Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/290

 GILES FLETCHER

Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench. Love did make the bloody spear Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love that sing and play And of all love's joyful flame I the bud and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

See, see the flowers that below

Now as fresh as morning blow;

And of all the virgin ro>e

That as bright Aurora shows;

How they all unleavcd die,

Losing their virginity'

Like unto a summer shade,

But now born, and now they fade.

Every thing doth pass away,

There is danger in delay:

Come, come, gather then the rose,

Gather it, or it you lose'

All the sand of Tagus' shore

Into my bosom casts his ore:

All the valleys' swimming corn

To my house is yearly borne:

Every grape of every vine

Is gladly bruised to make me wine:

While ten thousand kings, as proud,

To carry up my train have bow'd,

And a world of ladies send me

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