In parcels, as I did, would have gone near I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him : For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black; SHAKESPEARE. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pined If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Think what with them they would do Great, or good, or kind, or fair, For if she be not for me, LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COMPLAIN. LET not woman e'er complain Of inconstancy in love; Let not woman e'er complain Fickle man is apt to rove; Look abroad through Nature's range, Nature's mighty law is change; Ladies, would it not be strange Man should then a monster prove? Mark the winds, and mark the skies; Sun and moon but set to rise, LOVE in my bosom like a bee, Now with his wings he plays with me, Within mine eyes he makes his nest, Ah! wanton, will you? And if I sleep, then pierceth he And makes his pillow of my knee, Strike I the lute, he tunes the string, Else I with roses every day Will whip you hence, And bind you when you long to play, Two pilgrims from the distant plain Thick curling round his face so fair; But speaks no word by night or day. Where'er the old man treads, the grass Fast fadeth with a certain doom; But where the beauteous boy doth pass Unnumbered flowers are seen to bloom. And thus before the sage, the boy Trips lightly o'er the blooming lands, And proudly bears a pretty toy, A crystal glass with diamond sands. And now they leap the streamlet o'er, "And thus together on we go, Where'er I chance or wish to lead; We must to other regions pass; "How quick or slow the bright sands fall Is hid from lovers' eyes alone, If you can see them move at all, Be sure your heart has colder grown. "T is coldness makes the glass grow dry, The icy hand, the freezing brow; But warm the heart and breathe the sigh, And then they'll pass you know not how." |