Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud Or like the silver crimson shroud Her lips are like two budded roses Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her neck is like a stately tower Her paps are centres of delight, With orient pearl, with ruby red, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Nature herself her shape admires Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan Since for a fair there's fairer none, Nor for her virtues so divine: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline; Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine! XVII T. Lodge COLIN EAUTY sat bathing by a spring BE Where fairest shades did hide her The cool streams ran beside her. To see what was forbidden: But better memory said, fie! So vain desire was chidden :— Hey nonny nonny! Into a slumber then I fell, When fond imagination Her feature or her fashion. But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, ; SHALL I compare thee to more temperate: HALL I compare thee to a summer's day? Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, XIX TO HIS LOVE HEN in the chronicle of wasted time WI see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best So all their praises are but prophecies For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. W. Shakespeare XX LOVE'S PERJURIES N a day, alack the day! ON Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, Forget not yet when first began The suit, the service none tell can; Forget not yet! Forget not yet the great assays, Forget not yet! Forget not! O, forget not this, Forget not yet! Forget not then thine own approved Sir T. Wyat |