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MY

Y MUSE may well grudge at my heavenly joy
If still I force her in sad rhymes to creep:

:

She oft hath drunk my tears now hopes to enjoy
Nectar of mirth, since I Jove's cup do keep.
Sonnets be not bound 'prentice to annoy ;
Trebles sing high, so well as bases deep.
Grief but Love's winter livery is the boy
Hath cheeks to smile, so well as eyes to weep.
Come then, my Muse! show thou height of delight
In well-raised notes; my pen, the best it may,
Shall paint out joy though but in black and white.
Cease, eager Muse! peace, pen! for my sake stay!
I give you here my hand for truth of this :
Wise silence is best music unto bliss.

Y TRUE LOVE hath my heart, and I have his,

ΜΕ

By just exchange one for the other given :

I hold his dear, and mine he can not miss ;
There never was a bargain better driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart :
For as from me on him his hurt did light,
So still methought in me his hurt did smart.
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss:
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

SIR EDWARD DYER

THE FRIEND'S REMONSTRANCE

ROMETHEUS, when first from heaven high

PROP

He brought down fire, ere then on earth not seen, Fond of delight, a Satyr, standing by,

Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.

Feeling forthwith the other burning power,

Wood with the smart, with shouts and shrieking shrill,

He sought his ease in river, field, and bower;

But for the time his grief went with him still.
So silly I, with that unwonted sight,

In human shape an angel from above,

Feeding mine eyes, the impression there did light;
That since I run and rest as pleaseth Love.
The difference is: the Satyr's lips-my heart,-
He for a while, I evermore have smart.

A

HIS ANSWER

SATYR once did run away for dread

With sound of horn which he himself did blow: Fearing and fear'd, thus from himself he fled, Deeming strange ill in that he did not know. Such causeless fears when coward minds do take, It makes them fly that which they fain would have : As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake, Thinking not why but how himself to save.

Even thus might I, for doubts which I conceive
Of mine own words, my own good hap betray;
And thus might I, for fear of may-be, leave
The sweet pursuit of my desirèd prey.
Better like I thy Satyr, dearest Dyer !
Who burn'd his lips to kiss fair shining fire.

Philip Sidney.

THOMAS WATSON

ON SIDNEY'S DEATH

WOW LONG with vain complaining,
With dreary tears and joys refraining,
Shall we renew his dying

Whose happy soul is flying,

Not in a place of sadness,

But in eternal gladness?

Sweet Sidney lives in heaven: then let our weeping Be turn'd to hymns and songs of pleasant keeping!

OF TIME

IME wasteth years and months and days and hours :

TIM

Time doth consume fame, honour, wit, and strength : Time kills the greenest herbs and sweetest flowers : Time wears out youth and beauty's looks at length: Time doth convey to ground both foe and friend, And each thing else but Love, which hath no end.

Time maketh every tree to die and rot:
Time turneth oft our pleasures into pain :
Time causeth wars and wrongs to be forgot:
Time clears the sky which first hung full of rain :
Time makes an end of all humane desire,
But only this which sets my heart on fire.

Time turneth into nought each princely state:
Time brings a flood from new resolvèd snow :
Time calms the sea where tempest was of late:
Time eats whate'er the moon can see below:
And yet no time prevails in my behove,
Nor any time can make me cease to love.

THIS

JEALOUS OF GANYMEDE

HIS latter night, amidst my troubled rest,
A dismal dream my fearful heart appall'd,

Whereof the sum was this: Love made a feast,

To which all neighbour Saints and Gods were call'd :
The cheer was more than mortal men can think,
And mirth grew on by taking in their drink.

Then Jove amidst his cups, for service done,
'Gan thus to jest with Ganymede, his boy:
I fain would find for thee, my pretty Son!
A fairer wife than Paris brought to Troy.
Why, Sir! quoth he, if Phoebus stand my friend,
Who knows the world, this gear will soon have end.

Then Jove replied that Phoebus should not choose
But do his best to find the fairest face;
And she once found should ne will nor refuse,

But yield herself and change her dwelling-place,

Alas! how much was then my heart affright:

Which bade me wake and watch my Fair Delight.

THE KISS

N time long past, when in Diana's chase

IN

A bramble bush prick'd Venus in the foot,

Old Esculapius help'd her heavy case
Before the hurt had taken any root:

Wherehence, although his beard were crisping hard,
She yielded him a kiss for his reward.

My luck was like to his, this other day,
When She whom I on earth do worship most
For kissing me vouchsafèd thus to say

"Take this for once, and make thereof no boast!"
Forthwith my heart gave signs of joy by skips,
As though our souls had join'd by joining lips.
And since that time I thought it not amiss
To judge which were the best of all these three :
Her breath, her speech, or that her dainty kiss:
And (sure) of all the kiss best likèd me.
For that was it which did revive my heart,
Oppress'd and almost dead with daily smart.

PHILOMELA

WHEN May is in his prime and youthful Spring

Doth clothe the tree with leaves and ground

with flowers,

And time of year reviveth every thing,
And lovely Nature smiles, and nothing lours,
Then Philomela most doth strain her breast
With night complaints, and sits in little rest.

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