Methought I walked still to and fro,
And from her company I could not go
But when I waked it was not so:

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

Therefore my hart is surely pyght
Of her alone to have a sight

Which is my joy and hartes delight:

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

R. Wever

150. Come Hither, You That Love COME hither, you that love, and hear me sing

Of joys still growing,

Green, fresh, and lusty as the pride of spring,
And ever blowing.

Come hither, youths that blush, and dare not know
What is desire;

And old men, worse than you, that cannot blow
One spark of fire;

And with the power of my enchanting song,
Boys shall be able men, and old men young.

Come hither, you that hope, and you that cry;
Leave off complaining;

Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never die,
Are here remaining.

151.

Come hither, fools, and blush you stay so long
From being blest;

And mad men, worse than you, that suffer wrong,
Yet seek no rest;

And in an hour, with my enchanting song,

You shall be ever pleased, and young

A Nymph's Passion

ILOVE, and he loves me again,

Yet dare I not tell who;

maids long.

J. Fletcher

For if the nymphs should know my swain,
I fear they'd love him too;

Yet if he be not known,

The pleasure is as good as none,
For that's a narrow joy is but our own.

I'll tell, that if they be not glad,

They may not envy me;
But then if I grow jealous mad
And of them pitied be,

It were a plague 'bove scorn;
And yet it cannot be forborne

Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn.

He is, if they can find him, fair
And fresh, and fragrant too,
As summer's sky or purged air,
And looks as lilies do

That are this morning blown:

Yet, yet I doubt he is not known,

And fear much more that more of him be shown.

152.

But he hath eyes so round and bright,
As make away my doubt,

Where Love may all his torches light,
Though Hate had put them out;
But then t' increase my fears

What nymph soe'er his voice but hears
Will be my rival, though she have but ears.

I'll tell no more, and yet I love,
And he loves me; yet no
One unbecoming thought doth move
From either heart I know;

But so exempt from blame

As it would be to each a fame,
If love or fear would let me tell his

WHEN

A Madrigal

name.

B. Jonson

WHEN in her face mine eyes I fix,
A fearful boldness takes my mind,
Sweet honey Love with gall doth mix,
And is unkindly kind:

It seems to breed,

And is indeed

A special pleasure to be pined.
No danger then I dread:

For though I went a thousand times to Styx,
I know she can revive me with her eye

As many looks, as many lives to me:

And yet had I a thousand hearts,

As many looks, as many darts,
Might make them all to die.
W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling

153.

A Welcome

WELCOME! welcome! do I sing,

Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never
Shall enjoy a spring for ever.

He to whom your soft lip yields,

And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odours of the fields

Never, never shall be missing.

Welcome, welcome, . .

He that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,

And a brief of that behold.
Welcome, welcome,

W. Browne

154.

Phillis and Corydon

PHILLIS kept sheep along the western plains,
And Corydon did feed his flocks hard by:

This shepherd was the flower of all the swains
That traced the downs of fruitful Thessaly;
And Phillis, that did far her flocks surpass
In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass.

A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire,
Was lovely Phillis, Corydon swore so;
Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire,
He left his lambs, and he began to woo;
He looked, he sighed, he courted with a kiss,
No better could the silly swad than this.

He little knew to paint a tale of love,

Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say: Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove What uncouth grief poor Corydon did pay; She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care.