Thou Chained

How easily wert thou chained,
Fond heart, by favours feigned!
Why lived thy hopes in grace,
Straight to die disdained?

But since thou art now beguiled
By love that falsely smiled,
In some less happy place
Mourn alone exiled!

My love still here increaseth,
And with my love my grief,
While her sweet bounty ceaseth,
That gave my woes relief.
Yet 'tis no woman leaves me,
For such may prove unjust;
A goddess thus deceives me,
Whose faith who could mistrust?

A goddess so much graced,
That Paradise is placed

In her most heavenly breast,
Once by love embraced:

HOW EASILY CHAINED

But love, that so kind proved,
Is now from her removed,
Nor will he longer rest
Where no faith is loved.
If powers celestial wound us
And will not yield relief,

Woe then must needs confound us,
For none can cure our grief.
No wonder if I languish
Through burden of my smart:
It is no common anguish
From Paradise to part.

thy Tired Heart

Harden now thy tired heart, with more than flinty rage!

Ne'er let her false tears henceforth thy constant grief assuage!

Once true happy days thou saw'st when she stood firm and kind,.

Both as one then lived and held one ear, one tongue, one mind:

But now those bright hours be fled, and never may return;

What then remains but her untruths to mourn?

Silly traitoress, who shall now thy careless tresses place?

Who thy pretty talk supply, whose ear thy music grace?

Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips triumph with thine?

Day by day who'll visit thee and say: "Thou art only mine?"

Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be:

Too oft, I fear, thou wilt remember me.

Jack and Joan, they Think no Ill

Jack and Joan, they think no ill,
But loving live, and merry still;
Do their week-days' work, and pray
Devoutly on the holy day:

Skip and trip it on the green,

And help to choose the Summer Queen;

Lash out, at a country feast,

Their silver penny with the best.

Well can they judge of nappy ale,
And tell at large a winter tale;
Climb up to the apple loft,

And turn the crabs till they be soft.

Tib is all the father's joy,

And little Tom the mother's boy.

All their pleasure is content;

And care, to pay their yearly rent.

Joan can call by name her cows,

And deck her windows with green boughs; She can wreaths and tuttyes make,

And trim with plums a bridal cake.

Jack knows what brings gain or loss; And his long flail can stoutly toss: Makes the hedge, which others break; And ever thinks what he doth speak.

Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange delights; Though you scorn the home-spun gray, And revel in your rich array:

Though your tongues dissemble deep, And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain.