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I saw the little boy,
SIR THOMAS WYATT.
(1503 - 1542.] A tall young man to be.
PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN. The young man eke that feels His bones with pains opprest,
VENOMOUS thorns that are so sharp and How he would be a rich old man,
keen To live and lie at rest:
Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and
fair of hue : The rich old man that sees
Poison is also put in medicine, His end draw on so sore,
And unto man his health doth oft How he would be a boy again,
renew. To live so much the more.
The fire that all things eke consumeth Whereat full oft I smiled,
clean, To see how all these three,
May hurt and heal: then if that this
be true, From boy to man, from man to boy, Would chop and change degree :
I trust some time my harm may be my
health, And musing thus, I think,
Since every woe is joined with some The case is very strange,
wealth. That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change.
A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS Thus thoughtful as I lay,
HE WOULD LOVE. I saw my withered skin, How it doth show my dented thews, A Face that should content me wondrous The flesh was worn so thin;
Should not be fair, but lovely to behold And eke my toothless chaps,
With gladsome cheer, all grief for to exThe gates of my right way, That opes and shuts as I do speak, With sober looks so would I that it Do thus unto me say:
Speak without words, such words as “ The white and hoarish hairs,
none can tell; The messengers of age,
The tress also should be of crispéd gold. That show, like lines of true belief,
With wit and these, might chance I That this life doth assuage;
might be tied,
And knit again with knot that should "Bid thee lay hand, and feel
not slide. Them hanging on my chin. The which do write two ages past,
The third now coming in. “ Hang up, therefore, the bit Of thy young wanton time;
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. And thou that therein beaten art,
(1564 - 1593.) The happiest life define.”
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS Whereat I sighed, and said,
LOVE. “Farewell my wonted joy! Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me, Come live with me, and be my love, To every little boy ;
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, and hills and fields, “ And tell them thus from me,
Wood or steepy mountain yields.
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls But could youth last, and love still breed, Melodious birds sing madrigals.
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon;
My serip of joy, immortal diet;
My bottle of salvation; A belt of straw and ivy buds,
My gown of glory (hope's true gauge),
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. With coral clasps and amber studs :
Blood must be my body's 'balmer, And if these pleasures may thee move,
Whilst my soul, a quiet Palmer, Come live with me, and be my love.
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven; The shepherd swains shall dance and No other balm will there be given.
Over the silver mountains, sing,
Where spring the nectar fountains,
There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,
And drink mine everlasting fill
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
And walk apparelled fre
like me. (1552 - 1618.]
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
THE SOUL'S ERRAND.
If all the world and love were young,
Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand !
Go, since I needs must die,
Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
Go, tell the court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood;
If church and court reply,
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
Tell potentates they live
Acting by others' actions;
If potentates reply,
Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,