In A College Garden.

Senex.    Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake,
        What ayles thee soe to pyne?
    Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake
        When dayes be fyne
        And greene thynges twyne:
        Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?


Turtur.    Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late,
        What ayles thee thus to chyde?
    My love is fled by garden-gate;
        Since Lammas-tyde
        I wayte my bryde.
        Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde?

Senex.    Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,'
        Of Time forgotten quite,
    That no remembered face may scanne--
        Sadde eremyte,
        I wayte tonyghte
        Pale Death, nor any other wyghte.

    O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe,
        Goe waken Time from sleepe:
    Goe whysper in his ear, that soe
        His besom sweepe
        Me to that heape
        Where all my recollections keepe.

    Hath he forgott?    Or did I viewe
        A ghostlye companye
    This even, by the dismalle yewe,
        Of faces three
        That beckoned mee
        To land where no repynynges bee?

    O Harrye, Harrye, Tom and Dicke,
        Each lost companion!
    Why loyter I among the quicke,
        When ye are gonne?
        Shalle I alone
        Delayinge crye 'Anon, Anon'?

    Naye, let the spyder have my gowne,
        To brayde therein her veste.
    My cappe shal serve, now I 'goe downe,'
        For mouse's neste.
        Loe! this is best.
        I care not, soe I gayne my reste.