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Thyself thou gav`st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter ,
In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter.

W. Shakespeare


They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovéd, cold, and to temptation slow,-
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense ;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die ;
But if that Aower with base infection meet,
The basest weed out braves his dignity :
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

W. Shakespeare



And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay! for shame,
To save thee from the blame
Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say nay ! say nay !

And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath loved thee so long
In wealth and woe among :
And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus ?
Say nay ! say nay !
And wilt thou leave me thus,
That hath given thee my heart
Never for to depart
Neither for pain nor smart :
And wilt thou leave me thus ?
Say nay ! say nay !
And wilt thou leave me thus,
And have no more pity
Of him that loveth thee?
Alas! thy cruelty !
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay! say nay !

Sir T. Wyat


THE NIGHTINGALE As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring ; Every thing did banish moan Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Leand her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Teru, teru, by and by : That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain ;

For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.
-Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain :
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee ;
King Pandion, he is dead,
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead :
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Even so, poor bird, like thee
None alive will pity me.

R. Barnefield


Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,
Brother to Death, in silent darkness born,
Relieve my languish, and restore the light ;
With dark forgetting of my care return.
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth :
Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's untruth.
Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow;
Never let rising Sun approve you liars,
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow :
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

S. Daniei


The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth

Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,

Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making ;

And mɔurnfully bewailing,
Her throat in tunes expresseth

What grief her breast oppresseth
For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing.
O Philomela fair, O take some gladness,
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness :

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ;
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish

But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wrokeri,
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
Full womanlike complains her will was broken.

But I, who, daily craving,
Cannot have to content me,

Have more cause to lament me,
Since wanting is more woe than too much having
O Philomela fair, O take some gladness
That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness :

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ;
Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

Sir P. Sianey



Take, O take those lips away
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,

Bring again
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,
Seald in vain !

W. Shakespeare



Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, -
Nay I have done, you get no more of me ;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free ;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes,
-Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover !

M. Drayton



Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow !

Though thou be black as night

And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow !
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth !

Though here thou liv’st disgraced,

And she in heaven is placed,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth !
Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth,

That so have scorched thee

As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.

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