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TO HIS LOVE.

175

TO HIS LOVE.

WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring;
And for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
W. Shakespeare.

176 THE LOVER UNBELOVED LAMENTS BY NIGHT.

THE LOVER UNBELOVED LAMENTS BY NIGHT.

ALAS! So all things now do hold their peace!
Heaven and earth disturbed in no thing;

The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease;
The nightès car the stars about doth bring.
Calm is the sea; the waves work less and less:
So am not I, whom love, alas! doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing,
In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease.

For my sweet thoughts sometime do pleasure bring;
But by and by, the cause of my disease
Gives me a pang, that inwardly doth sting
When that I think what grief it is again

To live, and lack the thing should rid my pain.

H. Howard (Earl of Surrey).

LOVE'S SHADOW.

177

LOVE'S SHADOW.

FROM you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything;
That heavy Saturn laughed and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer's story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose:
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you, pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
W. Shakespeare.

12

Elder Poets.

178

LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.

LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,

And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,

Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.

Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, aş humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,

And look upon you with ten thousand eyes

Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.

Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,

Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.

Joshua Sylvestre.

TRUTH THE SOUL OF BEAUTY.

179

TRUTH THE SOUL OF BEAUTY.

O HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament that truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly

When summer's breath their maskèd buds discloses;
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so:
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

W. Shakespeare.

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