ET me e'en where the sun doth parch the green,
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice;
In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen;
In presence pressed of people, mad or wise;
Set me in high, or yet in low degree;
In longest night, or in the shortest day;
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be;
In lusty youth, or when the hairs are grey;
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,
On hill or dale, or on the foaming flood;
Thralled or at large: wherever so I dwell,

Sick or in health; in evil fame or good;
Hers will I be, and only with this thought
Content myself, although my chance be nought.

LAS! so all things now do hold their peace,
Heaven and earth disturbèd in nothing;

The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease;
The night's chair now the stars about doth bring;
Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less!
So am not I; whom Love, alas! doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires; whereas I weep and sing,
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful case:

GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS.

For my sweet thoughts some time do pleasure bring;
But, by-and-bye, the cause of my disease
Gives me a pang that inwardly doth sting;
When that I think what grief it is, again,

To live and lack the thing should rid my pain.

Give place, ye Lovers.

IVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain :

My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,

Than doth the sun the candlelight,

Or brightest day the darkest night;

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were;
And virtues hath she many mo'
Than I with pen have skill to show.

I could rehearse, if that I would,

The whole effect of Nature's plaint,
When she had lost the perfect mould,

The like to whom she could not paint.
With wringing hands, how did she cry!
And what she said, I know it aye.

I know she swore, with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,

There was no loss by law of kind

That could have gone so near her heart;

And this was chiefly all her pain,"She could not make the like again."

IN AN ARBOUR GREEN.

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise
To be the chiefest work she wrought,
In faith, methink, some better ways

On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

In an Arbour green.

TIME OF EDWARD VI.

N an arbour green, asleep where as I lay,

The birds sang sweet in the middle of the day;

I dreamed fast of mirth and play:

In youth is pleasure.

LUSTY May, with Flora queen,

Whose balmy drops from Phoebus sheene

Prelucent beam before the day;

By thee Diana groweth green,

Through gladness of this lusty May.