A FANCY, FR. ROSALIND [ROSLYNDE] by THOMAS LODGE

First shall the heaven want starry light,
The seas be robbed of their waves,
The day want sun, the sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,
The April flowers and leaf and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.

First shall the tops of highest hills
By humble plains be overpried,
And poets scorn the Muses" quills,
And fish forsake the water-glide,
And Iris lose her coloured weed
Before I fail thee at thy need.

First direful hate shall turn to peace
And love relent in deep disdain,
And death his fatal stroke shall cease
And envy pity every pain,
And pleasure mourn, and sorrow smile
Before I talk of any guile.

First Time shall stay his stayless race,
And Winter bless his boughs with corn,
And snow bemoisten July's face,
And Winter, Spring and Summer mourn
Before my pen, by help of Fame,
Cease to recite thy sacred name.

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