The Golden Treasury. Various

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      Beauty sat bathing by a spring

       Where fairest shades did hide her;

       The winds blew calm, the birds did sing,

       The cool streams ran beside her.

       My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye

       To see what was forbidden:

       But better memory said, fie!

       So vain desire was chidden:—

       Hey nonny nonny O!

       Hey nonny nonny!

      Into a slumber then I fell,

       When fond imagination

       Seemed to see, but could not tell

       Her feature or her fashion.

       But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile,

       And sometimes fall a-weeping,

       So I awaked, as wise this while

       As when I fell a-sleeping:—-

       Hey nonny nonny O!

       Hey nonny nonny!

      The Shepherd Tonie

XXI

      A PICTURE

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      Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory,

       Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry:

       Out of thy golden quiver

       Take thou thy strongest arrow

       That will through bone and marrow,

       And me and thee of grief and fear deliver:—

       But come behind, for if she look upon thee,

       Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee!

      Anon.

XXII

      A SONG FOR MUSIC

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      Weep you no more, sad fountains:—

       What need you flow so fast?

       Look how the snowy mountains

       Heaven's sun doth gently waste!

       But my Sun's heavenly eyes

       View not your weeping,

       That now lies sleeping

       Softly, now softly lies,

       Sleeping.

      Sleep is a reconciling,

       A rest that peace begets:—

       Doth not the sun rise smiling,

       When fair at even he sets?

       —Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes!

       Melt not in weeping!

       While She lies sleeping

       Softly, now softly lies,

       Sleeping!

      Anon.

XXIII

      TO HIS LOVE

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      Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

       Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

       Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

       And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

      Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

       And often is his gold complexion dimm'd:

       And every fair from fair sometime declines,

       By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd.

      But thy eternal summer shall not fade

       Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

       Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,

       When in eternal lines to time thou growest:—

      So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

       So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

      W. Shakespeare

XXIV

      TO HIS LOVE

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      When in the chronicle of wasted time

       I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

       And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

       In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;

      Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best

       Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

       I see their antique pen would have exprest

       Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.

      So all their praises are but prophecies

       Of this our time, all, you prefiguring;

       And for they look'd but with divining eyes,

       They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

      For we, which now behold these present days,

       Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

      W. Shakespeare

XXV

      BASIA

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