And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, This happy harmony would make them none. W. ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE. 23. TRUE LOVE. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove:-- O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom:-- If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. W. SHAKESPEARE. 24. A DITTY. My true love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one to the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 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: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. SIR P. SIDNEY. 25. LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE. Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. Were I as high as heaven above the plain, And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main, Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, My love should shine on you like to the sun, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. J. SYLVESTER. 26. CARPE DIEM. O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers' meeting-- Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty,-- Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. W. SHAKESPEARE. 27. WINTER.