A Book of old English love songs . UPID and my Campaspe playdAt cards for kisses; Cupid paid:He stakes his quiver, bow, andarrows,His mothers doves, and team of spar-rows ;Loses them too; then down he throwsThe coral of his lip, the roseGrowing ons cheek (but none knows how);With these, the crystal of his brow,And then the dimple on his chin;All these did my Campaspe win:And last he set her both his eyes —She won, and Cupid blind did Love, has she done this to thee ?What shall, alas! become of me ? —John Lyly. [«3]. Spring and jttelanc^oty The earth, late choked with showers, Is now arr
A Book of old English love songs . UPID and my Campaspe playdAt cards for kisses; Cupid paid:He stakes his quiver, bow, andarrows,His mothers doves, and team of spar-rows ;Loses them too; then down he throwsThe coral of his lip, the roseGrowing ons cheek (but none knows how);With these, the crystal of his brow,And then the dimple on his chin;All these did my Campaspe win:And last he set her both his eyes —She won, and Cupid blind did Love, has she done this to thee ?What shall, alas! become of me ? —John Lyly. [«3]. Spring and jttelanc^oty The earth, late choked with showers, Is now arrayed in green ; Her bosom springs with flowers, The air dissolves her teen ; The heavens laugh at her glory:Yet bide I sad and sorry. The woods are decked with leaves,And trees are clothed gay;And Flora crowned with sheavesWith oaken boughs doth play, Where I am clad in black In token of my wrack. [H] Spring ana spelanctioty The birds upon the trees Do sing with pleasant voices, And chant in their degrees Their loves and lucky choices ;When I, whilst they are singing,With sighs mine arms am wringing. The thrushes seek the shade, And I my fatal grave; Their flight to heaven is made, My walk on earth I have; They free, I thrall; they jolly, I sad and pensive wholly. — Thomas Lodge.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1897
