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Kissing with golden face the meadows green,

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's Gilding pale streams with heavenly al

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chemy,

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Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack2 on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendor on my
brow;

ΤΟ

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Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

Whose action is no stronger than a flower? of the upper air.

2 broken masses of flying cloud.

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Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:

As, to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 5
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 10
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,1
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I

be gone,

Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

LXXI

No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:

Nay, if you read this line, remember not 5 The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

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If thinking on me then should make you Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

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Now let them drink till they nod and I laugh not at another's loss;

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My mind to me a kingdom is,

Such present joys therein I find That it excels all other bliss

That earth affords or grows by kind: Though much I want which most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely pomp, no wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,

No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to feed a loving eye;

To none of these I yield as thrall:
For why? My mind doth serve for all.

I see how plenty [surfeits] oft,

And hasty climbers soon do fall;

I see that those which are aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all; They get with toil, they keep with fear: Such cares my mind could never bear. Content to live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice; I press to bear no haughty sway;

Look, what I lack my mind supplies: Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.

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Some have too much, yet still do crave;25

I little have, and seek no more.

I grudge not at another's pain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;
My state at one doth still remain:
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their treasure is their only trust;

A cloaked craft their store of skill:
But all the pleasure that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;

My conscience clear my chief defence; I neither seek by bribes to please,

Nor by deceit to breed offence: Thus do I live; thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554–1586)

LOVE IS DEAD

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They are but poor, though much they Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,

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For Love is dead;

Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth My mistress' marble heart;

Which epitaph containeth,

2 frenzy.

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What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? 5
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates 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!
1 wagered.

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The fairest shepherd on our

green,

A love for any lady.

Fair and fair, and twice so fair,5

As fair as any may be;

Thy love is fair for thee alone,
And for no other lady.

EN. My love is fair, my love is gay,
As fresh as bin2 the flowers in

May,

And of my love my roundelay,

My merry, merry roundelay, Concludes with Cupid's curse,

ΙΟ

"They that do change old love for

new,

Pray gods they change for worse!" 15 AMBO SIMUL. They that do change, etc. EN. Fair and fair, etc.

PAR. Fair and fair, etc.

Thy love is fair, etc.

EN. My love can pipe, my love can

sing,

My love can1 many a pretty thing,
And of his lovely praises ring

My merry, merry roundelays,
Amen to Cupid's curse,-

"They that do change," etc. PAR. They that do change, etc. AMBO. Fair and fair, etc.

ROBERT GREENE (1560?-1592)

SWEET ARE THE THOUGHTS

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