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A strange passion of a lover.
I LAUGH sometimes with little lust;
So jest I oft, and feel no joy;
And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.
Then like the lark, that past the night
In heavy sleep with cares opprest, Yet, when she spies the pleasant light,
She sends sweet notes from out her breast, So sing I now, because I think How joys approach when sorrows shrink.
And as fair Philomene again
Can watch and sing when other sleep,
To 'wray the wo that makes her weep,
The which to thee, dear wench, I write,
That know'st my mirth, but not my moan; I pray God grant thee deep delight,
To live in joys when I am gone.
The lullaby of a lover.
Sing lullaby, as women do,
Wherewith they bring their babes to rest ; And lullaby can I sing too,
As womanly as can the best. With lullaby they still the child ; And, if I be not much beguild, Full many wanton babes have I, Which must be still’d with lullaby.
First lullaby my youthful years !
It is now time to go to bed :
Have won the haven within my head.
Next, lullaby my gazing eyes,
Which wonted were to glance apace; For every glass may now suffice To shew the furrows in my
face. With lullaby then wink awhile; With lullaby your looks beguile; Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, Entice you eft with vain delight.
And lullaby, my wanton will !
Let reason's rule now rein thy thought, Since all too late I find by skill
How dear I have thy fancies bought; With lullaby now take thine ease, With lullaby thy doubts appease ; For, trust to this, if thou be still, My body shall obey thy will.
Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes,
My will, my ware, and all that was ! I can no mo delays devise ;
But, welcome pain, let pleasure pass. With lullaby now take your leave, With lullaby your dreams deceive, And, when you rise with waking eye, Remember then this lullaby. · Ed. 1572, “ Gascoigne's."
THE DOLE OF DISDAIN.
Written by a Lover disdainfully rejected, contrary
to former promise.
I must alledge, and thou canst tell
How faithfully I vow'd to serve:
And how thou saidst I did deserve
And canst thou now, thou cruel one,
Condemn desert to deep despair?
Is faith so fled into the air?
If Cresside's name were not so known,
And written wide on every wall;
Upon Angelica withall;