GILES FLETCHER

Love the strong and weak doth yoke,

And makes the ivy climb the oak,

Under whose shadows lions wild,

Softened by love, grow tame and mild:

Love no med'cine can appease,

He burns the fishes in the seas:

Not all the skill his wounds can stench,

Not all the sea his fire can quench.

Love did make the bloody spear

Once a leavy coat to wear,

While in his leaves there shrouded lay

Sweet birds, for love that sing and play

And of all love's joyful flame

I the bud and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me,

Thy wooing shall thy winning be

See, see the flowers that below Now as fresh as morning blow ; And of all the virgin rose That as bright Aurora shows ; How they all unleaved die, Losing their virginity ! Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade. Every thing doth pass away; There is danger in delay : Come, come, gather then the rose, Gather it, or it you lose ! All the sand of Tagus' shore Into my bosom casts his ore : All the valleys' swimming corn To my house is yearly borne:

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