The rock doth not so cruelly, Repulse the waves continually, As she my suit and affection: So that I am past remedy; Whereby my lute and I have done. Proud of the spoil that thou hast got Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot, By whom, unkind, thou hast them won; Think not he hath his bow forgot, Although my lute and I have done. Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain, That makest but game of earnest pain; Trow not alone under the sun Unquit to cause thy lovers plain, Although my lute and I have done. May chance thee lie withered and old In winter nights, that are so cold, Plaining in vain unto the moon; Thy wishes then dare not be told: Care then who list, for I have done. And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou hast lost and spent, To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon: Then shalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want, as I have done. Now cease, my lute! This is the last Labor that thou and I shall waste; And ended is that we begun: Now is thy song both sung and past; My lute, be still, for I have done. THE COURTIER'S LIFE. In court to serve, decked with fresh array, Of sugared meats feeling the sweet repast; The life in banquets and sundry kinds of play, Amid the press of worldly looks to waste: Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste, That whoso joyes such kind of life to hold, In prison joyes, fettered with chains of gold. The Earl of Surrey. FROM THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S "ÆNEID."