SPR king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, The palm and may make country houses gay, The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, T. Nash II SUMMONS TO LOVE HOEBUS, arise ! PHO And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red: Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed That she may thy career with roses spread : Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; In larger locks than thou wast wont before, And emperor-like decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : Chase hence the ugly night Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. This is that happy morn, That day, long-wished day Of all my life so dark, (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn And fates my hopes betray,) Which, purely white, deserves An everlasting diamond should it mark. This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear and recompense my love. Fair King, who all preserves, But show thy blushing beams, And thou two sweeter eyes Shalt see than those which by Penéus' streams Did once thy heart surprise. Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise : If that ye winds would hear A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels: And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! W. Drummond of Hawthornden WH III TIME AND LOVE I HEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced When I have seen the hungry ocean gain When I have seen such interchange of state, That Time will come and take my Love away : - This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. W. Shakespeare S IV 2 INCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, O how shall summer's honey breath hold out O fearful meditation! where, alack! O! none, unless this miracle have might, W. Shakespeare V THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE 'OME live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, A belt of straw and ivy buds Thy silver dishes for thy meat Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing C. Marlowe |