
(A cripple soon can find a halt :)

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,

And set thy person forth to sale.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.


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