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THERE is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy,
No chemic art can counterfeit;
It makes men rich in greatest poverty,
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ;
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
That much in little--all in nought-Content.
Say, dear, will you not have me?
Then take the kiss you gave me;
You elsewhere would, perhaps, bestow it,
And I would be as loth to owe it ;
Or if you will not take the thing once given,
Let me kiss you, and then we shall be even.
So light is love, in matchless beauty shining,
When she visits Cyprus' hallowed bowers,
Two feeble doves, harnessed in silken twining,
Can draw her chariot 'mid the Paphian flowers :
Lightness to love how ill it fitteth,
So heavy on my heart she sitteth.
With angel's face and brightness, And orient hue fair shining, with nimble foot she tripped O'er hills and mountains, till at last in dale she rested ; This is the maiden Queen of the Fairy-land,
With sceptre in her hand!
The fairies and satyrs dancing, did show their nimble lightness;
Fair Nais and the nymphs did leave their bowers,
And brought their baskets full of herbs and flowers.
Then sang the shepherds and nymphs of Diana,
Long live, long live, fair Oriana.
FAIR Oriana, in the morn,
Before the day was born,
With velvet steps on ground
Which made nor print nor sound,
Would see her nymphs abed,
What lives those ladies led ;
The roses blushing said,
"O, stay, thou shepherd maid ;'
And, on a sudden, all
They rose and hcard her call.
Then sang those shepherds and nymphs of Diana,
"Long live fair Oriana, long live fair Oriana."
Give me my heart, and I will go;
Or else forsake your wonted no,
No, no, no—no, no, no.
But since my dear doth doubt me,
With no, no, no, I mean to flout thee ;
No, no, no
Now there is hope we shall agree,
Since double no imparteth yea;
If that be so, my dearest,
With no, no, no, my heart thou cheerest.
Cold winter ice is fled and gone,
And summer brags on every tree;
The red-breast peeps among the throng
Of wood-brown birds that wanton be ;
Each one forgets what they have been,
And so does Phyllis—Summer's Queen.
EVERY singing bird that in the wood rejoices,
Come and assist me with your charming voices;
Zephyrus come too, and make the leaves and fountains
Gently to send a whispering sound unto the mountains,
And from thence pleasant Echo, sweetly replying,
Stay here playing where my Phyllis now is lying ;
And lovely graces, with wanton satyrs come and play,
Dancing and singing, a hornpipe or a roundelay.
HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee!
No Will-o'-th'-wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee.
But to show thee how in part
Thou my pretty captive art?
But thy bond-slave is my heart;
'Tis but silk that bindeth thee,
Snap the thread, and thou art free.
But 'tis otherwise with me;
I am bound, and fast bound, so
That I cannot from thee go;
If I could, I would not so.
He that will not love, must be
My scholar, and learn this of me:
There be in love as many fears,
As the summer's corn hath ears;
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows more
Than the sand that makes the shore;
Freezing cold, and fiery heats,
Fainting swoons and deadly sweats;
Now an ague, then a fever,
Both tormenting lovers ever.
Wouldst thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please?
How cross, how sullen, and how soon
She shifts and changes like the moon;
How false, how hollow she's in heart,
And how she is her own least part;
How high she's prized, and worth but small;
Little thou ’lt love, or not at all.