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Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be

Prepared each day for thee and me.

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.

Christopher Marlowe.

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IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields,
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,

Thy coral clasps and amber studs,--
All those in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.

What should we talk of dainties then,
Of better meat than's fit for men?
These are but vain; that's only good
Which God hath blessed and sent for food.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need ;

Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.

Sir Walter Raleigh.




O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true love's coming
That can sing both high and low;

Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting-

Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 't is not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure.

In delay there lies no plenty,-
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

William Shakespeare.




PHYLLIS! why should we delay
Pleasures shorter than the day?
Could we (which we never can!)
Stretch our lives beyond their span,

Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies.
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love hath wings, and will away:
Love hath swifter wings than time;
Change in love to heaven does climb:
Gods, that never change their state,
Vary oft their love and hate.

Phyllis! to this truth we owe
All the love betwixt us two:
Let not you and I inquire
What has been our past desire;
On what shepherd you have smiled,
Or what nymphs I have beguiled:
Leave it to the planets, too,
What we shall hereafter do :

For the joys we now may prove,

Take advice of present love.

Edmund Waller.




THE sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,

The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,

In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.

The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.

The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,
Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart,
And to the thicket wanders slow
The hind beside the hart.

The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song-

All meet whom day and care divide,

But Leonard tarries long!

Sir Walter Scott.




AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh;

Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade
Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To Beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o'er earth and sky,

And high and low the influence know

But where is County Guy?

Sir Walter Scott.



WHERE found Love his yesterday?
Where is Love's to-morrow?-say
Love has only now.

We can swear it, we who stand,
In Love's present, hand in hand,—
Thou and I, dear, I and thou.

By-and-by and Long-ago,

Last month's buds, next winter's snow,-
Love has only now.

Do we wot of rathe or sere

In Love's boundless summer year,
Thou and I, dear, I and thou?

Suns that rose and suns that set;
Gone for ever and Not yet-
Love has only now.

Do we count by dawn and night,
Dwelling in Love's perfect light,

Thou and I, dear, I and thou?

Augusta Webster.



IT was a lover and his lass

With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino!
That o'er the green cornfield did pass
In the spring time, the only pretty ringtime,
When birds do sing hey ding a ding:
Sweet lovers love the Spring.

Between the acres of the rye

These pretty country folks would lie :

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