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Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is plac'd, without remove.
One filly crofs wrought all my lofs;
O! frowning fortune, curfed fickle dame!
For now I fee inconftancy
More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I, all fears fcorn I,
Love hath forlorn me living in thrall;
Heart is bleeding, all help needing;
O! cruel fpeeding, fraughted with gall!
My fhepherd's pipe can found no deal
My weather's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but feems afraid.
With fighs fo deep, procures to weep
In howling wife, to fee my doleful plight;
How fighs refound thro' heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquifh'd men in bloody fight.
Clear wells fpring not, fweet birds fing not,
Green plants bring not forth their dye;
Herds ftand weeping, flocks all fleeping,
Nymphs black peeping fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor fwains;
All our merry meetings on the plains;
All our evening fport from us is fled;
All our love is loft, for love is dead.
Farewell, fweet love, thy like ne'er was,
For a fweet content, the cause of all my woe;
Poor Coridon must live alone,
Other help for him, I fee, that there is none.
Whenas thine eye hath chofe the dame,
And ftall'd the deer that thou fhould'ft ftrike;
Let reafon rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy (partly all might)
Take counfel of fome wifer head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'ft thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk;
Left fhe fome fubtle practice fmell:
A cripple foon can find a halt.
But plainly fay, thou lov'ft her well,
And fet her perfon forth to fale.
What tho' her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late fhe will repent,
That thus diffembled her delight;
And twice defire, ere it be day,
That which with fcorn fhe put away.
What tho' fhe ftrive to try her strength,
And ban, and brawl, and fay thee nay;
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
Had women been fo ftrong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.
And to her will frame all thy ways,
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there,
Where thy defert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with affured truft,
And in thy fuit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Please never thou to chufe a-new.
When time shall ferve, be thou not flack
To proffer, tho' fhe put it back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Diffembled with an outward fhew
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them fhall not know.
Have you not heard it faid full oft,
A woman's nay doth ftand for nought?
Think women ftill to ftrive with men
To fin, and never for to faint:
There is no heaven (by holy then)
When time with age fhall them attaint.
Were kiffes all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But foft enough, too much I fear,
Left that my mistress hear my fong;
She will not ftick to round me on th' ear,
To teach my tongue to be fo long.
Yet will the blush, here be it said,
To hear her fecrets fo bewraid.
Sin of felf-love poffeffeth all mine eye,
And all my foul, and all my every part;
And for this fin there is no remedy,
It is fo grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face fo gracious is, as mine;
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths furmount.
But when my glass fhews me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity;
Mine own felf-love quite contrary I read,
Self, fo felf-loving, were iniquity:
'Tis thee (my felf) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Not marble, nor the gilded monument
Of princes, fhall out-live this powerful rhyme;
But you fhall fhine more bright in these contents,
Than unfwept ftone befmear'd with fluttish time.
When wafteful war fhall ftatues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry;
Nor Mars's fword, nor war's quick fire fhall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainft death, and all oblivious enmity,
Shall you pace forth; your praife shall still find room,
Even in the eyes of all pofterity,
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So till the judgment, that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers eyes,
Familiarity breeds Centempt.
So am I as the rich, whofe bleffed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour furvey,
For blunting the fine point of feldom pleasure,
Therefore are feasts so folemn and so rare;
Since feldom coming, in the long year fet,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carconet.
So is the time that keeps you, as my cheft,
Or as the wardrobe, which the robe doth hide,
To make fome fpecial inftant fpecial bleft,
By new unfolding his imprifon'd pride.
Bleffed are you, whofe worthiness gives scope,
Being had to triumph, being lack'd to hope.
Is it thy will, thy image fhould keep open
My heavy eye-lids to the weary night?
Doft thou defire my flumbers fhould be broken,
While fhadows, like to thee, do mock my fight?
Is it thy fpirit that thou send'st from thee,
So far from home, into my deeds to pry?
To find out fhames, and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealoufy?
O no, thy love, tho' much is not fo great;
It is my love, that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love, that doth my reft defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy fake.
For thee watch I, whilft thou doft wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near,
No longer mourn for me when I am dead;
When you fhall hear the furly fullen bell