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Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good :
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose in it thou art my all.
W. Shakespeare


To me, fair Friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed
Such seems your beauty still.

Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd In process of the season have I seen,

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred,-
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.
W. Shakespeare



Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly,
White as the sun, fair as the lily,
Heigh ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs
Are beloved of their dams;

How blest were I if thou would'st prove me.

Diaphenia like the spreading roses,
That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!

I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun's life-giving power;

For dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia like to all things blessed
When all thy praises are expressed,
Dear joy, how I do love thee!

As the birds do love the spring,
Or the bees their careful king:

Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
H. Constable



Like to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame colour is her hair
Whether unfolded, or in twines :
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink;
The Gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,

Or like the silver crimson shroud

That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace;
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline !

Her lips are like two budded roses
Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,

Within which bounds she balm encloses

Apt to entice a deity:

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her neck is like a stately tower
Where Love himself imprison'd lies,

To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes:
Heigh ho, for Rosaline!

Her paps are centres of delight,
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light
To feed perfection with the same :
Heigh ho, would she were mine!

With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue
Her body every way is fed,

Yet soft in touch and sweet in view :
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Nature herself her shape admires ;
The Gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light :
Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosaline,

Since for a fair there's fairer none,

Nor for her virtues so divine :

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline;

Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!


T. Lodge


Beauty sat bathing by a spring

Where fairest shades did hide her;
The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,
The cool streams ran beside her.
My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye
To see what was forbidden:

But better memory said, fie!

So vain desire was chidden :

Hey nonny nonny O!
Hey nonny nonny!

Into a slumber then I fell,
When fond imagination
Seemed to see, but could not tell
Her feature or her fashion.

But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile,
And sometimes fall a-weeping,
So I awaked, as wise this while
As when I fell a-sleeping :

Hey nonny nonny O!

Hey nonny nonny!

The Shepherd Tonie



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date :
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd:
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
W. Shakespeare



When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring;
And for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing :
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
W. Shakespeare



On a day, alack the day!
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air :

Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,

Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!

But, alack, my hand is sworn

Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;

Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me

That I am forsworn for thee:

Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear

Juno but an Ethiope were,
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

W. Shakespeare

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