ACK clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air blow soft, larks mount aloft,
To give my love good-morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing,
To give my love good-morrow,
Notes from them both I'll borrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin-red-breast,
Sing birds in every furrow ;
And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow.
Blackbird, and thrush, in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!
You pretty elves, among yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing birds in every furrow.
HAT prince who may do nothing but what's just, Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on
ARK, how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring.
All creatures have their joy, and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter, than in present, is.
To this life things of sense
Make their pretence:
In the other angels have a right by birth:
Man ties them both alone,
And makes them one,
With the one hand touching heaven, with the other earth.
Not, that he may not here
Taste of the cheer:
But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head;
So must he sip, and think
Of better drink
He hath two winters, other things but one:
Both frosts and thoughts do nip,
And bite his lip;
And he of all things fears two deaths alone.
Yet even the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,
Could he but take them right, and in their
Happy is he, whose heart
To turn his double pains to double praise.
APPY is that state of his
Takes the world as it is,
Lose he honours, friendship, wealth,
Lose he liberty or health,
Lose he all that earth can give,
Having nought whereon to live;
So prepared a mind's in him,
He's resolved to sink or swim.
But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret, is thine;
Sacharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain :
And those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.
If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection,
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn:
But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love,
If not love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire,
In my breast solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret, for thee.
'Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move;
If less splendour wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy:
Which, how easily I may do
Heav'n (as easily scaled) does know.
Amoret's as sweet and good
As the most delicious food,
Which but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart:
Sacharissa's beauty's wine,
Which to madness doth incline;
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