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.