#English #XVICentury #XVIICentury
IT was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey… That o’er the green corn-field did… In the spring time, the only pr… When birds do sing, hey ding a din…
Some glory in their birth, some in… Some in their wealth, some in thei… Some in their garments, though new… Some in their hawks and hounds, so… And every humour hath his adjunct…
Tired with all these, for restful… As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jolli… And purest faith unhappily forswor… And gilded honour shamefully mispl…
Music to hear, why hear’st thou mu… Sweets with sweets war not, joy de… Why lov’st thou that which thou re… Or else receiv’st with pleasure th… If the true concord of well-tunèd…
Against that time, if ever that ti… When I shall see thee frown on my… When as thy love hath cast his utm… Called to that audit by advised re… Against that time when thou shalt…
In loving thee thou know’st I am… But thou art twice forsworn to me… In act thy bed-vow broke and new f… In vowing new hate after new love… But why of two oaths’ breach do I…
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven’s… Â Â Â And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those sprin… Â Â Â On chaliced flowers that lie… And winking Mary-buds begin
To me, fair friend, you never can… For as you were when first your ey… Such seems your beauty still. Thr… Have from the forests shook three… Three beauteous springs to yellow…
Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves, when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely p… They have their exits and their en… And one man in his time plays many… His acts being seven ages. At fir…
Those parts of thee that the world… Want nothing that the thought of h… All tongues, the voice of souls, g… Utt’ring bare truth, even so as fo… Thy outward thus with outward prai…
But wherefore do not you a mightie… Make war upon this bloody tyrant,… And fortify your self in your deca… With means more blessèd than my ba… Now stand you on the top of happy…
O, from what power hast thou this… With insufficiency my heart to swa… To make me give the lie to my true… And swear that brightness doth not… Whence hast thou this becoming of…
Were’t aught to me I bore the can… With my extern the outward honouri… Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste… Have I not seen dwellers on form…
Whilst I alone did call upon thy… My verse alone had all thy gentle… But now my gracious numbers are de… And my sick Muse doth give an oth… I grant, sweet love, thy lovely ar…