Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is 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 e'en Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

TRUE LOVE.

LET me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove :

O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom :-

If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SOUL AND BODY.

POOR

DOOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;

Within be fed, without be rich no more:—

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

YOUTH AND AGE.

CR

RABBED 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, Age is lame:

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.

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND.

BLO

LOW, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen

Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh ho sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Frecze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.

Heigh ho sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

UNDER THE

GREENWOOD

UNDER the greenwood tree

Who loves to lie with me,

And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat

TREE.

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun

And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats

And pleased with what he gets—

Come hither, come hither, come hither!

Here shall he see

No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

Edmund Spenser.

PROTHALAMION.

CALM

ALM was the day, and through the trembling air
Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play-
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair;
When I (whom sullen care,

Through discontent of my long fruitless stay
In princes' court, and expectation vain
Of idle hopes, which still do fly away
Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain)
Walk'd forth to ease my pain

Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames;
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,
Was painted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems
Fit to deck maidens' bowers,

And crown their paramours

Against the bridal-day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

There in a meadow by the river's side

A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy,
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks all loose untied
As each had been a bride;

And each one had a little wicker basket
Made of fine twigs, entrailèd curiously,

In which they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket,