THE LIE So when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing, Although to give the lie Deserves no less than stabbing, Stab at thee he that will, No stab the soul can kill. Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heaven; Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains: There will I kiss The bowl of bliss, And drink mine everlasting fill My soul will be a-dry before; But after, it will thirst no more. Then by that happy, blissful day, THE PILGRIMAGE That have cast off their rags of clay, To quench their thirst And taste of nectar suckets, Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. And when our bottles and all we Then the blessed paths we'll travel, No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, Against our souls black verdicts give, Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader, Thou givest salvation even for alms; To him that made heaven, earth, and sea, Set on my soul an everlasting head! To tread those blest paths which before I writ. Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, Who oft doth think, must needs die well. As You Came As you came from the holy land Met you not with my true love How shall I know your true love, As I went to the holy land, That have come, that have gone? She is neither white nor brown, There is none hath a form so divine Such a one did I meet, good sir, Such an angelic face, Who like a queen, like a nymph, did appear, By her gait, by her grace. |