His heart in me keeps him and me in one, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir Philip Sydney. VI. My flocks 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, In howling wise, to see my doleful plight Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not, All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 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. William Shakspere. VII. A RENUNCIATION. IF women could be fair, and yet not fond, To mark the choice they make, and how they change, 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, Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford. VIII. HAPPY AS A SHEPHERD. AH! what is love! It is a pretty thing, And sweeter, too; For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, His flocks are folded; he comes home at night And merrier, too; For kings bethink them what the State require, He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat For kings have often tremours when they sup, Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound 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. Robert Greene. IX. PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. IN the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, With a troop of damsels playing When anon by a woodside, Where as May was in his pride, Phillida and Corydon. Much ado there was, God wot! He would love, and she would not: She said, never man was true: She says, Love should have no wrong. Thus, with many a pretty oath, Nicholas Breton. X. SEND back my long-stray'd eyes to me, And then beguile, Keep the deceivers, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain; But if it has been taught by thine To forfeit both Its word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, For I'll know all thy falsities; That I one day may laugh, when thou Of one the scorn, Who proves as false as thou art now. John Donne. XI. WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. I LOVED thee once, I'll love no more, Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, When new desires had conquer'd thee, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy to love thee still. Since we are taught no prayers to say Yet do thou giory in thy choice,- I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice Sir Robert Aytor. |