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.
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.