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WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought;

And with old woes new wail my dear time's Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, (waste:

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since cancel'd woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

SHAKSPEARE.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or few.or none, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds In me thou seest the twilight of such day (sang,

As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black death doth take away,

Death's second self that seals up all in rest, In me thou seest the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire,

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more

strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

SHAKSPEARE.

The forward violet thus did I chide ;-
Sweet thief, where didst thou steal thy sweet

that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride

Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.

The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair :

The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both,
And to his robbery had annexed thy breath ;

But for his theft, in pride of all his growth, A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, but I none could see But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee.

SHAKSPEARE.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,

Coral is far more red than her lips' red : If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses, damask'd red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; And in some perfumes there is more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,-yet well I know

That music kath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go,- [ground :

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

SHAKSPEARE.

To his Mistress.
I SWEARE, Aurora, by thy starrie eyes,

And by those golden lockes whose locke none

And by the corall of thy rosie lippes, [slippes, And by the naked snowes which beautie dyes, I sweare by all the jewels of thy mind,

Whose like yet never worldy treasure bought,

Thy solide judgement and thy generous thought, Which in this darkened age have clearely shined; I sweare by those, and by my spotlesse love,

And by my secret yet most fervent fires,

That I have never nursed but chast desires, And such as modestie might well approve.

Then since I love those virtuous parts in thee, Shouldst thou not love this vertuous mind in me?

EARL OF STIRLING.

I KNOW that all beneath the moon decays,

And what by mortals in this world is brought

In time's great periods shall return to nought; That fairest states have fatal nights and days. I know that all the Muses' heavenly lays,

With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought,

As idle sounds, of few or none are sought; That there is nothing lighter than vain praise. I know frail beauty's like the hawthorn flower,

To which one morn oft birth and death affords;

That love a jarring is of mind's accords, Where sense and will bring under reason's power;

Know what I list, this all cannot me move,
But that, alas! I both must write and love.

DRUMMOND.

SLEEP, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals

brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds which are oppress’d;

Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possess'd,

And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou sparest, alas! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face

To inward light which thou art wont to show,

With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe;
Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,

Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt be-
I long to kiss the image of my death. [queath,

DRUMMOND,

To hear my plaints, fair river crystalline,

Thou in a silent slumber seem'st to stay ; Delicious flowers, lily and columbine,

Ye bow your heads when I my woes display; Forests, in you the myrtle, palm, and bay Have had compassion, listening to my groans ; The winds with sighs have solemnized my moans

'Mong leaves, which whisper'd what they could

not say;

The caves, the rocks, the hills, the sylyans' thrones

(As if even pity did in them appear) Have at my sorrow rent their ruthless stones:

Each thing I find hath sense except my dear, Who doth not think I love, or will not know My grief, perchance delighting in my woe.

DRUMMOND,

com

Of mortal glory, O soon darkened ray!

O winged joys of man, more swift than wind ! O fond desires, which in our fancies stray!

O traitorous hopes, which do our judgments Lo, in a flash that light is gone away [blind!

Which dazzle did each eye, delight each mind, And with that sun, from whence it came,

bined, Now makes more radiant heaven's eternal day.

Let Beauty now bedew her cheeks with tears, Let widow'd Music only roar and groan, [spheres,

Poor Virtue, get thee wings, and mount the For dwellingplace on earth for thee is none :

Death hath thy temple razed, Love's empire foil'd, The world of honour, worth, and sweetness spoil'd.

DRUMMOND,

O FATE, conjured to pour your worst on me!

O rigorous rigour which doth all confound ! With cruel hands ye have cut down the tree, And fruit with leaves have scatter'd on the

ground. A little space of earth my love doth bound; That beauty which did raise it to the sky, Turn’d in disdained dust, now low doth lie,

Deaf to my plaints, and senseless of my wound. Ah! did I live for this? Ah! did I love ?

And was't for this (fierce powers) she did excel, That ere she well the sweets of life did prove, She should, too dear a guest! with darkness

dwell? Weak influence of Heaven! what fair is wrought Falls in the prime, and passeth like a thought.

DRUMMOND.

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