But they do want that quick discoursing power
Which doth, in us, the erring sense correct;
Therefore the bee did suck the painted flower,

And birds of grapes the cunning shadow pecked.

Sense outsides knows; the soul through all things sees;
Sense circumstance, she doth the substance, view;
Sense sees the bark, but she the life, of trees;
Sense hears the sounds, but she the concords true.

45

But why do I the soul and sense divide,

When sense is but a power which she extends,

50

Which, being in divers parts diversified,

The divers forms of objects apprehends?

This power spreads outward; but the root doth grow
In th' inward soul, which only doth perceive,
For the eyes and ears no more their objects know
Than glasses know what faces they receive.

55

For if we chance to fix our thoughts elsewhere,
Although our eyes be ope we do not see;
And if one power did not both see and hear,
Our sights and sounds would always double be.

60

Then is the soul a nature which contains

The power of sense within a greater power; Which doth employ and use the senses' pains, But sits and rules within her private bower.

O ignorant poor man! what dost thou bear

Locked up within the casket of thy breast! What jewels and what riches hast thou there,

What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest!

65

Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find
Like those which drowned Narcissus in the flood;

70

Honour and pleasure both are in thy mind,

And all that in the world is counted good.

Think of her worth, and think that God did mean
This worthy mind should worthy things embrace:
Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts unclean,
Nor her dishonour with thy passions base.

Kill not her quick'ning power with surfeitings;
Mar not her sense with sensualities;

Cast not her serious wit on idle things;
Make not her free will slave to vanities.

And when thou thinkest of her eternity,

Think not that death against her nature is: Think it a birth; and when thou goest to die, Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss!

And if thou, like a child, didst fear before,

Being in the dark, when thou didst nothing see,
Now have I brought thee torch-light, fear no more;
Now, when thou diest, thou canst not hoodwinked be.

75

80

85

I599.

ANONYMOUS

CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH

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;

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.

5

IO

I SAW MY LADY WEEP

I saw my lady weep,

And Sorrow proud to be advanced so

In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.

Her face was full of woe;

But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts
That Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

Sorrow was there made fair,

And passion wise; tears, a delightful thing;
Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;
She made her sighs to sing,

And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O fairer than aught else

The world can show, leave off in time to grieve!
Enough, enough! your joyful look excels;

Tears kill the heart, believe.

O strive not to be excellent in woe,

Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.

1600.

THE UNKNOWN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT

My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,
My rams speed not, all is amiss;
Love is denying, faith is defying,
Hearts reneying, causer of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot;
All my lady's love is lost, God wot;

Where her faith was firmly fixt in love,
There a nay is placed without remove.

One silly cross wrought all my loss:

O frowning Fortune, cursèd fickle dame!
For now I see, inconstancy

More in women than in men remain.

In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall;
Heart is bleeding, all help needing,

O cruel speeding fraughted with gall!

5

IO

15

5

ΙΟ

15

My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal;
My wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have played,
Plays not at all but seems afraid;

20

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight:

How sighs resound through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquished men in bloody fight.

25

Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye;
Herds stand weeping, flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping fearfully.

All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meeting on the plains,
All our evening sports, from us are fled;
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.

30

Farewell, sweet Love! thy like ne'er was
For sweet content, the cause of all my moan.
Poor Coridon must live alone;

35

Other help for him I see that there is none.

1600.

PHYLLIDA'S LOVE-CALL TO HER CORYDON, AND HIS

REPLYING

Phyl. Corydon! arise, my Corydon!
Titan shineth clear.

Cor. Who is it that calleth Corydon?
Who is it that I hear?

Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love calleth thee:
Arise then, arise then;

Arise, and keep thy flock with me!

Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she?
I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee.

Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
Eat them for my sake.

Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport for thee to make.

5

ΙΟ

Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk, 15 To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk.

Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,
To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet to withstand the heat.

Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon,
To set in thy cap.

Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one,
To put in thy lap.

Phyl. I will buy my true love garters gay,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about her middle small.

20

25

30

Phyl. When my Corydon sits on a hill,

Making melody,

Cor. When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
Singing cheerily;

Phyl. Sure methinks my true love doth excel
For sweetness, for sweetness,

35

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight;

Cor.

And methinks my true love bears the bell
For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.

40

Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
Been, alack! her swain;

Cor.

Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
Been in Ida plain;

45

Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused,

Preferring, preferring,

My Corydon to play withal;

Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused,
Bequeathing, bequeathing,

My Phyllida the golden ball.

Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon;
Whither shall I fly?

Cor.

Under yonder beech, my lovely one,
While she passeth by.