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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!

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe Of dumps so dull and heavy! The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leafy: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny!


O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 't is not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

FROM MEASURE FOR MEASURE Take, O, take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again,

Bring again; Seals of love, but sealed in vain,

Sealed in vain!






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Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' th' great;
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The Scepter, Learning, Physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

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Thus with many a pretty oath,
Yea and nay, and faith and troth,
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse,
Love which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded;
And Phyllida, with garlands gay,
Was made the Lady of the May.



As it fell upon a day,

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a group of myrtles made,

Beasts did leap and birds did sing,

Trees did grow and plants did spring, Everything did banish moan,

Save the nightingale alone;

She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Leaned her breast against a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st dity,
That to hear it was great pity.
'Fie, fie, fie!' now would she cry;
'Teru, teru!' by-and-by.

That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.

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Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, None takes pity on thy pain.


Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion he is dead,

All thy friends are lapped in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing;
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.


Beauty sat bathing in a spring,


Where fairest shades did hide her;

The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,


The cool streams ran beside her.

My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye, To see what was forbidden,


But better memory said, fie:


So, vain desire was chidden.

He said, he had loved her long;
She said, love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss her then;
She said, maids must kiss no men,
Till they did for good and all;
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness truth:
Never loved a truer youth.


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This pleasant lily white,
this taint of roseate red,
This Cynthia's silver light,
This sweet fair Dea spread,

These sunbeams in mine eye,
These beauties make me die.



What pleasure have great princes
More dainty to their choice
Than herdmen wild, who careless
In quiet life rejoice?

And fortune's fate not fearing,
Sing sweet in summer morning.

Their dealings plain and rightful,
Are void of all deceit;

They never know how spiteful
It is to kneel and wait

On favorite presumptuous,

Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.

All day their flocks each tendeth,

At night they take their rest,

More quiet than who sendeth

His ship into the east,

Where gold and pearl are plenty,
But getting very dainty.

For lawyers and their pleading,
They 'steem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning,
Is of itself a law;

Where conscience judgeth plainly,
They spend no money vainly.
Oh, happy who thus liveth!

Not caring much for gold;
With clothing which sufficeth,

To keep him from the cold. Though poor and plain his diet, Yet merry it is and quiet.


A NYMPH'S DISDAIN OF LOVE 'Hey, down, a down!' did Dian sing, Amongst her virgins sitting; 'Than love there is no vainer thing,

For maidens most unfitting.'




The virgin's life was free.

'Hey, down, a down!' did Dian sing, etc.

At length men usèd charms,

To which what maids gave ear, Embracing gladly endless harms,

Anon enthralled were. Thus women welcomed woe,

Disguised in name of love, A jealous hell, painted show:

So shall they find that prove. 'Hey, down, a down!' did Dian sing, Amongst her virgins sitting;

'Than love there is no vainer thing, For maidens most unfitting.'

And so think I, with a down, down, derry. IGNOTO


Love in my bosom like a bee,

Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast;

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And so think I, with a down, down, derry.

When women knew no woe,

And yet he robs me of my rest.

Ah, wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he,

With pretty slight,

And makes his pillow of my knee,

The livelong night.





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Else I with roses every day

Will whip ye hence,


And bind ye, when ye long to play, For your offence.

I'll shut my eyes to keep ye in,

I'll make you fast it for your sin,
I'll count your power not worth a pin, 25
Alas! what hereby shall I win

If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be; Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee.

O Cupid! so thou pity me,

Spare not, but play thee.





Among the lyrics of the earlier part of the seventeenth century, one discerns, somewhat clearly, at least three poetical manners, which emanated, respectively, from Edmund Spenser, Ben Jonson, and John Donne. The sensuous beauty, playful imagery, and fluent melody of Spenser are clearly present in the poems of William Browne and George Wither. The fine finish, poise, and chastened sweetness of Jonson are a refining influence in the shorter lyrics of Robert Herrick, Thomas Carew, John Suckling, and Richard Lovelace. In John Donne, incisive and subtle thinking finds fantastic, and sometimes harsh, expression in far-fetched analogies, mystifying metaphors, and dimly suggestive images. The poetical apparatus of Donne, often, and his fancy, still more often, are essential in the passionate, soaring, and mystical outbursts of George Herbert, Richard Crashaw, and Henry Vaughan. tices, however, that Spenser, Jonson, and Donne did not exclusively dominate the poetical output of their conscious or unconscious disciples. One no

Toward the middle of the century appears a new influence in poetical form, the 'heroic,' or 'closed,' couplet, practiced by Edmund Waller, John Denham, Abraham Cowley, and Andrew Marvell. This verse-form, best adapted to epic and satire, had no important influence upon

lyric, except, indirectly, through repression.

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Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white,
For all those rosy ornaments in thee,—
Thou art not sweet, though made of mere

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