And ye high heavens, the Temple of the Gods, In which a thousand torches flaming bright Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darkness lend desired light; And all ye powers which in the same remain, More than we men can feign! Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, And happy influence upon us rain, That we may raise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possess With lasting happiness, Up to your haughty palaces may mount; And, for the guerdon of their glorious merit, May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, Of blessed saints for to increase the count. So let us rest, sweet Love, in hope of this, And cease till then our timely joys to sing: The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring! _Song_! _made in lieu of many ornaments_, _With which my Love should duly have been decked_. _Which cutting off through hasty accidents_, _Ye would not stay your due time to expect_, _But promised both to recompense_; _Be unto her a goodly ornament_, _And for short time an endless monument_. JOHN LYLY 1554(?)–1606 THE SPRING WHAT bird so sings, yet does so wail? O, ’tis the ravished nightingale! ‘Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,’ she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! who is’t now we hear? None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven’s gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin-redbreast tunes his note; Hark, how the jolly cuckoos sing! Cuckoo to welcome in the spring, Cuckoo to welcome in the spring! SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 1554–1586 TRUE LOVE MY true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: His heart his wound received from my sight; My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me on him his hurt did light, So still methought in me his hurt did smart: Both, equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss. My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. THE MOON