Shear sheep that have them, cry we still, But see that no man 'scape To drink of the sherry, That makes us so merry, And plump as the lusty grape. * * * * * _Welcome, welcome, do I sing, Far more welcome than the spring; He that parteth from you never Shall enjoy a spring for ever._ Love, that to the voice is near Breaking from your iv'ry pale, Need not walk abroad to hear The delightful nightingale. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Far more welcome than the spring; He that parteth from you never Shall enjoy a spring for ever. Love, that looks still on your eyes, Though the winter have begun To benumb our arteries, Shall not want the summer's sun. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, &c. Love that still may see your cheeks, Where all rareness still reposes, Is a fool, if e'er he seeks Other lilies, other roses. Welcome, welcome, &c. Love, to whom your soft lip yields, And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odours of the fields Never, never shall be missing. Welcome, welcome, &c. Love, that question would anew What fair Eden was of old, Let him rightly study you, And a brief of that behold. Welcome, welcome, then I, &c. Autumn Autumn it was when droop'd the sweetest flow'rs, And rivers, swoll'n with pride, o'erlook'd the banks; Poor grew the day of summer's golden hours, And void of sap stood Ida's cedar-ranks. The pleasant meadows sadly lay In chill and cooling sweats By rising fountains, or as they Fear'd winter's wastfull threats. _The Shepherd's Pipe._ The Siren's Song Steer hither, steer your winged pines, All beaten mariners, Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines, A prey to passengers; Perfumes far sweeter than the best Which makes the Phoenix' urn and nest. Fear not your ships, Nor any to oppose you save our lips, But come on shore, Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. For swelling waves our panting breasts, Where never storms arise, Exchange; and be awhile our guests: For stars gaze on our eyes. The compass love shall hourly sing, And as he goes about the ring, We will not miss To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. CHORUS. Then come on shore, Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. _The Inner Temple Masque._ The Charm Son of Erebus and Night, Hie away; and aim thy flight Where consort none other fowl Than the bat and sullen owl; Where upon the limber grass Poppy and mandragoras With like simples not a few Hang for ever drops of dew. Where flows Lethe without coil Softly like a stream of oil. Hie thee thither, gentle Sleep: With this Greek no longer keep. Thrice I charge thee by my wand; Thrice with moly from my hand Do I touch Ulysses' eyes, And with the jaspis: Then arise, Sagest Greek.... _The Inner Temple Masque._ Caelia (Sonnets)