The gods that saw the good
That mortals did approve,
With kind and holy mood,
Began to talk of Love.

'Down a down!"

Thus Phyllis sung,

By fancy once distressed:
"Whoso by foolish love are stung,
Are worthily oppressed.
And so sing I, with a down, a down.

But during this accord,
A wonder strange to hear;
Whilst Love in deed and word
Most faithful did appear,
False Semblance came in place,
By Jealousy attended,

And with a double face

Both Love and Fancy blended.
Which makes the gods forsake,
And men from fancy fly,
And maidens scorn a make,
Forsooth and so will I.

And so sing I, with down, a down, a down a.'

T. Lodge

187.

I

Love's Deity

LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the god of love was born:
I cannot think that he, that then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produced a destiny,
And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,

I must love her that loves not me.

Sure they which made him god meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practised it;
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives; correspondency
Only his subject was; it cannot be
Love, if I love who loves not me.

But every modern god will now extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove;
To rage, to lust, to write too, to commend;
All is the purlieu of the god of love.
O were we wakened by his tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her that loves not me.

Rebel and atheist, too, why murmur I,

As though I felt the worst that love could do?
Love may make me leave loving, or might try
A deeper plague, to make her love me too,
Which, since she loves before, I am loath to see;
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,
If she whom I love should love me.'

7. Donne

188.

A True Love

HAT sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we

WHAT

see,

What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me!

As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed

As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed

As mellow pears above the crabs esteemèd be

So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!

The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,
The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,
Or I my love let slip out of mine entire heart,

So deep reposed in my breast is she for her desart!
For many blessèd gifts, O happy, happy land!

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand!

Yet, land, more is thy bliss that, in this cruel age,

A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and

so sage.

Among the Muses Nine a tenth if Jove would make, And to the Graces Three a fourth, her would Apollo take.

Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold: With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told. N. Grimald

189.

L

A Rondel of Love

O, quhat it is to love
Learn ye that list to prove,

By me,

I say, that no ways may
The ground of grief remove,

But still decay both nicht and day:
Lo, quhat it is to love!

Love is ane fervent fire
Kindlit without desire,
Short pleasure, long displeasure,
Repentance is the hire;

Ane pure tressour without measour;

Love is ane fervent fire.

To love and to be wise,

To rage with good advice;

Now thus, now than, so gois the game,

Incertain is the dice;

There is no man, I say, that can

Both love and to be wise.

Flee always from the snare,
Learn at me to beware;

It is ane pain, and double trane
Of endless woe and care;
For to refrain that danger plain
Flee always from the snare.

A. Scott

190.

Love's Immortality

CROWNED with flowers I saw fair Amaryliss

By Thyrsis sit, hard by a fount of crystal;

And with her hand, more white than snow or lilies, On sand she wrote, 'My faith shall be immortal:' And suddenly a storm of wind and weather

Blew all her faith and sand away together.

Anon.

191.

Comfort

WHEN, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my. outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possest,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on Thee: and then my state,
Like to the Lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.
W. Shakespeare