The Nymph

If all the world and love were young

And truth in every shepherd's tongue

These pretty pleasures might me move

To live with thee and be thy love

Time drives the flocks from field to fold

When rivers rage and rocks grow cold

And songs of birds becometh dumb

The rest complains of cares to come

Flowers fade and wanton fields

Wayward winter reckoning yields

Honey Tongue, a heart of Gall

Sorrow's Fall

Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds

Thy coral clasps and amber studs

All these in me no means can move

To come to thee and be thy love

Flowers fade and wanton fields

Wayward winter reckoning yields

Honey Tongue, a heart of Gall

Sorrow's Fall

Could youth last and love still breed

Had joys no date, nor age, nor need

These delights my mind might move

To by thy love