Lady (?.)
What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Remember the old saying, "Faint heart never won fair lady."
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms.
A lovely lady, garmented in light
From her own beauty.
O Lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone.
Here comes the lady! O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.
The gentle Lady married to the Moor,
And heavenly Una with her milk-white lamb.
Lady of the Mere,
Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
A lady richly clad as she,
Beautiful exceedingly.
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrowe is in vaine;
For violets pluckt, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.
Heroic, stoic Cato, the sententious,
Who lent his lady to his friend Hortensius.
When daisies pied and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men.
