To lyft me up that I might fly to follow my desyre.

Thus of that hope that doth my lyfe some-
thyng susteyne,
[remaine.
Alas I fear, and partly feel full little doth
Eche place doth bring me griefe where I
doe not behold,

Those lively eyes which of my thoughts,
were wont the keys to hold.
Those thoughts were pleasant sweet whilst
I enjoy'd that grace,

My pleasure past, my present pain, when
I might well embrace.

And for because my want should more my woe increase,

In watch and sleep both day and night my will doth never cease. That thing to wishe whereof synce I did lose the sight,

Was never thing that mought in ought iny wofull hart delight.

Th' ancasy life I lead doth teach me for to mete,

The floods, the seas, the land, the hills, that doth them intermete, Twene me and those shene lights that wonted for to clere,

My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as bright as Phebus sphere;

It teacheth me also, what was my pleasant state,

The more to feele by such record how that my welth doth bate.

If such record (alas) provoke the inflamed mynde,

Which sprung that day that I dyd leave the best of me behynde,

If love forgeat himselfe by length of absence let,

Who doth me guid (O wofull wretch)

unto this baited net :

Where doth encrease my care, much better were for me,

As dumm as stone all things forgott, still absent for to be.

Alas the clear christall, the bright transplendant glasse,

Doth not bewray the colours hid which underneath it hase.

As doth the accumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discover,

Of teares delyte of fervent love that in our hartes we cover,

Out by these eyes, it sheweth that ever. more delight;

In plaint and teares to seek redress, and eke both day and night. Those kindes of pleasures most wherein men soe rejoice,

To me they do redouble still of stormy sighes the voice.

For, I am one o' them, whom plaint doth well content,

It fits me well my absent wealth me semes for to lament,

And with my teares t'assy to charge myne eyes twayne,

Like as my hart above the brink is fraughted full of payne.

And for because thereto, that these fair eyes do treate,

Do me provoke, I will returne, my plaint thus to repeate; [within, For there is nothing els, so toucheth me Where they rule all, and I alone, nought but the case or skin.

Wherefore I shall returne to them as well or spring,

From whom descends my mortall wo, above all other thing.

So shall myne eyes in paine accompany my heart,

That were the guides, that did it lead of love to feel the smart.

The crisped gold that doth surmount Appolloe's pride,

The lively streames of pleasant starrs that under it doth glyde,

Wherein the beames of love doe still increase theire heate,

Which yet so far touch me to near in cold to make me sweat,

The wise and pleasant take, so rare or else alone,

That gave to me the curties gyft, that earst had never none.

My comfort scant, my large desire in doubtful trust renews.

And yet with more delight to move my wofull case,

[ must complaine these hands, those armes, that firmly do embrace, Me from myself, and rule the sterne of my poor life,

The sweet disdaynes, the pleasant wrathes, and eke the holy strife,

That wonted well to tune in temper just and mete,

The rage, that oft did make me err by furour undiscrete.

All this is hid from me with sharp and

ragged hills,

Wherefore come death and let me dye.
The shorter life, less count I finde,
The less account the sooner made,
The account soon made, the merier mind,
The merier mynd doth thought evade;
Short life in truth this thing doth trye,
Wherefore come death and let me dye.

Come gentle death, the ebbe of care,
The ebbe of care, the flood of life,
The flood of life, the joyful fare,
The joyful fare, the end of strife,
The end of strife, that thing wish I,
Wherefore come death and let me die.

dyspayr fulfills.

And of my hope sometime ryse up by some redresse,

It stumbleth straite for feable faint my fear hath such excesse.

Such is the sort of hoape, the less for more desyre,

And yet I trust e're that I dye, to see that I require.

The resting-place of love, where virtue dwells and growes,

There I desire my weary life sometime may take repose,

My song thou shalt attaine, to find the pleasant place,

Where she doth live by whom I live, may chance to have this grace. When she hath read and seen, the griefe wherein I serve,

Between her brests she shall thee put, there shall she thee reserve. Then tell her, that I come, she shail me shortly see,

And if for waight the body fayl, the soul shall to her flee.

LOVE.

I LOTHE that I dyd love,
In youth that I thought swete,
As time requires for my behove,
Methinks they are not mete.

My lustes they do me leave,
My fancies all are fled,
And tract of time begynnes to weave
Gray heares upon my hed.

For age with stealing steppes
Hath clawde me with his crouche,
And lusty lyfe away she leapes
As there had been none such.

My muse doth not delight
Me as she dyd before,
My hand and pen are not in plight,
As they have been of yore.

For reason me denyes
This youthly ydle ryme,
And day by day to me cryes,
Leave of these toyes in tyme.

The wrinkles in my browe,
The furrows in my face,

Say lymping age will lodge hym now, Where youth must geve him place. The harbinger of death,

To me I see him ride,

OFFENCE.

THE longer life the more offence The more offence the greater paine, The greater paine the lesse defence, The lesse defence the lesser gaine; The loss of gaine long yll doth trye,

Doth byd me to provyde

A pickax and a spade And eke a shrowding shete, A house of clay for to be made, For such a geaste most mete.

Methinkes I hear the clarke That knoles the carefull knell,

And byddes me leave my woful warke,

Ere nature me compell.

My kepers knit the knot,

That youth did laugh to skorne, Of me that cleane shall be forgot, As I had not been borne.

Thus must I youth geve up, Whose badge I long dyd weare, To them I yelde the wanton cup, That better may it beare.

Lo, here the bare hed skull, By whose balde signe I know, That stouping age away shall pull Which youthful yeres did sowe. For beauty with her band These croked cares hath wrought, And shipped me into the land, From whence I fyrst was brought. And ye that byde behinde, Have ye none other trust As ye of clay were cast by kynd, So shall ye waste to dust.

[ANONYMOUS. 1521.]

THE NUT-BROWN MAID. BE it right or wrong, these men among Of women do complain; Affirming this, how that it is

A labour spent in vain,

To love them well; for never a deal
They love a man again:
For let a man do what he can,
Their favour to attain,

Yet, if a new do them pursue,
Their first true lover then

Laboureth for nought; for from their thought

He is a banished man.

I say not nay, but that all day

It is both writ and said,

That woman's faith is, as who saith,
All utterly decayed;

But, nevertheless, right good witness
In this case might be laid,
That they love true, and continue:
Record the Nut-brown Maid:

bliss,

That changeth as the moon!

The secret of your mind,
I shall be plain to you again,
Like as ye shall me find.
Sith it is so, that ye will go,

I will not leve behind;

Shall never be said, the nut-brown
maid

Was to her love unkind :
Make you ready, for so am I,
Although it were anon;
For, in my mind, of all mankind,
I love but you alone.

HE-Yet I you rede‡ to take good heed

What men will think, and say: Of young, and old it shall be told, That ye be gone away,

Derked-darkened. + Aslake abate. Rode-advise.

Your wanton will for to fulfil,

In green wood you to play; And that ye might from your delight

No longer make delay. Rather than ye should thus for me Be called an ill woman,

Yet would I to the green wood go,

Alone, a banished man.

SHE-Though it be song of old and young,

That I should be to blame, Theirs be the charge, that speak so large

In hurting of my name:
For I will prove that faithful love
It is devoid of shame ;
In your distress, and heaviness,

To part with you, the same:
And sure all those, that do not

So,

True lovers are they none;
For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.

HE-I counsel you, remember how,
It is no maiden's law,

Nothing to doubt, but to run out
To wood with an outlaw:
For ye must there in your hand
bear

A bow, ready to draw,
And, as a thief, thus must you
live,

Ever in dread and awe; Whereby to you great harm might grow:

Yet had I lever * than,
That I did to the green wood go,
Alone, a banished man.

SHE-Among the wild deer, such an archèr

As men say that ye be,

Ne may not fail of good vitayle,
Where is so great plenty :

And water clear of the rivèr
Shall be full sweet to me ;
With which in helet I shall right
wele

Endure, as ye shall see;

And, or we go, a bed or two

I can provide anon;

For, in my mind, of all mankind
I love but you alone.

HE.-Lo yet, before, ye must do more,
If ye will go with me: