Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/29

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Then in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have exprest Ev’n such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; And for they look’d but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days. Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. W. Shakespeare


xx

LOVE’S PERJURIES

On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen ’gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom e’en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. W. Shakespeare
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