Darkness dispels,
and the moon shining clear
in my heart's sky
now seems to near
the western hills.

Her arms across her breast she laid;
She was more fair than words can say:
Bare-footed came the beggar maid
Before the King Cophetua.
In robe and crown the king stept down,
To meet and greet her on her way;
"It is no wonder," said the lords,
"She is more beautiful than day."

As shines the moon in clouded skies,
She in her poor attire was seen:
One praised her ankles, one her eyes,
One her dark hair and lovesome mien.
So sweet a face, such angel grace,
In all that land had never been:
Cophetua sware a royal oath:

Her aged hands are worn with works of love;
Dear aged hands that oft on me are laid;
Her heart's below, but, oh, her love's above,
As flowers do sunward turn though in the shade.

The set of sun is dear that lasts not long,
And she is sweeter far than light that dies:
But if her aged body's weak, she's strong;
Her folly, wisdom in a softer guise.

The very smile of love is hers, and she
Hath him long known where others knew a shade;
Forget thine eyes, and learn herewith to see
Within this time-worn sheath the snowy blade.

Henry was every morning fed
With a full mess of milk and bread.
One day the boy his breakfast took,
And ate it by a purling brook
Which through his mother's orchard ran.
From that time ever when he can
Escape his mother's eye, he there
Takes his food in th'open air.
Finding the child delight to eat
Abroad, and make the grass his seat,
His mother lets him have his way.
With free leave Henry every day
Thither repairs, until she heard
Him talking of a fine "grey bird'.
This pretty bird, he said, indeed,

Henry and King Pedro, clasping,
Hold in straining arms each other;
Tugging hard, and closely grasping,
Brother proves his strength with brother.

Harmless pastime, sport fraternal,
Blends not thus their limbs in strife:
Either aims, with rage infernal,
Naked dagger, sharpened knife.

Close Don Henry grapples Pedro,
Pedro holds Don Henry strait, —
Breathing, this, triumphant fury,
That, despair and mortal hate.

Sole spectator of the struggle,
Stands Don Henry's page afar,
In the chase who bore his bugle,

Henceforth I will nott sett my love
on other then the Contrye lasse
For in the Courte I see and prove
fancye is brittle as the glasse
The love bestowed on the greate
ys ever full of toile and cares
Subject still to frowne and freate
with sugred bayts in suttle snares
In good olde tymes ytt was the guyse
to shewe things in their proper kinde
Love painted owte in nakede wise
to shewe his playne and single mynde
Butt since into the Courte hee came
infected with a braver stile
Hee loste both propertie and name

Hence , rude Winter! crabbed old fellow,
Never merry, never mellow!
Well-a-day! in rain and snow
What will keep one's heart aglow?
Groups of kinsmen, old and young,
Oldest they old friends among;
Groups of friends, so old and true
That they seem our kinsmen too;
These all merry all together
Charm away chill Winter weather.

What will kill this dull old fellow?
Ale that's bright, and wine that's mellow!
Dear old songs for ever new;
Some true love, and laughter too;
Pleasant wit, and harmless fun,
And a dance when day is done.

Hence, hence, profane; soft silence let us have;
While we this Trentall sing about thy Grave.
Had Wolves or Tigers seen but thee,
They wo'd have shew'd civility;
And in compassion of thy yeeres,
Washt those thy purple wounds with tears.
But since th'art slaine; and in thy fall,
The drooping Kingdome suffers all.
Chorus

This we will doe; we'll daily come
And offer Tears upon thy Tomb:
And if that they will not suffice,
Thou shalt have soules for sacrifice.

Sleep in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee,

Hem and Haw were the sons of sin,
Created to shally and shirk;
Hem lay 'round and Haw looked on
While God did all the work.

Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a prig,
For both had the dull, dull mind;
And whenever they found a thing to do,
They yammered and went it blind.

Hem was the father of bigots and bores;
As the sands of the sea were they.
And Haw was the father of all the tribe
Who criticise to-day.

But God was an artist from the first,
And knew what he was about;
While over his shoulder sneered these two,

1. Help thy servant, gracious Lord, Who comes in Jesu's name;
Only thou canst strength afford, Thy gospel to proclaim.
Grant his soul a heavenly ray, Fill his heart with holy fire,
O, for sanctifying grace! O, for love's inspiring power!
Help thy servant, Lord, we pray, Regard our souls' desire.
Lord, we beg, for Jesus' sake A sweet refreshing shower.

2. Give us to receive the word,
With love, and joy, and fear;
Grant thy quickening grace, O Lord,
On all assembled here.

Seal the truth on all today;
All our hearts will heaven inspire;