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.