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A Refignation.

Was it the proud full fail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of (all-too-precious) you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain rehearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his fpirit, by fpirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that ftruck me dead?
No, neither he nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verfe aftonished.
He nor that affable familiar ghost,
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my filence cannot boast
I was not fick of any fear from thence.

;

But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter, that infeebled mine.

Farewel, thou art too dear for my poffeffing,
And, like enough, thou know'ft thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee, but by thy granting,
And for that riches, where is my deferving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And fo my patent back again is fwerving.
Thyfelf thou gav'ft, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'ft it, elfe miftaking:
So thy great gift upon mifprifion growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In fleep a king, but waking, no fuch matter.

Sympathizing Love.

As it fell upon a day,

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beafts did leap, and birds did fing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring :
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone;
She (poor bird!) as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breaft up-till a thorn,
And there fung the dolefull'ft ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would the cry;
Tereu, Tereu, by and by;

That to hear her fo complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain:
For her griefs fo lovely fhown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'ft in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senfelefs trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthlefs bears, they will not chear thee;
King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lap'd in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do fing,
Careless of thy forrowing:
Whilft as fickle fortune fmil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd;
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in mifery.

Words are easy, like the wind,

Faithful friends are hard to find:
Every man will be thy friend,

Whilft thou haft wherewith to spend :
But if ftore of crowns be fcant,
No man will fupply thy want.

If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with fuch like flattering,
Pity but he was a king.
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will intice.
If to women he be bent,

They have him at commandment.
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewel his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before,
Ufe his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need :
If thou forrow, he will weep;
If thou awake, he cannot fleep.
Thus of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain figns, to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

A Request to his Scornful Love.

When thou shalt be difpos'd to fet me light,
And place my merit in the eye of fcorn,
Upon thy fide, against thyself I'll fight,

And prove thee virtuous, tho' thou art forsworn: With mine own weakness being beft acquainted, Upon thy part I can fet down a ftory

Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted:
That thou in lofing me fhalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too.

For bending all my loving thoughts on thee;
The injuries that to myfelf I do,

Doing thee 'vantage, double 'vantage me.

Such is my love, to thee I fo belong,

That for thy right, myfelf will bear all wrong.

Say that thou didst forfake me for fome fault,
And I will comment upon that offence;
Speak of my lameness, and I trait will halt;
Againt thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not (love) difgrace me half fo ill,
To fet a form upon defired change,

As I'll myself difgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance ftrangle, and look ftrange;
Be abfent from thy walks, and on my tongue
Thy fweet beloved name no more fhall dwell,
Left I (too much profane) fhould do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.

For thee, against myself, I'll vow debate;
For I muft ne're love him, whom thou doft hate:

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the fpite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after lofs:

Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'fcap'd this forrow,
Come in the rereward of a conquer'd woe!
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me laft,
When other petty griefs have done their spite;
But in the onset come, fo fhall I tafte
At first the very worft of fortune's might.

And other ftrains of woe, which now feem woe,
Compar'd with lofs of thee, will not seem so.

Some glory in their birth, fome in their skill, Some in their wealth, fome in their bodies force,

Some in their garments, tho' new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, fome in their horse:
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest.
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better, in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments coft;
Of more delight than hawks or horfes be:
And having thee, of all mens pride I boaft.

Wretched in this alone, that thou may'ft take
All this away, and me moft wretched make.

A Lover's Affection, though his Love prove Unconftant.

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art affured mine;
And life no longer than my love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the leaft of them my life hath end;
I see a better state to me belongs,

Than that which on my humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me with inconftant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie;
Oh! what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's fo bleffed fair, that fears no blot?
Thou may'st be falfe, and yet I know it not.

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So fhall I live, fuppofing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; fo love's face
May ftill feem love to me, tho' alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.

L

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