Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; For man is man and master of his fate.

Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud; Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

N Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal

powers:

It is the little rift within the lute,

That by and by will make the music mute,

And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine, For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine, And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were

mine,

So trust me not at all or all in all.

ELAINE'S SONG.

WEET is true love tho' given in vain,

in vain ;

And sweet is death who puts an end

to pain:

I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.

Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be:

Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me.

O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die.

Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay,

I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.

I fain would follow love, if that could be;
I needs must follow death, who calls for me;
Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.