Forsake me not till I deserve!
Nor hate me not till I offend!
Destroy me not till that I swerve,
But since ye know what I intend !
Disdain me not that am your own!
Refuse me not that am so true!
Mistrust me not till all be known!
Forsake me not, ne for no new!
Madam! Withouten many words,-
Once I am sure you will, or no :
And if you will, then leave your boordes
And use your wit and show it so !
For with a beck you shall me call;
And if of One that burns alway
Ye have pity or ruth at all,
Answer him fair with Yea or Nay!
If it be Yea, I shall be fain;
If it be Nay, friends as before,
You shall another man obtain,
And I, mine own, be yours no more.
COMPLAINING OF HER UNKINDNESS.
My Lute! awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun :
And when this song is sung and past,
My Lute! be still: for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon :
Should we then sigh, or sing, or moan?
No, no, my Lute! for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually
As She my suit and àffection,
So that I am past remedy:
Whereby my Lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts through Love his shot,
By whom, Unkind! thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his vow forgot,
Although my Lute and I have done!
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That makest but game on earnest pain :
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers' plain,
Although my Lute and I have done!
May chance thee lie, wither'd and old,
In winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the Moon :
Thy wishes then dare not be told.
Care then who list! for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon :
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent;
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my Lute! this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste;
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My Lute! be still, for I have done.
(EARL SURREY.) 1517-1547.
HIS LADY'S BEAUTY.
Give place, ye Lovers! here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain : My Lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayn,
Than doth the sun the candle-light
Or brightest day the darkest night.
And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelopè the fair :
For what she saith ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were.
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould,
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringing hands how she did cry;
And what she said: I know it, ay!
I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart : And this was chiefly all her pain,"She could not make the like again."
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she wrought,
In faith, methink, some better ways
On your behalf might well be sought
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.
Wherein each thing renews save only the Lover.
The sweet season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make hath told her tale,-
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes float with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flowers smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worne that was the flowers' bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY.
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;
In presence press'd of people, mad or wise;
Set me in high, or yet in low degree;
In longest night, or in the shortest day;
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be;
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are grey;
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell;
In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood;
Thrall or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
Sick or in health, in evil fame or good :
Hers will I be ; and only with this thought
Content myself, although my chance be nought.
THOMAS, LORD VAUX.
1511-1562.
OF A CONTENTED SPIRIT.
When all is done and said, in the end this shall you find :
He most of all doth bathe in bliss that hath a quiet mind;
And, clear from worldly cares, to dream can be content
The sweetest time in all this life in thinking to be spent.
The body subject is to fickle Fortune's power,
And to a million of mishaps is casual every hour;
And death in time doth change it to a clod of clay :
Whenas the mind, which is divine, runs never to decay.
Companion none is like unto the mind alone, [or none : For many have been harm'd by speech,—through thinking few, Fear oftentimes restraineth words, but makes not thoughts to
And he speaks best that hath the skill when for to hold his peace.
Our wealth leaves us at death, our kinsmen at the grave;
But virtues of the mind unto the heavens with us we have:
Wherefore, for Virtue's sake, I can be well content
The sweetest time of all my life to deem in thinking spent.
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me;
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed,
As morning bright with scarlet sky doth pass the evening's weed,
As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be,
So doth my Love surmount them all whom yet I hap to see.
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,
The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,
Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart :
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