Hark
from the islet in the stream the voice Of the fish-hawks that o'er their nests rejoice
From them our thoughts to that young lady go, Modest and virtuous, loth herself to show
Where could be found to share our prince's state, So...
Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest
Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit
If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd,
Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky:
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and