Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee. The wanton smiled, father wept, Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crowed, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bless, For he left his pretty boy, Father’s sorrow, father’s joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old, there’s grief enough for thee. CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 1562–1593 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE COME live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning; If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love. SAMUEL DANIEL 1562–1619 SLEEP CARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my languish, and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care return. And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night’s untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising Sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day’s disdain. MY SPOTLESS LOVE MY spotless love hovers with purest wings About the temple of the proudest frame, Where blaze those lights, fairest of earthly things, Which clear our clouded world with brightest flame. My ambitious thoughts, confined in her face, Affect no honour but what she can give; My hopes do rest in limits of her grace; I weigh no comfort unless she relieve. For she that can my heart imparadise, Holds in her fairest hand what dearest is, My fortune’s wheel’s the circle of her eyes, Whose rolling grace deign once a turn of bliss! All my life’s sweet consists in her alone; So much I love the most Unloving One.