Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 19

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.

Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise.

Brave p.r.i.c.k-song! Who is't now we hear?

None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings.

Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!

Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!

Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!

Anthony Munday. 1553-1633

87. Beauty Bathing

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, And fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell, Her feature or her fas.h.i.+on: But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, And sometimes fall a-weeping, So I awaked as wise that while As when I fell a-sleeping.

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

88. The Bargain

MY true love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for another given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

89. Song

WHO hath his fancy pleased With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Nature's sweetest light; A light which doth dissever And yet unite the eyes, A light which, dying never, Is cause the looker dies.

She never dies, but lasteth In life of lover's heart; He ever dies that wasteth In love his chiefest part: Thus is her life still guarded In never-dying faith; Thus is his death rewarded, Since she lives in his death.

Look then, and die! The pleasure Doth answer well the pain: Small loss of mortal treasure, Who may immortal gain!

Immortal be her graces, Immortal is her mind; They, fit for heavenly places-- This, heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not, Nor sense that grace descries; Yet eyes deprived be not From sight of her fair eyes-- Which, as of inward glory They are the outward seal, So may they live still sorry, Which die not in that weal.

But who hath fancies pleased With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Nature's sweetest light!

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

90. Voices at the Window

Who is it that, this dark night, Underneath my window plaineth?

It is one who from thy sight Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth Every other vulgar light.

Why, alas, and are you he?

Be not yet those fancies changeed?

Dear, when you find change in me, Though from me you be estranged, Let my change to ruin be.

Well, in absence this will die: Leave to see, and leave to wonder.

Absence sure will help, if I Can learn how myself to sunder From what in my heart doth lie.

But time will these thoughts remove; Time doth work what no man knoweth.

Time doth as the subject prove: With time still the affection groweth In the faithful turtle-dove.

What if you new beauties see?

Will not they stir new affection?

I will think they pictures be (Image-like, of saints' perfection) Poorly counterfeiting thee.

But your reason's purest light Bids you leave such minds to nourish.

Dear, do reason no such spite!

Never doth thy beauty flourish More than in my reason's sight.

leave] cease.

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

91. Philomela

THE Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late-bare Earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making; And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth, For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing.

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness!

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

Alas! she hath no other cause of anguish But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken; Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, Full womanlike complains her will was broken But I, who, daily craving, Cannot have to content me, Have more cause to lament me, Since wanting is more woe than too much having.

O Philomela fair, O take some gladness That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness!

Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

92. The Highway

HIGHWAY, since you my chief Parna.s.sus be, And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet More oft than to a chamber-melody,-- Now blessed you bear onward blessed me To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet; My Muse and I must you of duty greet With thanks and wishes, wis.h.i.+ng thankfully; Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed; By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot; Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed; And that you know I envy you no lot Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss!

Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-86

93. This Lady's Cruelty

WITH how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies!