As laurel leaves that cease not to be green,
From parching sun, nor yet from winter's threat,
As hardened oak that fear'th no sword so keen,
As flint for tool in twain that will not fret,
As fast as rock or pillar surely set, —
So fast am I to you, and aye have been,
Assuridly whom I can not forget,
For joy, for pain, for torment, nor for teen,
For loss, for gain, for frowning, nor for threat:
But ever one, — yea, both in calm and blast, —
Your faithful friend, and will be to my last.

As Lamps burn silent, with unconscious light,
So modest ease , in beauty, shines most bright:
Unaiming charms, with edge resistless, fall,
And she, who means no mischief, does it all.

As Julia once a slumbering lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way
(After a dew, or dew-like shower)
To tipple freely in a flower.
For some rich flower he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip;
But when he felt he sucked from thence
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir,
So Julia took the pilferer.
And thus surprised (as filchers use)
He thus began himself t' excuse:
"Sweet lady-flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought,
But taking those rare lips of yours

1.

As Jack walked out of London city, no one on Jack to take pity,
As Jack walked out of London city, no one on Jack to take pity,
Jack thought he heard the people say that in the streets he'd have to lay.
A whang dang diddle-de-dang, fol-lo-day.

2.

There was a squire who lived quite handy, he courted the lawyer's daughter Nancy,
He courted her both night and day, and agreed with her one night to lay.

3.

" I'll tie a string around my finger and hang it out of the chamber window,

As itt beffell in Midsumer time
When burds singe sweetlye on euery tree,

Our noble King, King Henery the eighth,
Ouer the riuer of Thames past hee.

Hee was no sooner ouer the riuer,
Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
But eighty merchants of London cittye
Came kneeling before King Henery there.

O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
[Good saylors, welcome unto me.]
They swore by the rood they were saylers good
But rich merchants they cold not bee.

To France nor Flanders dare we nott passe

As it fell out one May morning,
And upon a bright holiday,
Sweet Jesus asked of his dear mother
If he might go to play.
" To play, to play, sweet Jesus shall go,
And to play now get you gone;
And let me hear of no complaint
At night when you come home."

Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,
As far as the Holy Well,
And there did see as fine children
As any tongue can tell.
He said, " God bless you every one,
And your bodies Christ save and see!
And now, little children, I'll play with you,

As it fell out on a holiday,
A high holiday so high,
Sweet Jesus he asked his own mother dear
Whether he should go and play.

" To play, to play, my own dear son,
It's time that you are gone,
And don't let me hear no complaints of you
At night when you do come home.

" You'll go back to the merry little town
As far as the holy well,
And there you'll see as fine children
That as every tongue can tell."

" They say they were lords' and ladies' sons,
The meanest among them all,
While I was nothing but a mild Mary's child

As it fell one holy-day--
As many be in the yeare,
When young men and maids together did goe,
Their mattins and masses to heare,

Little Musgrave came to the church-dore;
The priest was at private masse;
But he had more minde of the faire women
Then he had of our lady's grace

The one of them was clad in green,
Another was clad in pall,
And then came in Lord Barnard's wife,
The fairest amonst them all.

She cast an eye on Little Musgrave,
As bright as the summer sun;
And then bethought this Little Musgrave,

as is the sea marvelous
from god's
hands which sent her forth
to sleep upon the world

and the earth withers
the moon crumbles
one by one
stars flutter into dust

but the sea
does not change
and she goes forth out of hands and
she returns into hands

and is with sleep....

love,
the breaking
of your
soul
upon

As in the night I restless lie,
I the watch-candle keep in eye;
The innocent I often blame,
For the slow wasting of its flame.
Sweet ease! — O whither are you fled! —
With one short slumber ease my head!

My curtain oft I draw away,
Eager to see the morning ray;
But when the morning gilds the skies,
The morning no relief supplies.
To me, alas! the morning light
Is as afflictive as the night.

My vigorous cries to God ascend,
Oh! — will not God my cries attend?
Can God paternal love forbear —