XXVII

WINTER

HEN icicles hang by the wall

WH

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail ;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tuwhoo!

Tuwhit! tuwhoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl Then nightly sings the staring owl Tuwhoo!

Tuwhit! tuwhoo! A merry note!

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

XXVIII

W. Shakespeare

`HAT time of year thou may'st in me behold

THA

When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by:

- This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more

strong,

To love that well which thou must leave erelong.

W. Shakespeare

WH

XXIX

REMEMBRANCE

HEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste;

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before:

-But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
W. Shakespeare

L

XXX

REVOLUTIONS

IKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

So do our minutes hasten to their end;

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity once in the main of light

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,

And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
W. Shakespeare

XXXI

F

`AREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing,
My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.

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

XXXII

THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION

HEY that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not to 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 flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

W. Shakespeare

XXXIII

THE LOVER'S APPEAL

A

ND 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