PHILON THE SHEPHERD HIS SONG WHILE that the sun with his beams hot Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon, the shepherd, late forgot Sitting beside a crystal fountain, In shadow of a green oak tree, Upon his pipe this song play'd he : Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for a new love. So long as I was in your sight, I was your heart, your soul, your treasure; And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd, Burning in flames beyond all measure. Three days endured your love for me, And it was lost in other three. Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for a new love. Another shepherd you did see, To whom your heart was soon enchainèd; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtainèd: Soon came a third your love to win; And we were out, and he was in. Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! Untrue Love! untrue Love! adieu, Love! Your mind is light, soon lost for a new love. Sure, you have made me passing glad To choose you for my best-belovèd : Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! BROWN IS MY LOVE BROWN is my Love, but graceful : And each renowned whiteness Match'd with her lovely brown loseth its brightness. Fair is my Love, but scornful : Yet have I seen despisèd White dainty lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd. CYNTHIA YNTHIA, thy song and chaunting CYNT So strange a flame in gentle hearts awaketh That every cold desire wanton Love maketh Sounds to thy praise and vaunting, Of Syrens most commended That with delightful tunes for praise contended! For, when thou sweetly soundest, Thou neither kill'st nor woundest, But dost revive a number Of bodies buried in perpetual slumber. FROM THE PHOENIX NEST THE ANATOMY OF LOVE OW what is love? I pray thee tell. NOW It is that fountain and that well And this is love, as I hear tell. Yet, what is love? I pray It is a work on holiday : thee say. It is December match'd with May: Yet, what is love? I pray thee sain. It is a game where none doth gain : And this is love, as I hear sain. Yet, what is love? I pray thee say. It is a Yea, it is a Nay: A pretty kind of sporting fray: It is a thing will soon away : Then take the vantage while you may! О Yet, what is love? I pray thee show. A thing for me, a thing for mo : And this is love, sweet friend! I trow. TO NIGHT NIGHT! O jealous Night! repugnant to my measures; O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content! There's none but only thou that can perform my pleasures, Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. Thy beams, thy spiteful beams, thy lamps that burn. Sweet Night! withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, Whose joys in lack so long a hell of torment breeds; Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night! do not prolong ray sorrow! Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining; Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. Dame Cynthia! couch awhile, hold in thy horns from shining, And glad not louring Night with thy too glorious rays; SET SET ME WHERE PHEBUS ET ME where Phoebus' heat the flowers slayeth, Or where continual snow withstands his forces; Set me where he his temperate rays displayeth, Or where he comes, or where he never courses ! Set me in Fortune's grace, or else discharged; In sweet and pleasant air, or dark and glooming; In years of strength, in failing age, or blooming! Set me to these, or any other trial |