Her grace I sought, her love I wooed; Her love though I obtain, No time, no toil, no vow, no faith Her wished grace can gain. Yet truth can tell my heart is hers And her will I adore; And from that love when I depart Let heaven view me no more! Her roses with my prayers shall spring; And when her trees I praise, Their boughs shall blossom, mellow fruit Shall straw her pleasant ways. The words of hearty zeal have power High wonders to effect; O, why should then her princely ear My words or zeal neglect? If she my faith misdeems, or worth, Woe worth my hapless fate! For though time can my truth reveal, That time will come too late. And who can glory in the worth That cannot yield him grace? Content in everything is not, Nor joy in every place. But from her Bower of Joy since I Must now excluded be, And she will not relieve my cares, Which none can help but she; My comfort in her love shall dwell, Her love lodge in my breast, And though not in her bower, yet I Shall in her temple rest. FOLLOW FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow, Though thou be black as night, And she made all of light; Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! Follow her whose light thy light depriveth; Though here thou live disgraced And she in heaven is placed; Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth. Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth That so have scorched thee As thou still black must be, Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. Follow her while yet her glory shineth; There comes a luckless night That will dim all her light; And this the black unhappy shade divineth. Follow still since so thy fates ordained; The sun must have his shade, Till both at once do fade; The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. WHEN THOU MUST HOME WHEN thou must home to shades of underground, And there arrived, a new admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engird thee round, White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest, To hear the stories of thy finished love, From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masks and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, And all these triumphs for thy beauties’ sake: When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murther me. WESTERN WIND THE peaceful western wind The winter storms hath tamed, And nature in each kind The kind heat hath inflamed: The forward buds so sweetly breathe Out of their earthly bowers, That heav’n, which views their pomp beneath, Would fain be decked with flowers.