Mon. Set with the sun thy woes. Sil. The day grows old,
And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold.
Chor. The shades grow great, but greater grows our sorrow;
But let's go steep
Our eyes in sleep,
And meet to weep
To-morrow.
Quintell, quintain or tilting board.
Bents, grasses.
Pales, the goddess of sheepfolds.
- 422 ##
422. THE POET LOVES A MISTRESS, BUT NOT TO
MARRY.
I do not love to wed,
Though I do like to woo;
And for a maidenhead
I'll beg and buy it too.
I'll praise and I'll approve
Those maids that never vary;
And fervently I'll love,
But yet I would not marry.
I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport it any way
But in the bridal bed.
For why? that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may hav
