Reward upon his feet doth go : What fools are they that have not known My songs they be of Cynthia's praise, If Cynthia crave her ring of me, The worth that worthiness should move As can the mighty nobleman. Sweet Nymph! 'tis true you worthy be: THOMAS WATSON. 1557 ?-1592? ON SIDNEY'S DEATH. How long with vain complaining, Whose happy soul is flying, Not in a place of sadness, But in eternal gladness? Sweet Sidney lives in heaven: then let our weeping Be turn'd to hymns and songs of pleasant keeping! THE KISS. In time long past, when in Diana's chace Wherehence, although his beard were crisping hard, My luck was like to his, this other day, 66 And since that time I thought it not amiss To judge which were the best of all these three,- JEALOUS OF GANYMEDE. This latter night, amidst my troubled rest, Then Jove amidst his cups, for service done, 'Gan thus to jest with Ganymede, his boy : "I fain would find for thee, my pretty Son! A fairer wife than Paris brought to Troy." 'Why, Sir!" quoth he, "if Phœbus stand my friend, Who knows the world, this gear will soon have end." Then Jove replied that Phoebus should not choose And she once found should ne will nor refuse, MY LOVE IS PAST. Love hath delight in sweet delicious fare; Love doth much harm through jealousy's assault; These are the smallest faults that lurk in Love; HENRY CONSTABLE. 1555 ?-1615? DIAPHENIA. Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly, Heigh ho! how I do love thee: I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams. How bless'd were I if thou wouldst prove me! Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power: For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia, like to all things blessed Then in requite, sweet Virgin! love me! THE FOWLER. The fowler hides, as closely as he may, The net where caught the silly bird should be, In curled knots fast to entangle me, Puts on her veil, to the end I should not flee For it desires to fly into the same. What needs such cost my thoughts then to entrap When of themselves they fly into your lap? IF TRUE LOVE. If true love might true love's reward obtain, But too much worth hath made thee too much coy, And told me long ago I loved in vain. Not the vain hope of undeservèd gain Hath made me paint in verses mine annoy; But for thy pleasure, that thou might'st enjoy Thy beauty's sight, in glasses of my pain. See then Thyself, though me thou wilt not hear, By looking on my verse! For pain in verse, Love doth in pain, beauty in love appear. So, if thou would'st my verses' meaning see, Expound them thus when I my love rehearse"None loves like him!" that is "None fair like me!" THOMAS LODGE. 1556?-1625. ROSALYNDE'S MADRIGAL. Love in my bosom like a bee 'Now with his wings he plays with me, Within mine eyes he makes his nest, And if I sleep, then percheth he And makes his pillow of my knee Strike I my lute he tunes the string, He lends me every lovely thing, |