Think women still to strive with men, To sin and never for to saint: There is no heaven, by holy then, When time with age shall them attaint, Were kisses all the joys in bed, One woman would another wed. But soft, enough,—too much,—I fear Lest that my mistress hear my song: She will not stick to round me on th’ ear, To teach my tongue to be so long. Yet will she blush, here be it said, To hear her secrets so bewray’d. XIX Live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and fields, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, by whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee a bed of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me and be my love. Love’s Answer. If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. XX As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring; Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone: She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean’d her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull’st ditty, That to hear it was great pitty. “Fie, fie, fie,” now would she cry, “Tereu, Tereu,” by and by; That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain, For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. Ah, thought I, thou mourn’st in vain! None takes pitty on thy pain. Senseless trees they cannot hear thee, Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee; King Pandion he is dead, All thy friends are lapp’d in lead, All thy fellow birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing. Whilst as fickle fortune smiled, Thou and I were both beguiled. Every one that flatters thee Is no friend in misery. Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend; But if store of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call, And with such-like flattering, “Pity but he were a king.” If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice; If to women he be bent, They have at commandement. But if Fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown. They that fawn’d on him before, Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep; If thou wake, he cannot sleep. Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flatt’ring foe.