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What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? 5
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note;
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring;
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring!

1 wagered.

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The fairest shepherd on our

green,

A love for any lady.

Fair and fair, and twice so fair,5
As fair as any may be;

Thy love is fair for thee alone,
And for no other lady.

EN. My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin2 the flowers in

May,

And of my love my roundelay,

My merry, merry roundelay,

Concludes with Cupid's curse,

ΙΟ

"They that do change old love for

new,

Pray gods they change for worse!" 15 AMBO SIMUL.3 They that do change, etc. EN. Fair and fair, etc.

PAR. Fair and fair, etc.

Thy love is fair, etc.

EN. My love can pipe, my love can

sing,

My love can1 many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring
My merry, merry roundelays,
Amen to Cupid's curse,-

"They that do change," etc. PAR. They that do change, etc. AMBO. Fair and fair, etc.

ROBERT GREENE (1560?-1592)

SWEET ARE THE THOUGHTS

20

25

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THOMAS LODGE (1558?-1625)

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL

Love in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest.
Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he,
With pretty flight,

And makes his pillow of my knee,
The livelong night.

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays if so I sing;
He lends me every lovely thing;
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.
Whist,2 wanton, still ye!

Else I with roses every day

Will whip you hence,

And bind you, when you long to play, For your offence.

I'll shut my eyes to keep you in,

I'll make you fast it for your sin,

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I'll count your power not worth a pin. 25 Alas! what hereby shall I win

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From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl; No conscience molten into gold; No forged accuser bought or sold;

When we have wandered all our ways, 5 Shuts up the story of our days:

But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (1561?-1595)

THE BURNING BABE

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;

And lifting up a fearful eye to view what

fire was near,

A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear,

No cause deferred, no vain-spent jour- Who, scorched with excessive heat, such

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