I have a love is Heven-King;
 I love His love for evermore.

For love is love and ever shall be,
 And love has been or we were bore;
For love He askes non other fee
 But love again; He kepes no more.
  I say herefore: I have, etc.

Trew love is tresoure, trust is store
 To a love to Godes plesing;
But lewde love makes men y-lore,
 To love here lust and here liking.
  I say herefore: I have, etc.

In good love there is no sin;
 Without love is heviness:
Herfore to love I n'il not blin,
 To love my God and His goodness.

I have a jolly shilling, a lovely jolly shilling,
I love my jolly shilling as I do love my life;
I've a penny for to spend, another for to lend,
And a jolly, jolly tenpence to carry home to my wife.

There's neither pints nor quarts shall grieve me,
Nor this wide world shall deceive me,
But bring me to the girl that will keep me
While I go rambling about.

I have a jolly tenpence, a lovely jolly tenpence,
I love my jolly tenpence as I do love my life;
I've a penny for to spend, another for to lend,

I dug, beneath the cypress shade,
What well might seen an elfin's grave;
And every pledge in earth I laid,
That erst thy false affection gave.

I pressed them down the sod beneath;
I placed one mossy stone above;
And twined the rose's fading wreath
Around the sepulchre of love.

Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead,
Ere yet the evening sun was set:
But years shall see the cypress spread,
Immutable as my regret.

1

I dreamed last night of my true love.
All in my arms I had her;
Her pretty yeller hair like strands of gold,
Lay dangling round my piller.

2

I waked in the morning and found her not.
I was forced to do without her;
I went unto her uncle's house,
Inquiring for this lady.

3

He said that she was not there,
And neither would he keep her.
I turned around to go away,
My love she come to the winder.

4

She said that she would come to me,
If doors nor locks did not hinder.

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell,
The reason why I cannot tell,
But this one thing I know full well:
I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

I do not look for love that is a dream:
I only seek for courage to be still;
To bear my grief with an unbending will,
And when I am a-weary not to seem.
Let the round world roll on; let the sun beam;
Let the wind blow, and let the rivers fill
The everlasting sea; and on the hill
The palms almost touch heaven, as children deem.
And though young Spring and Summer pass away,
And Autumn and cold Winter come again;
And though my soul, being tired of its pain,
Pass from the ancient earth; and though my clay

I do confess, in many a sigh,
My lips have breath'd you many a lie,
And who, with such delights in view,
Would lose them for a lie or two?
Nay — look not thus, with brow reproving:
Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving!
If half we tell the girls were true,
If half we swear to think and do,
Were aught but lying's bright illusion,
The world would be in strange confusion!
If ladies' eyes were, every one,
As lovers swear, a radiant sun,
Astronomy should leave the skies,
To learn her lore in ladies' eyes!
Oh no! — believe me, lovely girl,

I COULD make you songs
Beautiful and frail;
Since you will not listen
What will these avail?

I could paint my mouth—
Brush and curl my hair;
Why should I be lovely
Since you do not care?

Lights have beckoned me
Uselessly. My Dear—
How can I be happy
While you are not here?

1. I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent, To break my
2. I take thy hand, and fears grow still; Behold thy
dream of human power; For now, my shallow
face, and doubts remove; Who would not yield his
cisterns spent, I find thy founts, and thirst no more.
wavering will To perfect truth and boundless love?

3. That love this restless soul doth teach
The strength of thine eternal calm;
And tune its sad and broken speech
To join, on earth, the angels' psalm.

4. O be it patient in thy hands,
And drawn, through each mysterious hour,

I BEG the pardon of these flowers
For bringing them to one whose hair
Alone doth shame, beyond compare,
The sweetest blooms of richest bowers.

I beg the pardon of this maid
For offering them with hand less pure,
A heart less perfect, needing cure
By Love's own music, softly played.