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But now the naked lad down headlong falls,
And by the way, he father, father, calls;
Help, father, help, I die: and as he speaks,
A violent furge his courfe of language breaks.
Th' unhappy father (but no father now)
Cries out aloud, Son Icarus where art thou?
Where art thou, Icarus, where doft thou fly?
Icarus where art? when lo, he may efpy
The feathers fwim; aloud he doth exclaim:
The earth his bones, the fea ftill bears his name.

Achilles bis Concealment of his fex in the Court of
Lycomedes.

Now from another world doth fail with joy,
A welcome daughter to the king of Troy.
The whilft the Grecians are already come,
(Mov'd with that general wrong 'gainst Ilium)
Achilles in a fmock his fex doth fmother,

And lays the blame upon his careful mother.
What mak'ft thou, great Achilles, teazing wool,
When Pallas in a helm fhould clafp thy fkull?
What do these fingers with fine threads of gold,
Which were more fit a warlike fhield to hold?
Why should that right hand rock or tow contain,
By which the Trojan Hector must be slain ?
Caft off thy loofe veils, and thy armour take,
And in thy hand the fpear of Pallas shake.
Thus lady-like he with a lady lay,

Till what he was, her belly muft bewray;
Yet was fhe forc'd (fo fhould we all believe)
Not to be forc'd fo, now her heart would grieve.
When he fhould rife from her, ftill would fhe cry,
(For he had arm'd him, and his rock laid by)

And with a foft voice fpeak: Achilles ftay,

It is too foon to rife, lie down I pray,

And then the man that forc'd her fhe would kifs: What force (Deidamea) call you this?

A Lover's Complaint.

From off a hill, whofe concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a fift'ring vale,

My spirits t' attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to lift the fad-tun'd tale,
Ere long efpied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her words with forrow's wind and rain:
Upon her head a platted hive of ftraw,
Which fortify'd her vifage from the fun,
Whereon the thought might think fometime it faw
The carcafe of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not fcithed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but fpite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd thro' lattice of fear'd age.
Oft did the heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters;
Laundring the filken figures in the brine,
That feafon'd woe had pelleted in tears;
And often reading what contents it bears:
As often fhrieking undiftinguifh'd woe,
In clamours of all fize, both high and low.
Sometimes her level'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometimes diverted, their poor balls are ty'd
To th' orbed earth; fometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and no where fix'd,
The mind and fight diftractedly commix'd,

Her hair, nor loofe nor ty'd in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride;
For fome untuck'd defcended her fhav'd hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek befide;
Some in her thredden fillet ftill did bide,

And true to bondage, would not break from thence,
Tho' flackly braided in loofe negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund the drew,
Of amber, cryftal, and of beaded jet;
Which one by one fhe in a river threw,
Upon whofe weeping margent she was set,
Like ufury, applying wet to wet ;

Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall,
Where want cries fome, but where excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had the many a one,

Which the perus'd, figh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of pofied gold and bone,
Bidding them find their fepulchers in mud:
Found yet more letters fadly penn'd in blood,
With fleided filk, feat and affectedly
Enfwath'd and feal'd to curious fecrecy.
Thefe often bath'd fhe in her fluxive eyes,
And often kifs'd, and often gave a tear;
Cry'd, O falfe blood! thou regifter of lyes,
What unapproved witness doft him bear!
Ink would have feem'd more black and damned here!
This faid, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big difcontent fo breaking their contents.
A reverend man, that graz'd his cattle nigh,
Sometime a blufterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The fwifteft hours obferved as they flew ;
Towards this afflicted fancy faftly drew:
And, privileg'd by age, defires to know,
In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe.

So flides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely diftant fits he by her fide;
When he again defires her, being fat,
Hér grievance with his hearing to divide;
If that from him there may be ought apply'd,
Which may her fuffering extafy affuage:
'Tis promis'd in the charity of age.
Father, fhe fays, tho' in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but forrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had felf-apply'd
Love to myself, and to no love befide.
But woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful fuit; it was to gain my grace;
O! one by nature's outwards fo commended,
That maidens eyes ftuck over all his face;
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts fhe did abide,
She was new lodg'd, and newly deify'd.
His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,
And every light occafion of the wind
Upon his lips their filken parcels hurls.
What's fweet to do, to do will aptly find;
Each eye that faw him did inchant the mind:
For on his vifage was in little drawn,
What largenefs thinks in paradise was sawn.
Small fhew of man was yet upon his chin,
His phoenix down began but to appear,
Like unfhorn velvet, on that termless fkin,
Whofe bare out-bragg'd the web it feem'd to wear;
Yet fhew'd his vifage by that cost most dear:
And nice affections wavering, ftood in doubt
If beft 'twere as it was, or beft without.

His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongu'd he was, and thereof free:
Yet if men mov'd him, was he fuch a ftorm,
As of 'twixt May and April is to fee,

When winds breathe fweet, unruly tho' they be.
His rudeness fo with his authoriz'd youth,
Did livery falfenefs in a pride of truth.
Well could he ride, and often men would fay,
That horfe his mettle from his rider takes;
Proud of fubjection, noble by the fway,

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
And controverfy hence a queftion takes, [he makes!
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his, manag'd by th' well-doing steed?
But quickly on this fide the verdict went;
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his cafe;
All aids themselves made fairer by their place,
Can for additions yet their purpose trim,
Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him.
So on the tip of his fubduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and queftions deep,
All replication prompt, and reafon strong,
For his advantage ftill did wake and fleep,
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep.
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all paffions in his craft of will;
That he did in the general bofom reign
Of young, of old, and fexes both inchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In perfonal duty, following where he haunted;
Confent's bewitch'd, ere he defire have granted;
And dialogu'd for him what he would fay,

Afk'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

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