THE doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine, That fondly feare to lose your liberty; When, losing one, two liberties ye gayne, And make him bond that bondage earst did fly. Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tye Without constraynt or dread of any ill : The gentle birde feeles no captivity Within her cage; but sings, and feeds her fill. There Fayth doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, SPENSER. FRESH Spring, the herald of Loves mighty king, SPENSER. BECAUSE I breathe not love to every one, Of those who in their lips Love's standard bear, Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art; But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find, That his right badge is worn but in the heart. Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove; They love, indeed, who quake to say they love. SIR P. SIDNEY, Look, Delia, how we' esteem the half blown rose, The image of thy blush and summer's honour; Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory to the air, [cline; But straight her wide blown pomp comes to deShe then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair; So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. No April can revive thy withered flowers, Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; Swift, speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow: Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, But love now whilst thou mayst be loved again. DANIEL. I ONCE may see when years shall wreak my wrong, When golden hairs shall change to silver wire; And those bright rays that kindle all this fire Shall fail in force, their working not so strong. Then Beauty (now the burthen of my song), Whose glorious blaze the world doth so admire, Must yield up all to tyrant Time's desire; Then fade those flowers that deck'd her pride so long : When, if she grieve to gaze upon her glass Which then presents her winter-wither'd hue, Go you, my verse, go tell her what she was; For what she was she best shall find in you. Your fiery heat lets not her glory pass, But (phoenixlike) shall make her live anew. DANIEL. Lobé renounced and reinvited. SINCE there's no help, come, let us kiss and part: That we one spark of former love retain. And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover. DRAYTON. VOL. III. SS WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought And with old woes new wail my dear time's Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, [waste: For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since cancel'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end.、 SHAKSPEARE. THAT time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or few or none, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds In me thou seest the twilight of such day [sang. As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black death doth take away, Death's second self that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. SHAKSPEARE. THE forward violet thus did I chide : Sweet thief, where didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, And to his robbery had annexed thy breath; But for his theft, in pride of all his growth, A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, but I none could see But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. SHAKSPEARE. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go,- [ground: My mistress, when she walks, treads on the And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. SHAKSPEARE. |