_90._ _Voices at the Window_
_Who is it that, this dark night,_
_Underneath my window plaineth?_
It is one who from thy sight
Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth
Every other vulgar light.
_Why, alas, and are you he?_
_Be not yet those fancies changèd?_
Dear, when you find change in me,
Though from me you be estrangèd,
Let my change to ruin be.
_Well, in absence this will die:_
_Leave to see, and leave to wonder._
Absence sure will help, if I
Can learn how myself to sunder
From what in my heart doth lie.
_But time will these thoughts remove;_
_Time doth work what no man knoweth._
Time doth as the subject prove:
With time still the affection groweth
In the faithful turtle-dove.
_What if you new beauties see?_
_Will not they stir new affection?_
I will think they pictures be
(Image-like, of saints’ perfection)
Poorly counterfeiting thee.
_But your reason’s purest light_
_Bids you leave such minds to nourish._
Dear, do reason no such spite!
Never doth thy beauty flourish
More than in my reason’s sight.
_90._ leave] cease.
_91._ _Philomela_
The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
While late-bare Earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making;
And mournfully bewailing,
Her throat in tunes expresseth
What grief her breast oppresseth,
For Tereus’ force on her chaste will prevailing.
_O Philomela fair, O take some gladness_
_That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness!_
_Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;_
_Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth._
Alas! she hath no other cause of anguish
But Tereus’ love, on her by strong hand wroken;
Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
Full womanlike complains her will was broken
But I, who, daily craving,
Cannot have to content me,
Have more cause to lament me,
Since wanting is more woe than too much having.
_O Philomela fair, O take some gladness_
_That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness!_
_Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;_
_Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth._
_92._ _The Highway_
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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