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Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory,
Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry :

Out of thy golden quiver
Take thou thy strongest arrow

That will through bone and marrow,
And me and thee of grief and fear deliver :-
But come behind, for if she look upon thee,
Alas! poor Love ! then thou art woe-begone thee :



Weep you no more, sad fountains :-

What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven's sun doth gently waste !
But my Sun's heavenly eyes

View not your weeping,

That now lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies,

Sleep is a reconciling,

A rest that peace begets :-
'oth not the sun rise smiling,
When fair at even he sets ?

-Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes !

Melt not in weeping !

While She lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies,




TO HIS LOVE Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm’d But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to tiine thou growest : So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

W. Shakespeare


TO HIS LOVE When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights ; Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have exprest Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all, you prefiguring... And for they look'd but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing : For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

W. Shakespeare



Turn back, you wanton flyer,
And answer my desire

With mutual greeting.
Yet bend a little nearer,
True beauty still shines clearer

In closer meeting!
Hearts with hearts delighted

Should strive to be united,
Each other's arms with arms enchair.ing,–

Hearts with a thought,
Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining.

What harvest half so sweet is
As still to reap the kisses

Grown ripe in sowing ?
And straight to be receiver
Of that which thou art giver,

Rich in bestowing ?
There is no strict observing

Of times or seasons' swerving,
There is ever one fresh spring abiding;

Then what we sow with our lips
Let us reap, love's gains dividing:

T. Campion



Never love unless you can
Bear with all the faults of man !
Men sometimes will jealous be
Though but little cause they see,
And hang the head as discontent,
And speak what straight they will repent

Men, that but one Saint adore,
Make a show of love to more ;
Beauty must be scorn'd in none,
Though but truly served in one :
For what is courtship but disguise ?
True hearts may have dissembling eyes.
Men, when their affairs require,
Must awhile themselves retire ;
Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk,
And not ever sit and tali: :-
If these and such-like you can bear,
Then like, and love, and never fear!

T. Campion


On a day, alack the day !
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied 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, alack, my hand is 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 Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

W. Shakespeare



Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant ;
My great travail so gladly spent,

Forget not yet !
Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service none tell can ;

Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrong, the scornfuł ways,
The painful patience in delays,

Forget not yet !
Forget not ! O, forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss-

Forget not yet !
Forget not then thine own approved
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved -

Forget not this !

Sir T. Wya



O it thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm,
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest ;
Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
( if thy pride did not our joys controul,
What world o loving wonders should'st thou see
For if I saw thee once transform'd in mē,
Then in thy busom I would pour my soul :

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