Oenone. Fair and fair, etc. Paris. Fair and fair, etc. Thy love is fair, etc. Oenone. My love can pipe, my love can sing, My love can many a pretty thing, And of his lovely praises ring My merry, merry, merry roundelays Amen to Cupid's curse,-- 'They that do change,' etc. Paris. They that do change, etc. Ambo. Fair and fair, etc. George Peele. 1558?-97 102. A Farewell to Arms (To Queen Elizabeth) HIS golden locks Time hath to silver turn'd; O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn'd, But spurn'd in vain; youth waneth by increasing: Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms, A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms: But though from court to cottage he depart, His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits in homely cell, He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,-- 'Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.' Goddess, allow this aged man his right To be your beadsman now that was your knight. Robert Greene. 1560-92 103. Samela LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela. Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed When wash'd by Arethusa faint they lie, Is fair Samela. As fair Aurora in her morning grey, Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love Is fair Samela; Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, Shines fair Samela. Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela; Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams; Her brows bright arches framed of ebony. Thus fair Samela Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty (For she 's Samela!), Pallas in wit,--all three, if you well view, For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity, Yield to Samela. Robert Greene. 1560-92 104. Fawnia AH! were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand, That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, Then knew I where to seat me in a land Under wide heavens, but yet there is not such. So as she shows she seems the budding rose, Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower; Sovran of beauty, like the spray she grows; Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd flower. Yet were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn.