SWEET violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched beare Upon the gentle wing of some calme breathing winde, If by the favour of propitious starres you gaine And when her warmth your moysture forth doth weare, Your honours of the flowrie meades I pray, You pretty daughters of the earth and sunne, With milde and seemely breathing straite display My bitter sighs, that have my hart undone! Vermillion roses, that with new dayes rise, The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne! Do pluck your purse, ere Phoebus view the land, Fast by your flowers to take the Sommer's ayre, THE SHEPHEARD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. MELIBEUS. SHEPHEARD, what's Love, I pray thee tell? FAUSTUS. It is that fountaine, and that well, That toules all into heaven or hell: MELIBEUS. Yet what is Love, I prethee say? FAUSTUS. It is a worke on holy-day, It is December match'd with May, Heare ten months after of the play: MELIBEUS. Yet what is Love, good Shepheard saine? FAUSTUS. It is a sun-shine mixt with raine; It is a game, where none doth gaine. The lass saith no, and would full faine: MELIBEUS. Yet, Shepheard, what is Love, I pray? FAUSTUS. It is a yea, it is a nay, A pretty kind of sporting fray, It is a thing will soone away; Then Nimphs take 'vantage while ye may; MELIBEUS. Yet what is Love, good Shepheard show? FAUSTUS. A thing that creepes, it cannot goe; A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that prooves shall find it so, THE SILENT LOVER. PASSIONS are likened best to floods and streames; The shallow murmur, but the deepe are dumb. So, when affections yield discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they come : They that are rich in words must needs discover, They are but poor in that which makes a lover. Wrong not, sweet mistresse of my heart, With thinking that he feels no smart, Since, if my plaints were not t' approve For, knowing that I sue to serve I rather choose to want reliefe Thus those desires that boil so high When Reason cannot make them die, Yet when Discretion doth bereave Silence in Love bewrays more woe Then wrong not, dearest to my heart! He smarteth most that hides his smart, A VISION UPON THE FAIRY QUEEN. METHOUGHT I Saw the grave, where Laura lay And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce : THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS DEATH. EVEN Such is Time, that takes on trust But from this earth, this grave, this dust, THE LYE. GOE, Soule, the bodies guest, I |