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beare beasts beautie behold birds Breton bright cause Coridon death delight desire Diana disdaine doth downe earth euery eyes face faire false feare feede field finde Finis fire flocks flowers force gentle giue grace greene griefe hands happy hart hath haue heare heart heauen Heigh hill honour hope Ignoto keepe kinde late leaue light liue live Lodge looke loue Loue's louely louers minde moue Muses neuer night Nimph once paine passe passion Pastoral Phil Phillida Phillis pieces pitty pleasure poems poore praise pretty Queene rest seeme Shep Shepheard Sidney sighs sight sing Song Sonnet sorrow soule spring sunne swaine sweet teares tell thee thing thinke thou thoughts tree true Venus vnto weepe winde woods wound yeeld Yong
Page 214 - COME live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountain yields.
Page 152 - I'll count your power not worth a pin, Alas, what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, Then let thy bower my bosom be ; Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee. O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee.
Page 59 - As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made...
Page 90 - It is a yea, it is a nay ; A pretty kind of sporting fray ; It is a thing will soon away ; Then, nymphs, take 'vantage while ye may ; And this is love, as I hear say.
Page 105 - Fair sweet, how I do love thee ! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power; For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia like to all things blessed, When all thy praises are expressed, Dear joy, how I do love thee ! As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king : Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me ! H.
Page vii - Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton, will ye?
Page 25 - He said he had loved her long. She said, "Love should have no wrong." Corydon would kiss her then. She said maids must kiss no men Till they did for good and all.