Quhilk sunne perceaves the little larks,
The lapwing, and the snyp,
And tunes their sangs like Nature's clarks,
Ou'r midow, mure, and stryp. . . .
The gloming comes; the day is spent;
The sun goes out of sight,
And painted is the occident
With pourpour sanguine bright. .
What pleasour were to walke and see,
Endlang a river cleare,
The perfite forme of everie tree
Within the deepe appeare?
O then it were a seemely thing,
While all is still and calme,
The praise of God to play and sing
With cornet and with shalme. .
All labourers drawes hame at even,
And can till uther say,
"Thankes to the gracious God of heaven,
Quhilk send this summer day."
JOSHUA SYLVESTER
WERE I AS BASE AS IS THE LOWLY PLAIN
Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain,
Ascend to heaven in honour of my love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whatsoe'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you, like to the sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes,
Till heaven waxed blind and till the world were done.
Wheresoe'er I am-below or else above you,—
Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
AH, SWEET CONTENT
Ah, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode?
Is it with shepherds and light-hearted swains,
Which sing upon the downs and pipe abroad,
Tending their flocks and cattle on the plains?
Ah, sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest?
In heaven with angels which the praises sing
Of Him That made and rules at His behest
The minds and hearts of every living thing?
Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbor hold?
Is it in churches with religious men
Which please the gods with prayers manifold,
And in their studies meditate it then?
Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear,
Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbor here!
HERO AND LEANDER
On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,
In view and opposite, two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoined by Neptune's might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offered as a dower his burning throne,
Where she should sit, for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawn;
The lining, purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and bordered with a grove
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
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