And by sighs whilst that I tried her,
Oh mine eyes!

You did lose

Her first sight, whose want did pain you.

Phoebe's flocks
White as wool,

Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter.
Phoebe's eyes

Dove-like, mild,

Dove-like eyes, both mild and cruel;
Montan swears,

In your lamps

He will die for to delight her.
Phoebe, yield,

Or I die:

Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?

Turn I
my Looks

Turn I my looks unto the skies,

Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes;
If so I gaze upon the ground,

Love then in every flower is found;
Search I the shade to fly the pain,

He meets me in the shade again;
Wend I to walk in sacred grove,
Even there I meet with sacred Love;
If so I bain me in the spring,
Even on the bank I hear him sing;
If so I meditate alone,

He will be partner of my moan;
If so I mourn, he weeps with me,
And where I am there he will be.
Whenas I talk of Rosalind

The god from coyness waxeth kind,
And seems in self-same flames to fry
Because he loves as well as I.
Sweet Rosalind, for pity rue,

For why than Love I am more true:
He, if he speed, will quickly fly,

But in thy love I live and die.

late Choked

with Showers

The earth, late choked with showers,
Is now arrayed in green;
Her bosom springs with flowers,
The air dissolves her teen:
The heavens laugh at her glory,
Yet bide I sad and sorry.

The woods are decked with leaves,
And trees are clothed gay;
And Flora, crowned with sheaves,
With oaken boughs doth play: ·
Where I am clothed with black,
The token of my wrack.

The birds upon the trees

Do sing with pleasant voices,
And chant in their degrees

Their loves and lucky choices:
When I, whilst they are singing,

With sighs mine arms am wringing.

THE EARTH, LATE CHOKED

The thrushes seek the shade,
And I my fatal grave;

Their flight to heaven is made,
My walk on earth I have:
They free, I thrall; they jolly,
I sad and pensive wholly.

ด

Song

Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure,
Youthful lordings, of delight;
Whilst occasion gives you seizure,
Feed your fancies and your sight:
After death, when you are gone,
Joy and pleasure is there none.

Here on earth nothing is stable, Fortune's changes well are known; Whilst as youth doth then enable,

Let your seeds of joy be sown: After death, when you are gone, Joy and pleasure is there none.

Feast it freely with your lovers,
Blithe and wanton sports do fade,
Whilst that lovely Cupid hovers
Round about this lovely shade:

Sport it freely one to one,
After death is pleasure none.