Fair Cynthia's silver light So bright my nymph doth shine THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH. With this there is a red, In sky there is no star But she surmounts it far. When Phoebus from the bed Of Thetis doth arise, The morning blushing red, In fair carnation wise; He shows in my nymph's face, As queen of every grace. This pleasant lily-white, This taint of roseate red, This Cynthia's silver light, This sweet fair Dea spread, These sunbeams in mine eye, These beauties make me die. EARL OF Oxford. THE wrathful winter 'proching on apace, With blust'ring blasts had all ybared the treen, With chilling cold had pierced the tender green; The soil that erst so seemly was to seen, And soote fresh flowers (wherewith the summer's queen And small fowls flocking, in their song did rue WINTER. Hawthorn had lost his motley livery, The naked twigs were shivering all for cold; Each thing (me thought) with weeping eye me told My self within, for I was gotten out SONNET. THOMAS SACKVILLE. SOME glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill; WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. LAWN, as white as driven snow; What maids lack from head to heel: Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. |