This and that, and here and there,
Only in thy thoughts appear.

Thou art weary, thou art wavering,
Coy, and in a while as kind;
All thy passions, in a turning,
Shift as often as the wind.

To and fro, and up and down;

Change doth all thy actions crown,

But to me thou ne'er art chang'd
In thy wonted cruelty!

Still from me thou keeps estrang'd;
There's thy only constancy.

Oh then, let thy next change be
From neglect to love of me!

If in that mind I could find thee,
I would hold thee fast enow.

This should be my trick to bind thee:

Change I would as oft as you.

Then, by my example taught,

Thou shouldst see that change is naught.

CUPID AND THE CLOWN.

[From the same MS.]

A copy of this, with some variations, is printed in "Wit "restored."

As Cupid took his bow and bolt,
Some birding sport to find,

He chanced on a country swain

Which was some yeoman's hind.

Clown. "Well met, fair boy! what sport abroad? "It is a goodly day;

"The birds will sit this frosty morn,
"You cannot choose but slay.

"Gadzooks! your eyes are both put out!
"You will not bird, I trow?
"Alas, go home, or else I think

"The birds will laugh at you."

Cupid. "Why man, thou dost deceive thyself, "Or else my mother lies,

"Who said, altho' that I were blind,

Clown." Why then thy mother is a fool,
"And thou art but an elf,

"To let thy arrows to have eyes
"And go without, thyself."

Cupid. Not so, sir swain, but hold thy prate; "If I do take a shaft

Clown.

"I'll make thee ken what I can do!"

(With that the ploughman laugh'd.)

Then angry Cupid drew his bow.
"For God's sake slay me not!"

Cupid. "I'll make thy lither liver ake."
"Nay! I'll be loth of that!"

Clown.

The stinging arrow hit the mark,
And pierc'd his silly soul:
You might know by his hollow eyes
Where love had made a hole...

And so the clown wen bleeding home;
(To stay it was no boot)

And found, that he could see to hit,

That could not see to shoot.

TO THE MOON.

[From an old MS.]

THOU silent moon, that look'st so pale,
So much exhausted, and so faint,
Wandering over hill and dale,

Watching oft the kneeling saint-
Hearing his groans float on the gale-
No wonder thou art tir'd and pale.

Yet I have often seen thee bring

Thy beams o'er yon bare mountain's steep;
Then, with a smile, their lustre fling
Full on the dark and roaring deep;

When the pilgrim's heart did fail,
And when near lost the tossing sail.

Sure, that passing blush deceives;

For thou, fair nymph, art chaste and cold!

Love our bosoms seldom leaves;

But thou art of a different mould.

Hail, chaste queen! for ever hail !
And, prithee, look not quite so pale!

Yet stay-perhaps thou 'st travell❜d far,
Exulting in thy conscious light;

Till, as I fear, some youthful star

Hath spread his charms before thy sight;
And, when he found his arts prevail,
He left thee, sickening, faint, and pale.

THE OWL.

[Said to be from Cervantes. Anonymous from an old MS.J

WHILE the moon, with sudden gleam,

Through the clouds that cover her,

Darts her light upon the stream,

And the poplars gently stir,

Pleas'd I hear thy boding cry!
Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky,

Sure, thy notes are harmony!

While the maiden, pale with care,

Wanders to the lonely shade,

Sighs her sorrows to the air,

While the flowerets round her fade,—
Shrinks to hear thy boding cry,-

Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky,
To her it is not harmony!