38.

To His Lute

Y lute, awake! perform the last

MY

Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is said and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,

My song may pierce her heart as soon:
Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan?
No, no, my lute! for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,

As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy:

Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That makest but game of earnest pain:
Trow not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lover's plain,
Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lie wither'd and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon:
Thy wishes then dare not be told:

Care then who list! for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou has lost and spent

To cause thy lover's sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,

And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute! this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun :
Now is this song both sung and past—
My lute be still, for I have done.

39.

HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY

Description of Spring

Wherein each thing renews, save only the Lover

THE

1516-47

HE soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale: The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete with new repairèd scale.

39. make] mate.

The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.

And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

40. Complaint of the Absence of Her Lover being upon the Sea

O

HAPPY dames! that may embrace
The fruit of your delight,

Help to bewail the woful case

And eke the heavy plight
Of me, that wonted to rejoice

The fortune of my pleasant choice:

Good ladies, help to fill my mourning voice.

In ship, freight with rememberance
Of thoughts and pleasures past,
He sails that hath in governance
My life while it will last:
With scalding sighs, for lack of gale,
Furthering his hope, that is his sail,
Toward me, the swete port of his avail.

Alas! how oft in dreams I see

Those eyes that were my food;
Which sometime so delighted me,
That yet they do me good:

39. mings] mingles, mixes.

41.

Wherewith I wake with his return

Whose absent flame did make me burn:

But when I find the lack, Lord! how I mourn!

When other lovers in arms across

Rejoice their chief delight,
Drowned in tears, to mourn my loss

I stand the bitter night

In my window where I may see

Before the winds how the clouds flee:
Lo! what a mariner love hath made me!

And in green waves when the salt flood
Doth rise by rage of wind,

A thousand fancies in that mood
Assail my restless mind.

Alas! now drencheth my sweet foe,
That with the spoil of my heart did go,
And left me; but alas! why did he so?

And when the seas wax calm again
To chase fro me annoy,

My doubtful hope doth cause me plain;
So dread cuts off my joy.

Thus is my wealth mingled with woe

And of each thought a doubt doth grow;

-Now he comes! Will he come? Alas! no, no.

The Means to attain Happy Life
MARTIAL, the things that do attain

The happy life be these, I find:

The richesse left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground, the quiet mind;

40. drencheth] i.e. is drenched or drowned.

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance;

The mean diet, no delicate fare;
True wisdom join'd with simpleness;
The night dischargèd of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress.

The faithful wife, without debate ;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night:
Contented with thine own estate
Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is

to me!

As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed—

As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed—

As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be―

So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!

The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,

The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,

42. fray] affright.