The Golden Treasury. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ freeze, thou bitter sky,

       Thou dost not bite so nigh

       As benefits forgot:

       Though thou the waters warp,

       Thy sting is not so sharp

       As friend remember'd not.

       Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:

       Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

       Then, heigh ho! the holly!

       This life is most jolly.

      W. Shakespeare

LVII

      A SWEET LULLABY

       Table of Contents

      Come little babe, come silly soul,

       Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,

       Born as I doubt to all our dole,

       And to thy self unhappy chief:

       Sing Lullaby and lap it warm,

       Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.

      Thou little think'st and less dost know,

       The cause of this thy mother's moan,

       Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,

       And I myself am all alone:

       Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail?

       And knowest not yet what thou dost ail.

      Come little wretch, ah silly heart,

       Mine only joy, what can I more?

       If there be any wrong thy smart

       That may the destinies implore:

       'Twas I, I say, against my will,

       I wail the time, but be thou still.

      And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face!

       Would God Himself He might thee see,

       No doubt thou would'st soon purchase grace,

       I know right well, for thee and me:

       But come to mother, babe, and play,

       For father false is fled away.

      Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance,

       Thy father home again to send,

       If death do strike me with his lance,

       Yet mayst thou me to him commend:

       If any ask thy mother's name,

       Tell how by love she purchased blame.

      Then will his gentle heart soon yield,

       I know him of a noble mind,

       Although a Lion in the field,

       A Lamb in town thou shalt him find: Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, His sugar'd words hath me betray'd.

      Then mayst thou joy and be right glad,

       Although in woe I seem to moan,

       Thy father is no rascal lad,

       A noble youth of blood and bone:

       His glancing looks, if he once smile,

       Right honest women may beguile.

      Come, little boy, and rock asleep,

       Sing lullaby and be thou still,

       I that can do nought else but weep;

       Will sit by thee and wail my fill:

       God bless my babe, and lullaby

       From this thy father's quality!

      Anon.

LVIII

       Table of Contents

      With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!

       How silently, and with how wan a face!

       What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place

       That busy archer his sharp arrows tries!

      Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes

       Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,

       I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace,

       To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.

      Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,

       Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?

       Are beauties there as proud as here they be?

       Do they above love to be loved, and yet

      Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?

       Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness?

      Sir P. Sidney

LIX

      O CRUDELIS AMOR

       Table of Contents

      When thou must home to shades of underground,

       And there arrived, a new admired guest,

       The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,

       White Iopé, blithe Helen, and the rest,

       To hear the stories of thy finish'd love

       From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;

      Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights,

       Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make,

       Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights,

       And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake:

       When thou hast told' these honours СКАЧАТЬ