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*. Crabbed age and youth Cannot live together; Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care: Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather; Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, Age’s breath is short, Youth is nimble, Youth is hot and bold. 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

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Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As tiowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.


“Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:”
She bade good night, that kept my rest away;
And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
“Farewell,” quo'she, “and come again to-morrow;”
Farewell I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
“Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, mill I construe whether:
May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
May be, again to make me wander thither:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.


*Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

“For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix’d with sorrow;
For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come tomorrow.

“Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems an hour;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers! [row;
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now bor-
Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.”

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye
Her fancy fell a turning. [could see,

Long wo combat doubtful, that love with love

d fight
to leave memor loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite
into the silly damsel.

On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air,
Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish’d himself the heaven's breath:
“Air,” quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas! my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn.
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom even Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.


My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
Myrams speed not,
All is amiss:
Love's denying,
Faith's defying,
Heart's renying,
Causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix’d in love,
There a may is placed without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;
O, frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see,
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
(O cruel speeding!)
Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no dell,
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
With sighs so deep,
Procures to ...
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight.
How sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight
Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not
Forth; they die:
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet love,
Thy life ne'er was

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Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain;
None take pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion he is dead;
All thy friends are la pod in lead:
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle fortune smiled
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
§§ man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such like flattering
“Pity but he were a king.”
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice -
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandment;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawn’d on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

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Whereupon it made this threne

To the phenix and the dove,

Co-supremes and stars of love;
As chorus to the tragic scene.


So they loved es love in twain
Had the essence but in one;

Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen

Twixt the turtle and his queen;
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right

Flaming in the phonix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.
Property was thus appall’d,

That the self was not the same;

Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,

Saw division grow together:

To themselves, yet either-neither,
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!

Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here inclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix' nest;
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be ;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair,
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.



FROM off a hill whose concave womb rëworded

A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice acconded,

And down I lay to list the sad-tuned tale:

Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,

Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood; Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone,

Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;

Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswath'd, and seald to curious secresy.

Upon her head a plaited hive of straw,

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, Which fortified her visage from the sun,

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw | Cried, 0, false blood! thou register of lies, The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

What unapproved witness dost thou bear! Time had not scythed all that youth begun,

Ink would have seem'd more black and damned Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage, This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, here! Some beauty peep'd through lattice of seard age. Big discontent so breaking their contents,

ont did she heave her napkin to her eyne,

Which on it had conceited characters, Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine

That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,

And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her leveli'd eyes their carriage ride,

As they did battery to the spheres intend; Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd

To the orb'd earth; sometimes they do extend

Their view right on; anon their gazes lend To every place at once, and no where fix'd, The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

her a careldded her sh beside ;

Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat,

Father, she says, though in me you behold Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride;

The injury of many a blasting hour, For some untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat, Let it not tell your judgment I am old; Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;

Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
Some in her threaden Alet still did bide,

I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, ll Fresh to myself, if I had self-apply'd
Though slackly braided in loose negligence,

Love to myself, and to no love beside.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew

Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, Which one by one she in a river threw,

Upon whose weeping margent she was set,

Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall,
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

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