117.

But see how patient I am grown
In all this coil about thee:

Come, nice thing, let my heart alone,

I cannot live without thee!

The Parting

INCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part

SINCE

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,

-Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

118.

Sirena

NEAR to the silver Trent

SIRENA dwelleth;

She to whom Nature lent

All that excelleth;
By which the Muses late

And the neat Graces
Have for their greater state

Taken their places;
Twisting an anadem

Wherewith to crown her,

As it belong'd to them

Most to renown her.
On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her, And with their music

Along let them bring her.

Tagus and Pactolus

Are to thee debtor,

Nor for their gold to us
Are they the better:
Henceforth of all the rest
Be thou the River
Which, as the daintiest,
Puts them down ever.

For as my precious one
O'er thee doth travel,

She to pearl paragon
Turneth thy gravel.

On thy bank...

Our mournful Philomel,

That rarest tuner, Henceforth in Aperil

Shall wake the sooner,

And to her shall complain
From the thick cover,
Redoubling every strain
Over and over:

For when my Love too long

Her chamber keepeth,

As though it suffer'd wrong,
The Morning weepeth.

On thy bank..

Oft have I seen the Sun,
To do her honour,
Fix himself at his noon
To look upon her;
And hath gilt every grove,

Every hill near her,
With his flames from above

Striving to cheer her:

And when she from his sight

Hath herself turned,

He, as it had been night,

In clouds hath mournèd.
On thy bank

The verdant meads are seen,
When she doth view them,
In fresh and gallant green
Straight to renew them;
And every little grass

Broad itself spreadeth,
Proud that this bonny lass

Upon it treadeth :

Nor flower is so sweet

In this large cincture,

But it upon her feet

Leaveth some tincture.

On thy bank...

The fishes in the flood,

When she doth angle, For the hook strive a-good

Them to entangle; And leaping on the land,

From the clear water,

Their scales upon the sand
Lavishly scatter;

Therewith to pave the mould
Whereon she passes,

So herself to behold

As in her glasses.

On thy bank..

When she looks out by night,
The stars stand gazing,
Like comets to our sight
Fearfully blazing;

As wond'ring at her eyes
With their much brightness,
Which so amaze the skies,
Dimming their lightness.
The raging tempests are calm
When she speaketh,

Such most delightsome balm
From her lips breaketh.
On thy bank

In all our Brittany

There's not a fairer, Nor can you fit any

Should you compare her. Angels her eyelids keep,

All hearts surprising ; Which look whilst she doth sleep

Like the sun's rising:

She alone of her kind

Knoweth true measure,

And her unmatched mind

Is heaven's treasure.

On thy bank

Fair Dove and Darwen clear,
Boast ye your beauties,
To Trent your mistress here
Yet pay your duties:
My Love was higher born
Tow'rds the full fountains,
Yet she doth moorland scorn

And the Peak mountains;
Nor would she none should dream
Where she abideth,
Humble as is the stream

Which by her slideth.
On thy bank

Yet my poor rustic Muse
Nothing can move her,
Nor the means I can use,
Though her true lover:
Many a long winter's night
Have I waked for her,
Yet this my piteous plight
Nothing can stir her.
All thy sands, silver Trent,
Down to the Humber,
The sighs that I have spent
Never can number.
On thy bank,

In a rank,

Let thy swans sing her, And with their music

Along let them bring her.