I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why? I craved nothing of thee still:

0

yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee; Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

IX.

Venus, with Adonis a sitting by her,
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, she fell to him.

Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me;
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms:
Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me;
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips,
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!

X.

Crabbed 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;

a This Sonnet is found in Fidessa,' by B. Griffin, 1596. There are great variations in that copy.

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.

XI.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss, that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that 's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,"

So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever 's lost,
In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

XII.

Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
She bade good night, that kept my rest away;
And daff''d me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.

a In the twenty-ninth volume of the Gentleman's Magazine,' a copy of this poem is given, as from an ancient manuscript, in which there are the following variations:

"And as goods lost are seld or never found,

As faded gloss no rubbing will excite,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can unite."

Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-morrow ;
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether :
*T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
"T may be, again to make me wander thither:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

XIII.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why? she sigh'd, and hade me come to-morrow.

a

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;'
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now
borrow;

Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.

а А тост. The original has an hour-evidently a misprint. The emendation of moon, in the sense of month, is by Steevens, and it ought to atone for some faults of the commentator.

SONNETS

TO

SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC.

XIV.

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be, Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see,

Her fancy fell a turning.

Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love did

fight,

To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: To put in practice either, alas it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel.

But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain, For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain :

Alas, she could not help it!

Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; For now my song is ended.

XV.

On a day (alack the day!),
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind,

All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas, my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love."

My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,
All is amiss:
Love is dying,
Faith 's defying,

Heart 's denying,

Causer of this.b

XVI.

All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross

Wrought all my loss;

O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now
I see,

Inconstancy

More in women than in men remain.

aThis beautiful little poem also occurs, with variations, in 'Love's Labour's Lost.'

b We have two other ancient copies of this poem-one in England's Helicon,' 1600; the other in a collection of Madrigals by Thomas Weelkes, 1597.