CUPID'S SENTENCE.

WHO likes to love, let him take heed,
And wot you why?

Among the Gods it is decreed,

That Love shall die;

And every wight that takes his part,
Shall forfeit each a mourning heart.

The cause of this as I have heard,
A sort of dames,

Whose beauty he did not regard,
Nor secret flames,

Complain'd before the Gods above,
That Gold corrupts the God of Love.

The Gods did storm to hear this news,

And there they swore,

That sith he did such dames abuse

He should no more

Be God of Love, but that he should
Both die and forfeit all his gold.

Who should them keep, and they be bound

That love for gold should not be found.

BYRD'S SONGS.

These ladies striving long, at last
They did agree

To give them to a maiden chast,

Whom I did see;

Who with the same did pierce my breast:
Her beauty's rare, and so I rest.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

My mind to me a kingdom is,

L

Such perfect joy therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That God or nature hath assign'd:

Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely port, nor wealthy store,
No force to win a victory,
No wilie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despise them all.

I see that plenty surfeits oft,
And hasty climbers soonest fall;
I see that such as are aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all;
These get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind can never bear.

7

I press to bear no haughty sway,
I wish no more than may suffice,
I do no more than well I may,

Look what I want, my mind supplies;
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
My mind's content with any thing.

I laugh not at another's loss,
Nor grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss,
I brook that is another's bane;
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend,
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,
And conscience clear my chief defence,
I never seek by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence;

Thus do I live, thus will I die,
Would all do so as well as I!

WHERE FANCY FOND.

WHERE fancy fond for pleasure pleads,
And reason keeps poor hope in jail,

There time it is to take my beads,
And pray that beauty may prevail;
Or else despair will win the field
Where reason, hope, and pleasure yield.

BYRD'S SONGS.

My eyes presume to judge this case,
Whose judgment reason doth disdain,
But beauty with her wanton face,

Stands to defend the case, is plain;
And at the bar of sweet delight,
She pleads that fancy must be right.

But shame will not have reason yield,
Though grief do swear it shall be so,
As though it were a perfect shield

To blush and fear to tell my woe,
Where silence forces will at last
To wish for wit, when hope is past.

So far hath fond desire outrun

The bond which reason set out first,
That where delight the fray begun,

I would now say, if that I durst,
That in her stead ten thousand woes
Have sprung in field where pleasure grows.

Oh that I might declare the rest

Of all the toys which fancy turns, Like towers of wind within my breast Where fire is hid, that never burns; Then should I try one of the twain, Either to love, or to disdain.

But fine conceit dares not declare

The strange conflict of hope and fear, Lest reason should be left so bare

That love durst whisper in mine ear,

9

And tell me how my fancy shall
Bring reason to be beauty's thrall.

I must therefore with silence build
The labyrinth of my delight,
Till love hath tried in open field
Which of the twain shall win the fight;
I fear me reason must give place,
If fancy fond win beauty's grace.

IF WOMEN COULD BE FAIR.

IF women could be fair and never fond,
Or that their beauty might continue still,
I would not marvel though they made men bond
By service long to purchase their good will;
But when I see how frail these creatures are,
I laugh that men forget themselves so far.

To mark what choice they make, and how they change,
How, leaving best, the worst they choose out still,
And how, like haggards, wild about they range,

Scorning after reason to follow will;

Who would not shake such buzzards from the fist,
And let them fly, fair fools, what way they list?

Yet for our sport, we fawn and flatter both,

To pass the time when nothing else can please,
And train them on to yield by subtle oath,

The sweet content that gives such humour ease;
And then we say, when we their follies try,
To play with fools, oh, what a fool was I!