The boys run dabbling through thick and thin;
     One tears his hose, another breaks his shin;
     This, torn and tattered, hath with much ado
     Got by the briars; and that hath lost his shoe;
     This drops his band; that headlong falls for haste;
     Another cries behind for being last: 
     With sticks and stones and many a sounding holloa
     The little fool with no small sport they follow,
     Whilst he from tree to tree, from spray to spray
     Gets to the woods and hides him in his dray.

     AS CAREFUL MERCHANTS DO EXPECTING STAND

     From ‘Britannia’s Pastorals’

     As careful merchants do expecting stand,
       After long time and merry gales of wind,
     Upon the place where their brave ships must land,
       So wait I for the vessel of my mind.

     Upon a great adventure is it bound,
       Whose safe return will valued be at more
     Than all the wealthy prizes which have crowned
       The golden wishes of an age before.

     Out of the East jewels of worth she brings;
       The unvalued diamond of her sparkling eye
     Wants in the treasures of all Europe’s kings;
       And were it mine, they nor their crowns should buy.

     The sapphires ringed on her panting breast
       Run as rich veins of ore about the mold,
     And are in sickness with a pale possessed;
       So true for them I should disvalue gold.

     The melting rubies on her cherry lip
       Are of such power to hold, that as one day
     Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to sip: 
       And, fastened there, could never get away.

     The sweets of Candy are no sweets to me
       Where hers I taste:  nor the perfumes of price,
     Robbed from the happy shrubs of Araby,
       As her sweet breath so powerful to entice.

     O hasten then! and if thou be not gone
       Unto that wicked traffic through the main,
     My powerful sigh shall quickly drive thee on,
       And then begin to draw thee back again.

     If, in the mean, rude waves have it opprest,
     It shall suffice, I ventured at the best.

     SONG OF THE SIRENS

     From ‘The Inner Temple Masque’

     Steer hither, steer your winged pines,
       All beaten mariners! 
     Here lie love’s undiscovered mines,
       A prey to passengers: 
     Perfumes far sweeter than the best
     Which make the Phoenix’s urn and nest. 
       Fear not your ships,
     Nor any to oppose you save our lips,
       But come on shore,
     Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

     For swelling waves our panting breasts,
       Where never storms arise,
     Exchange, and be awhile our guests: 
       For stars, gaze on our eyes. 
     The compass love shall