Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there’s grief enough for thee. Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl-drops from a flint, Fell by course from his eyes, That one another’s place supplies; Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, When 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. The wanton smiled, father wept, Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crow’d, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bliss, 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. ALEXANDER HUME 1560-1609 _106._ _A Summer Day_ O perfect Light, which shaid away The darkness from the light, And set a ruler o’er the day, Another o’er the night-- Thy glory, when the day forth flies, More vively doth appear Than at mid day unto our eyes The shining sun is clear. The shadow of the earth anon Removes and drawis by, While in the East, when it is gone, Appears a clearer sky. Which soon perceive the little larks, The lapwing and the snipe, And tune their songs, like Nature’s clerks, O’er meadow, muir, and stripe. Our hemisphere is polisht clean, And lighten’d more and more, While everything is clearly seen Which seemit dim before: Except the glistering astres bright, Which all the night were clear, Offuskit with a greater light No longer do appear. shaid] parted. stripe] rill. offuskit] darkened. The golden globe incontinent Sets up his shining head, And o’er the earth and firmament Displays his beams abread. For joy the birds with boulden throats Against his visage sheen Take up their kindly musick notes In woods and gardens green. The dew upon the tender crops, Like pearlis white and round, Or like to melted silver drops, Refreshis all the ground. The misty reek, the clouds of rain, From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain, The vapours take the vales. The ample heaven of fabrick sure In cleanness does surpass The crystal and the silver pure, Or clearest polisht glass. The time so tranquil is and still That nowhere shall ye find, Save on a high and barren hill, An air of peeping wind. All trees and simples, great and small, That balmy leaf do bear, Than they were painted on a wall No more they move or steir. boulden] swollen. sheen] bright. skails] clears. simples] herbs.