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 agèd back to 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 gainèd 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 thro' all Spain did thunder And Hercules' two pillars standing near

Did make to quake and fear:

Fair branch of honor, 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 Eliza'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 issuing
Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair
In th' ocean billows he hath bathèd 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.

SPRING

- Edmund Spenser

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! the sweet Spring!

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may:

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,

The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;

For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick

THE TRUE BEAUTY

He that loves a rosy cheek
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires:
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires: -
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.

Thomas Carew

THE CONSTANT LOVER

Out upon it! I have loved

Three whole days together! And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,

Ere he shall discover

In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on't is, no praise

Is due at all to me:

Love with me had made no stays,

Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,

And that very face,

There had been at least ere this

A dozen dozen in her place.

- John Suckling

WHY SO PALE AND WAN

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prythee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prythee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prythee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prythee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her:

The Devil take her!

-John Suckling

THE MANLY HEART

Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?