Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
F women could be fair, and yet not fond,
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
I would not marvel that they make men bond
By service long to purchase their good-will;
But when I see how frail those creatures are,
I muse that men forget themselves so far.
To mark the choice they make, and how they change,
How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan;
Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,
These gentle birds that fly from man to man;
Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,
And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,
To pass the time when nothing else can please,
And train them to our lure with subtle oath,
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;
And then we say when we their fancy try,
To play with fools, O what a fool was I!
Christopher Marlowe.
[BORN 1552 (?). DIED 1593.]
OME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields,
The woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Embroidered o'er with leaves of myrtle.
gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lamps we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
And if these pleasures thee may move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight, each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
[BORN 1552. DIED 1618.]
F all the world and love were young, And truth on every shepherd's tongue, These pleasures might my passion move To live with thee, and be thy love.
But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasures yield;
A honeyed tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.
Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon withered, broke, forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But could youth last, could Love still breed,
Had Joy no date, had Age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.
Edmund Spenser.
[BORN 1553. DIED 1598.]
E tradeful merchants! that with weary toil
Do seek most precious things to make
And both the Indies of their treasure spoil, What needeth you to seek so far in vain?
For, lo! my love doth in herself contain
All this world's riches that may far be found;
If sapphires, lo! her eyes be sapphires plain;
If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies sound;
If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round,
If ivory, her forehead ivory ween;
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If silver, her fair hands are silver sheen:
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorned with virtues manifold.
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