My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming.
I love not less; though less the show appear.
That love is merchandised! whose rich esteeming,
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere.
Our love was new, and then but in the Spring;
When I was wont to greet it with my Lays:
As PHILOMEL, in summer's front doth sing;

And stops her pipe, in growth of riper days.
Not that the summer is less pleasant now,
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night :
But that wild music burthens every bough;

And sweets grown common, lose their dear delight. Therefore, like her, I some time hold my tongue; Because I would not dull you with my Song!

THE forward Violet thus did I chide, [smells, 'Sweet thief! whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 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 condemnèd 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 robb'ry 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; yet I none could see,
But, sweet, or colour, it had stolen from thee!

HARK! Hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings!

And PHOEBUS 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs;

On chaliced flowers that lies.

And winking mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty is! My Lady sweet, arise! Arise! arise!

How should I, your True Love know
From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff;
And his sendall shoon.

He is dead and gone, Lady!
He is dead and gone!
At his head, a grass-green turf;
At his heels, a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,
Larded with all sweet flowers;
Which bewept, to the ground did not go
With[out] true-love showers.

JOG on! jog on the foot-path way;
And merrily hent the stile a!
A merry heart goes all the day;
Your sad, tires in a mile a!

WHO is SILVIA? What is she,

That all our Swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she!

The heaven, such grace did lend her; That she might admirèd be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness!
LOVE doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there!
Then to SILVIA, let us sing,
'That SILVIA is excelling!'
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling!
To her, let us garlands bring!

THE FAIRIES' SONG:

You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ! Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong! Come not near our Fairy Queen!

PHILOMEL, with melody,

Sing, in [y]our sweet lullaby,

Lulla, lulla, lullaby! Lulla, lulla, lullaby! Never harm,

Nor spell, nor charm,

Come our lovely Lady nigh!
So, good night! with lullaby.'

IST FAIRY. Weaving spiders, come not here!
Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near!

Worm, nor snail, do no offence!
PHILOMEL, with melody, &c.

2ND FAIRY. Hence, away! Now, all is well! One aloof, stand sentinel!

SIGH no more, Ladies! sigh no more!
Men were deceivers ever!

One foot in sea, and one on shore;
To one thing constant never!
Then, sigh not so!

But let them go;

And be you blithe and bonny!
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny!'

6

Sing no more Ditties! Sing no mo,
Of dumps so dull and heavy!

The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy!
Then, sigh not so! &c.

THAT time of year, thou mayst in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold; Bare ruined Quires! where, late, the sweet birds sang. In me, thou seest the twilight of such day

As, after sunset, fadeth in the West; Which, by-and-by, black Night 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 death-bed whereon it must expire; Consumed with that, which it was nourished by. This, thou perceiv'st! which makes thy love more strong

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

Nor marble, nor the gilded monument

Of Princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme! But you shall shine more bright in these contents, Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish Time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn;

And broils root out the work of masonry;

Nor MARS his sword, nor war's quick fire, shall burn The living record of your memory!

'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity;

Shall you pace forth! Your praise shall still find room! Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out, to the ending Doom. So till the Judgement that yourself arise,

You live in this; and dwell in Lovers' eyes!