But they do want that quick discoursing power And birds of grapes the cunning shadow pecked. Sense outsides knows; the soul through all things sees; 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 55 For if we chance to fix our thoughts elsewhere, 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 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 Kill not her quick'ning power with surfeitings; Cast not her serious wit on idle things; 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, 75 80 85 I599. ANONYMOUS CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH Crabbed Age and Youth cannot live together: Youth is nimble, Age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold; 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 Sorrow was there made fair, And passion wise; tears, a delightful thing; And all things with so sweet a sadness move O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! 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, Where her faith was firmly fixt in love, One silly cross wrought all my loss: O frowning Fortune, cursèd fickle dame! More in women than in men remain. In black mourn I, all fears scorn I, O cruel speeding fraughted with gall! 5 IO 15 5 ΙΟ 15 My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal; 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, All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 30 Farewell, sweet Love! thy like ne'er was 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! Cor. Who is it that calleth Corydon? Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love calleth thee: Arise, and keep thy flock with me! Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she? I come and keep my flock with thee. Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon; Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one, 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, A bonnet to withstand the heat. Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon, Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one, Phyl. I will buy my true love garters gay, To wear about his legs so tall. Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say, 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, Phyl. Sure methinks my true love doth excel 35 Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight; Cor. And methinks my true love bears the bell Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. 40 Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon, Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one, 45 Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused, Preferring, preferring, My Corydon to play withal; Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused, My Phyllida the golden ball. Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon; Cor. Under yonder beech, my lovely one, |