Say thou lov'st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures:
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth
As now, in my May of youth,
This my love assures.
Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life perséver;
Give me that, with true endeavor
I will it restore;
A suit of durance let it be
For all weathers; that for me,
For the land or for the sea,
Lasting evermore.
Winter's cold or Summer's heat,
Autumn's tempests on it beat,
It can never know defeat,
Never can rebel:
Such the love that I would gain,
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Thou must give, or woo in vain
Love Me Little, Love Me Long.
LOVE me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
Still I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward or too bold;
Love that lasteth till 'tis old
Fadeth not in haste.
If thou lovest me too much,
"Twill not prove as true as touch;
Love me little, more than such,
For I fear the end.
I'm with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be steadfast friend.
Shall I Tell?
SHALL I tell you whom I love?
Hearken then a while to me;
And if such a woman move
As I now shall versify,
Be assured 'tis she or none,
That I love, and love alone.
Nature did her so much right
As she scorns the help of art.
In as many virtues dight
As e'er yet embraced a heart. So much good so truly tried, Some for less were deified.
Wit she hath, without desire
To make known how much she hath;
And her anger flames no higher
Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Full of pity as may be,
Though perhaps not so to me.
Where to live near,
And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new ;
Where to gain a favor is
More than light, perpetual bliss,— Make me live by serving you!
Dear, again back recall
To this light
A stranger to himself and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the glory;
I am your servant, and your thrall.
DEAREST, do not delay me,
Since, thou knowest, I must be gone; Wind and tide, 'tis thought, do stay me; But 'tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian odors far excel.
IF love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Green pleasure or gray grief; If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf.
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are
That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune.
If you were life, my darling,
And I, your love, were death, We'd shine and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather With daffodil and starling,
And hours of fruitful breath;
If you were life, my darling,
And I, your love, were death.
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy,
We'd play for lives and seasons,
With loving looks and treasons,
And tears of night and morrow,
And laughs of maid and boy;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy.
If you were April's lady,
And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours, And draw for days with flowers,
In that enamelled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
"Tis true, said I; and thereupon,
I went to pluck them, one by one,
To make of parts an union;
But on a sudden all were gone.
At which I stopt; said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.
Every thing doth pass away;
There is danger in delay.
Come, come gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose.
All the sand of Tagus' shore
Into my bosom casts his ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne;
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings, as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of ladies send me,
In my chambers to attend me.
All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
Panglory's Wooing Song.
LOVE is the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows.
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love.
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak;
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Softened by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease;
He burns the fishes in the seas;
Not all the skill his wounds can stench;
Not all the sea his fire can quench.
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a heavy coat to wear;
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play:
And of all love's joyful flame,
I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See, see the flowers that below
Now as fresh as morning blow;
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows-
How they all unleavéd die,
Losing their virginity:
Like unto a summer-shade,
But now born, and now they fade.
LIKE the violet, which alone
Prospers in some happy shade,
My Castara lives unknown,
To no ruder eye betrayed;
For she's to herself untrue
Who delights i' the public view.
Such is her beauty as no arts
Have enriched with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood;
She is noblest being good.
Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant ;
Nor speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence, eloquent.
Of herself survey she takes,
But 'tween men no difference makes.
She obeys with speedy will
Her grave parents' wise commends;
And so innocent, that ill
She nor acts, nor understands. Women's feet run still astray If to ill they know the way.
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