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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 scorn,
Upon thy fide, against thyself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, tho' thou art forfworn:
With mine own weaknefs being beft acquainted,
Upon thy part I can fet down a story

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 myself 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 reafons 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 shall dwell,
Left I (too much profane) fhould do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.

For thee, againft myfelf, 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 last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite;
But in the onfet come, fo fhall I tafte
At first the very worst of fortune's might.

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

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 beft.
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 boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

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

But do thy worft to fteal thyfelf 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 least 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.

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.

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For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In manies looks the falfe heart's hiftory

Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles ftrange:
But heaven in thy creation did decree,

That in thy face fweet love fhould ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks fhall nothing thence but fweetnefs tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy fweet virtue anfwer not thy fhow!

They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they muft do, fhow;
Who moving others, are themselves as stone
Unmoved, cold and to temptation flow :
They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces,
And hufband nature's riches from expence;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The fummer's flower is to the fummer sweet,
Tho' to itself it only live and die;

But if that flower with base infection meet,
The bafeft weed out-braves his dignity:

For fweetest things turn foureft by their deeds;
Lilies, that fefter, fmell far worse than weeds.

How sweet and lovely doft thou make the fhame,
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name?
Oh! in what sweets doft thou thy fins inclose !
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
(Making lafcivious comments on thy fport)
Cannot difpraife, but in a kind of praife;
Naming thy name, bleffes an ill report.

Oh! what a manfion have thofe vices got,
Which for their habitation chufe out thee:
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes can fee!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege,
The hardest knife, ill us'd, doth lose his edge.

Complaint for his Lover's Abfence.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days feen?
What old December's barrenness every where?
And yet this time remov'd was fummer's time;
The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decease.
Yet this abundant iffue feem'd to me,
But hope of orphans and un-father'd fruit ;
For fummer and his pleafures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or if they fing, 'tis with fo dull a chear,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

From you have I been abfent in the fpring,
When proud py'd April (drest in all his trim)
Hath put a fpirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet not the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Cou'd make me any fummer's story tell;

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,

Nor praise the deep vermillion in the rofe;

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