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THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.
COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks; By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight, each May morning: If these delights, thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
THE NYMPH's REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE
IF that the world and love were young,
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
And all complain of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
But could youth last and love still breed,
THE SOUL's ERRAND.
Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand,
Fear not to touch the best,
Go, tell the court it glows,
Tell potentates, they live
Not strong but by their factions.
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
Tell them that brave it most,
Who in their greatest cost,
Tell zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell love it is but lust,
Tell age it daily wasteth,
Tell wit how much it wrangles
Tell physic of her boldness,
Tell skill it is pretension,
Tell charity of coldness,
Tell fortune of her blindness,
And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming.
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it's fled the city, «VBL!?
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as
Commanded thee, done blabbing; Although, to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing;
PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams; The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb: So, when affections yield discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come. They that are rich in words must needs discover, They are but poor in that which makes a lover. i Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart
Who sues for no compassion.
The conquest of thy beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,
Than venture the revealing:
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing amputee