The Doubt

THE doubt of future foes
Exiles my present joy,

And wit me warns to shun such snares
As threaten mine annoy.

For falsehood now doth flow, And subject faith doth ebb, Which would not be if reason ruled, Or wisdom weaved the web.

But clouds of toys untried Do cloak aspiring minds, Which turn to rain of late repent, By course of changed winds.

The top of hope supposed The root of ruth will be, And fruitless all their graffèd guiles, As shortly ye shall see.

Then dazzled eyes with pride,

Which great ambition blinds,

Shall be unsealed by worthy wights, Whose foresight falsehood finds.

The daughter of debate,

That eke discord doth sow,
Shall reap no gain where former rule
Hath taught still peace to grow.

No foreign banished wight
Shall anchor in this port;
Our realm it brooks no stranger's force;
Let them elsewhere resort.

Our rusty sword with rest
Shall first his edge employ,

To poll their tops that seek such change

And gape for future joy.

Queen Elizabeth

I.

THE

Aubade

HE lark now leaves his wat❜ry nest,
And climbing shakes his dewy wings.
He takes this window for the East,
And to implore your light he sings
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
But still the lover wonders what they are

Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn!
Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn!
Sir W. Davenant

2.

FLY

Dawn

LY hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep!

Tho' the eyes be overtaken,

Yet the heart doth ever waken
Thoughts chained up in busy snares
Of continual woes and cares:
Love and griefs are so exprest
As they rather sigh than rest.

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep.

7. Ford

3.

Matin-Song

PACK clouds, away, and welcome, day'
With night we banish sorrow.

Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind.
Notes from the lark I'll borrow:

Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing;
To give my Love good-morrow!

To give my Love good-morrow

Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast,
Sing birds in every furrow,
And from each bill let music shrill
Give my fair Love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cocksparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves
Sing my fair Love good-morrow;

To give my Love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow.

T. Heywood

4.

Song to Apollo

ING to Apollo, god of day,

SING

Whose golden beams with morning play

And make her eyes so brightly shine,
Aurora's face is called divine;
Sing to Phoebus and that throne
Of diamonds which he sits upon.

5.

6.

Io, pæans let us sing

To Physic's and to Poesy's king!

Crown all his altars with bright fire,
Laurels bind about his lyre,

A Daphnean coronet for his head,
The Muses dance about his bed;
When on his ravishing lute he plays,
Strew his temple round with bays.
Io, pæans let us sing

To the glittering Delian king!

Hark, Hark! the Lark

J. Lyly

HARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

Το ope

their golden eyes: With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise:

Arise, arise.

W. Shakespeare

The Love Call

Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my Corydon!

Titan shineth clear.

Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon?

Who is it that I hear?