The Golden Treasury. Various

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       All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile

       For ever to assoil.

       Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord,

       And blesséd plenty wait upon your board;

       And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound,

       That fruitful issue may to you afford

       Which may your foes confound,

       And make your joys redound

       Upon your bridal day, which is not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.'

      So ended she; and all the rest around

       To her redoubled that her undersong,

       Which said their bridal day should not be long:

       And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground

       Their accents did resound.

       So forth those joyous birds did pass along

       Adown the Lee that to them murmur'd low,

       As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue;

       Yet did by signs his glad affection show,

       Making his stream run slow.

       And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell

       'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel

       The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend

       The lesser stars. So they, enrangéd well,

       Did on those two attend,

       And their best service lend

       Against their wedding day, which was not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

      At length they all to merry London came,

       To merry London, my most kindly nurse,

       That to me gave this life's first native source,

       Though from another place I take my name,

       An house of ancient fame: There when they came whereas those bricky towers The which on Thames' broad agéd back do ride, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, Till they decay'd through pride; Next whereunto there stands a stately place, Where oft I gainéd gifts and goodly grace Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my friendless case; But ah! here fits not well Old woes, but joys to tell Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

      Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer,

       Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder,

       Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder,

       And Hercules' two pillars standing near

       Did make to quake and fear:

       Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry!

       That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame

       Joy have thou of thy noble victory,

       And endless happiness of thine own name

       That promiseth the same;

       That through thy prowess and victorious arms

       Thy country may be freed from foreign harms,

       And great Elisa's glorious name may ring

       Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms,

       Which some brave Muse may sing

       To ages following:

       Upon the bridal day, which is not long:

       Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

      From those high towers this noble lord issúing

       Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair

       In th' ocean billows he hath bathéd fair,

       Descended to the river's open viewing

       With a great train ensuing.

       Above the rest were goodly to be seen

       Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,

       Beseeming well the bower of any queen, With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, Fit for so goodly stature, That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright; They two, forth pacing to the river's side, Received those two fair brides, their love's delight; Which, at th' appointed tide, Each one did make his bride Against their bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

      E. Spenser

LXXV

      THE HAPPY HEART

       Table of Contents

      Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

       O sweet content!

       Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?

       O punishment!

       Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd

       To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?

       O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

       Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

       Honest labour bears a lovely face;

       Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

      Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring?

       O sweet content!

       Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?

       O punishment!

       Then he that patiently want's burden bears

       No burden bears, but is a king, a king!

       O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

       Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

       Honest labour bears a lovely face;

       Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

      T. Dekker

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