65.

What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee;
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee;
O Cupid, so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee!

What Wight He Loved

SHALL

HALL I tell you whom I love?
Harken then awhile to me;

And if such a woman move,
As I now shall versify,
Be assured, 'tis she or none
That I love, and love alone.

Nature did her so much right

As she scorns the help of art;
In as many virtues dight

As e'er yet embraced a heart:
So much good so truly tried,
Some for less were deified.

Wit she hath without desire

T. Lodge

To make known how much she hath;

And her anger flames no higher

Than may fitly sweeten wrath.
Full of pity as may be,

Though, perhaps, not so to me.

Reason masters every sense,
And her virtues grace her birth,
Lovely as all excellence,

Modest in her most of mirth
Likelihood enough to prove
Only worth could kindle love.

Such she is: and, if you know
Such a one as I have sung,
Be she brown, or fair, or so
That she be but somewhile young,
Be assured, 'tis she, or none

That I love, and love alone.

W. Browne

66.

It Was a Lover and His Lass

T was a lover and his lass,

IT

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass,

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but a flower

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crowned with the prime

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

TELL

A Roundelay

Between Two Shepherds

W. Shakespeare

ELL me, thou skilful shepherd swain,
Who's yonder in the valley set ?

O, it is she, whose sweets do stain
The lily, rose, the violet!

Why doth the sun against his kind
Stay his bright chariot in the skies?

He pauseth, almost stricken blind

With gazing on her heavenly eyes.

Why do thy flocks forbear their food,

Which sometime was their chief delight?

Because they need no other good

That live in presence of her sight.

67.

68.

How come these flowers to flourish still,
Not with'ring with sharp Winter's breath?
She hath robb'd Nature of her skill,

And comforts all things with her breath.

Why slide these brooks so slow away,
As swift as the wild roe that were?
O, muse not, shepherd, that they stay,
When they her heavenly voice do hear.

From whence come all these goodly swains,
And lovely girls attired in green?
From gathering garlands on the plains
To crown our fair the Shepherds' Queen.

The sun that lights this world below,
Flocks, flowers, and brooks will witness bear;
These nymphs and shepherds all do know
That it is she is only fair.

Hey, Down a Down

M. Drayton

"HEY, down a down!" did Dian sing
Amongst her virgins sitting;

"Than love there is no vainer thing,
For maidens most unfitting."

And so think I, with a down, down, derry.

When women knew no woe.

But lived themselves to please,

Men's feigning guiles they did not know, -
The ground of their disease.

Unborn was false suspect;

No thought of jealousy;

From wanton toys and fond effect,
The virgin's life was free.
"Hey, down a down!”

At length men used charms

To which what maids gave ear,
Embracing gladly endless harms
Anon enthralled were.
Thus women welcomed woe
Disguised in name of love,
A jealous hell, a painted show:
So shall they find that prove.

66

'Hey, down a down!" did Dian sing,

Amongst her virgins sitting;

"Than love there is no vainer thing,
For maidens most unfitting."

And so think I, with a down, down, derry!

Anon.

69.

Carpe Diem

MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! your true-love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.