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.