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His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
Sir Philip Sydney.
My Hocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
wont to have play'd,
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,
ening sport from us iš fled, All our Love is lost, for Love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass, thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Poor Coridon must live alone; Other help for him I see that there is none.
IF women could be fair, and yet not fond,
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond
By service long to purchase their good will; But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change,
How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan! Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,
These gentle birds that fly from man to man ! Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,
To pass the time when nothing else can please,
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;
Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
HAPPY AS A SHEPHERD, AH! what is love! It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter, too;
Ah then, ah then,
His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
And merrier, too;
Ah then, &c. He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curd, as doth the king his meat,
And blither too; For kings have often tremours when they sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup :
Ah then, &c. Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his bed of down,
More sounder, too; For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill :
Ah then, &c. Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or syth,
And blither, too; For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, Where shepherds laugh, and love upon the land :
Ah then, &c.
PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
In the merry month of May,
She said, never man was true:
SEND back my long-stray'd eyes to me,
To sweetly smile,
And then beguile,
To forfeit both
Its word and oath,
Shalt grieve and mourn
Of one the scorn,
I LOVED thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same ?
He that can love unloved again,
Hath better store of love than brain: God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away!
Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou hadst still continued mine;
But thou thy freedom didst recall,
That if thou might elsewhere inthrall: And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain ?
And changed the object of thy will,
Yea, it had been a sin to go
Yet do thou giory in thy choice,
Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
Sir Robert Aytori.