The Golden Treasury | Page 6

as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies?Of this our time, all, you prefiguring;?And for they look'd but with divining eyes,?They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,?Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
20. LOVE'S PERJURIES.
On a day, alack the day!?Love, whose month is 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, alack, my hand is sworn?Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:?Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;?Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.?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,?And deny himself for Jove,?Turning mortal for thy love.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
21. A SUPPLICATION.
Forget not yet the tried intent?Of such a truth as I have meant;?My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet when first began?The weary life ye know, since whan?The suit, the service, none tell can;
Forget not yet!
Forget not yet the great assays,?The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,?The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet!
Forget not! O, forget not this,?How long ago hath been, and is?The mind that never meant amiss--
Forget not yet!
Forget not then thine own approved?The which so long hath thee so loved,?Whose steadfast faith yet never moved--
Forget not this!
SIR T. WYAT.
22. TO AURORA.
O if thou knew'st how thou thyself does harm,?And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil thy rest;?Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast?And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
O if thy pride did not our joys controul,?What world of loving wonders should'st thou see!?For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,?Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;
Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,?And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan?Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone;?No, I would have my share in what were thine:
And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,?This happy harmony would make them none.
W. ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE.
23. TRUE LOVE.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds?Admit impediments. Love is not love?Which alters when it alteration finds,?Or bends with the remover to remove:--
O no! it is an ever-fix��d mark?That looks on tempests and is never shaken;?It is the star to every wandering bark?Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks?Within his bending sickle's compass come;?Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,?But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom:--
If this be error and upon me proved,?I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
24. A DITTY.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,?By just exchange one to the other given:?I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,?There never was a better bargain driven:?My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,?My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:?He loves my heart, for once it was his own,?I cherish his because in me it bides:?My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
SIR P. SIDNEY.
25. LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.
Were I as base as is the lowly plain,?And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,?Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain?Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,?And you, my Love, as humble and as low?As are the deepest bottoms of the main,?Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,?My love should shine on you like to the sun,?And look upon you with ten thousand eyes?Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,?Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
J. SYLVESTER.
26. CARPE DIEM.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming??O, stay and hear! your true-love's coming
That can sing both high and low;?Trip no further, pretty sweeting,?Journeys end in lovers' meeting--
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;?Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:?In delay there lies no plenty,--?Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
W. SHAKESPEARE.
27. WINTER.
When icicles hang by the wall?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