Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. TRUE LOVE. LET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, If this be error, and upon me proved, SOUL AND BODY. POOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. Youth is nimble, Age is lame : Age is weak and cold, Youth is wild, and Age is tame:— Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee; O! my Love, my Love is young! Age, I do defy thee— O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long. BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND, LOW, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh ho! the holly! This life is most jolly. Frecze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Though thou the waters warp, As friend remember'd not. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. NDER the greenwood tree UNDER Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither! No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets— Come hither, come hither, come hither! No enemy But winter and rough weather. Edmund Spenser. PROTHALAMION. CALM was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play- A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; Through discontent of my long fruitless stay Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames; Fit to deck maidens' bowers, And crown their paramours Against the bridal-day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. There in a meadow by the river's side A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, And each one had a little wicker basket In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket, |