All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,

Thy like ne'er was

For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Poor Corydon

Must live alone;

Other help for him I see that there is none.

XIX.

When as thine eye hath chose the dame

And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,

As well as fancy partial might:

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed.

And when thou comest thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,-
A cripple soon can find a halt;-

But plainly say thou lovest her well,
And set thy person forth to sell.

What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night:
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,

That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there

Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true,
Unless thy lady prove unjust,

Press never thou to choose anew:

When time sha'l serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back.

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,

A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

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 doth 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 i' the ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.

[xx.]

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 yields.

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
Embroider'd, 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.

[xxI.]

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;
Every thing 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 pity:
'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 pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts 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.

Even so, poor bird, like thee.
None alive will pity me.
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 him 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 flattering foe.

SONNETS.

WRITTEN BETWEEN 1595-1605.)

INTRODUCTION.

The Sonnets of Shakespeare suggest, perhaps, the most difficult questions in Shakespearean criticism. In 1609 appeared these poems in a quarto (published almost certainly without the authors' sanction), which also contained "A Lover's Complaint." The publisher, Thomas Thorpe, dedicated them "To the onlie begetter of these ensuing sonnets, Mr. W. H." Does "begetter" mean the person who inspired them and so brought them into existence, or only the obtainer of the "Sonnets" for Thorpe ? Probably the former. And who is Mr. W. H. ? It is clear from sonnet 135 that the Christian name of Shakespeare's friend to whom the first 126 sonnets were addressed was William. But what William ? There is not even an approach to certainty, in any answer offered to this question. Some have supposed that W. H. is a blind to conceal and yet express the initials H. W. i. e Heury Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare's patron. Others hold that William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke (to whom, together with his brother, the first folio was dedicated), is here addressed. When were the "Sonnets" written? We know that Meres in 1598 spoke of Shakespeare's "sugred sonnets among his private friends," and that in 1599 two (138 and 144) were printed in "The Passionate Pilgrim." Some, to judge by their style, seem to belong to the time when "Romeo and Juliet was written. Others-as for example 66-74-echo the sadder tone which is heard in "Hamlet" and "Measure for Measure." The writing of the "Sonnets" certainly extended over a considerable period of time, at least three years (see 104), and perhaps a longer period. They all, probably lie somewhere between 1595 and 1605. The Sonnets consist of two series, the first (from 1 to 126) addressed to a young man; the other (from 127 to 154) addressed to or referring to a woman. But both series allude to events which connect the two persons with one another and with Shakespeare. The young friend, whom Shakespeare