Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake, br What ayles thee soe to pyne? br Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake br When dayes be fyne br And greene thynges twyne: br Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne? br Turtur. Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late, br What ayles thee thus to chyde? br My love is fled by garden-gate; br Since Lammas-tyde br I wayte my bryde. br Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde? br Senex. Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,' br Of Time forgotten quite, br That no remembered face may scanne— br Sadde eremyte, br I wayte tonyghte br Pale Death, nor any other wyghte. br O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe, br Goe waken Time from sleepe: br Goe whysper in his ear, that soe br His besom sweepe br Me to that heape br Where all my recollections keepe. br Hath he forgott? Or did I viewe br A ghostlye companye br This even, by the dismalle yewe, br Of faces three br That beckoned mee br To land where no repynynges bee? br O Harrye, Harrye, Tom and Dicke, br Each lost companion! br Why loyter I among the quicke, br When ye are gonne? br Shalle I alone br Delayinge crye 'Anon, Anon'? br Naye, let the spyder have my gowne, br To brayde therein her veste. br My cappe shal serve, now I 'goe downe,' br For mouse's neste. br Loe! this is best. br I care not, soe I gayne my reste.