SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound

As doth a king upon his beds of down;
More sounder too;
For cares cause kings full oft their sleep
to spill,

Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do

gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe

As doth the king at every tide or sithe;
And blither too;
For kings have wars and broils to take
in hand,

Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires do gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Old Menalcas, on a day,
As in field this shepherd lay,
Tuning of his oaten pipe,
Which he hit with many a stripe,
Said to Corydon that he

Once was young and full of glee.
66 'Blithe and wanton was I then:
Such desires follow men.

As I lay and kept my sheep,
Came the God that hateth sleep,
Clad in armour all of fire,

Hand in hand with queen Desire,

And with a dart that wounded nigh,
Pierced my heart as I did lie;
That when I woke I 'gan swear
Phyllis beauty's palm did bear.
Up I start, forth went I,

With her face to feed mine eye;

There I saw Desire sit,

That my heart with love had hit, Laying forth bright beauty's hooks To entrap my gazing looks.

THE PALMER'S ODE

Love I did, and 'gan to woo,
Pray and sigh; all would not do:
Women, when they take the toy,
Covet to be counted coy.

Coy she was, and I 'gan court;
She thought love was but a sport;
Profound hell was in my thought;
Such a pain Desire had wrought,
That I sued with sighs and tears;
Still ingrate she stopped her ears,
Till my youth I had spent.
Last a passion of repent
Told me flat, that Desire

Was a brand of love's fire,
Which consumeth men in thrall,
Virtue, youth, wit, and all.
At this saw, back I start,
Beat Desire from my heart,

Shook off Love, and made an oath
To be enemy to both.

Old I was when thus I fled

Such fond toys as cloyed my head, But this I learned at Virtue's gate, The way to good is never late.”

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;

The quiet mind is richer than a crown; Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent;

The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown;

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest,

The cottage that affords no pride nor

care,

The mean that 'grees with country music best,

The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare,

Obscured life sets down a type of bliss;
A mind content both crown and kingdom

is.

Francis Bacon, Lord
Verulam

The World

The world's a bubble and the life of man Less than a span;

In his conception wretched, from the womb,

So to the tomb;

Curst from his cradle, and brought up to

years

With cares and fears.

Who then to frail mortality shall trust But limns on water, or but writes in dust.

Yet, whilst with sorrow here we live oppressed,