57.

Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,

Age's breath is short;

Youth is nimble, Age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold,

Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee;

Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I do defy thee:

O, sweet shepherd, hie thee!

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

? by William Shakespeare

Phyllida's Love-Call

England's Helicon, 1600

Phyllida. CORYDON, arise, my Corydon!

shineth clear.

Corydon. Who is it that calleth Corydon?
Who is it that I hear?

Phyl. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee,
Arise then, arise then,

Arise and keep thy flock with me!

Cor. Phyllida, my true love, is it she?
I come then, I come then,

I come and keep my flock with thee.

Phyl. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon;
Eat them for my sake.

Cor. Here's my oaten pipe, my lovely one,
Sport for thee to make.

Phyl. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk,
To knit thee, to knit thee,

A pair of stockings white as milk.

Cor. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat,
To make thee, to make thee,

A bonnet to withstand the heat.

Phyl. I will gather flowers, my Corydon,
To set in thy cap.

Cor. I will gather pears, my lovely one,
To put in thy lap.

Phyl. I will buy my true love garters gay,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about his legs so tall.

Cor. I will buy my true love yellow say,
For Sundays, for Sundays,

To wear about her middle small.

Phyl. When my Corydon sits on a hill
Making melody—

Cor. When my lovely one goes to her wheel,
Singing cheerily-

Phyl. Sure methinks my true love doth excel
For sweetness, for sweetness,

Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight.
Cor. And methinks my true love bears the bell
For clearness, for clearness,

Beyond the nymphs that be so bright.

Phyl. Had my Corydon, my Corydon,
Been, alack! her swain-

Cor. Had my lovely one, my lovely one,
Been in Ida plain—

say] soie, silk.

58.

Phyl. Cynthia Endymion had refused,
Preferring, preferring,

My Corydon to play withal.

Cor. The Queen of Love had been excused
Bequeathing, bequeathing,

My Phyllida the golden ball.

Phyl. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon!
Whither shall I fly?

Cor. Under yonder beech, my lovely one,
While she passeth by.

Phyl. Say to her thy true love was not here;
Remember, remember,

To-morrow is another day.

Cor. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear;
Farewell then, farewell then!
Heaven keep our loves alway!

A Pedlar

John Dowland's Second Book of
Songs or Airs, 1600

INE knacks for ladies! cheap, choice, brave, and new,

FINE

Good pennyworths-but money cannot move:

I keep a fair but for the Fair to view

A beggar may be liberal of love.

Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,

The heart is true.

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again;
My trifles come as treasures from my mind:

It is a precious jewel to be plain;

Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find :

Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain!

:

Of me a grain !

59.

60.

Hey nonny no!

HEY nonny no!

Christ Church MS.

Men are fools that wish to die!

Is't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?

Is 't not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe,

And sing hey nonny no!

When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey nonny no!

Preparations

Christ Church MS.

YET if His Majesty, our sovereign lord,

Should of his own accord

Friendly himself invite,

And say 'I'll be your guest to-morrow night,' How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work! Let no man idle stand!

'Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall; See they be fitted all;

Let there be room to eat

And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
'Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dazie o'er the head,

The cushions in the chairs,

And all the candles lighted on the stairs?
Perfume the chambers, and in any case

Let each man give attendance in his place!'

61.

Thus, if a king were coming, would we do;
And 'twere good reason too;

For 'tis a duteous thing

To show all honour to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.

But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven;

We wallow in our sin,

Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain Him always like a stranger,

And, as at first, still lodge Him in the manger.

The New Jerusalem

Song of Mary the Mother of Christ (London: E. Allde), 1601

HIERUSALEM, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbour of the Saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell.
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,

But pleasure every way.

Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square;

Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare.