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If thefe delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.

If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every fhepherd's tongue;
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,

And all complain of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yield:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but forrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy girdle, and thy pofies;
Some break, fome wither, fome forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of ftraw, and ivy buds ;
Thy coral clafps, and aimber ftuds ;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth laft, and love still breed,
Had joys no date and age no need ;
Then thefe delights my mind might move.
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Another of the fame Nature.

Come live with me, and be

And we will revel all the year

my dear,

In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breathes sweetest gales.
There fhall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar, and the fpreading vine,
And all the woods to be a fkreen,
Left Phoebus kifs my fummer's queen.
The feat of your difport fhall be,
Over fome river, in a tree;
Where filver fands and pebbles fing
Eternal ditties to the spring.

There you fhall fee the nymphs at play,
And how the fatyrs spend the day:
The fifhes gliding on the fands,
Offering their bellies to your hands;
The birds, with heavenly-tuned throats,
Poffefs woods echoes with sweet notes;
Which to your fenfes will impart
A mufick to inflame the heart.
Upon the bare and leaflefs oak,
The ring-doves wooings will provoke
A colder blood than you poffefs,
To play with me, and do no lefs.
In bowers of laurel trimly dight,
We will outwear the filent night,
While Flora bufy is to fpread
Her richeft treasure on our bed.
The glow-worms fhall on you attend,
And all their sparkling lights fhall spend
All to adorn and beautify

Your lodging with most majefty:
Then in my arms will I inclofe
Lilies fair mixture with the rofe;

Whose nice perfections in love's play,
Shall tune me to the higheft key.


Thus as we pass the welcome night..
In fportful pleasures and delight,
The nimble fairies on the grounds
Shall dance and fing melodious founds.
If these may serve for to intice,
Your prefence to love's paradife;
Then come with me, and be my
And we will ftrait begin the year.


Take, O! take thofe lips away,
That so sweetly were forfworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights which do mislead the morn.
But my kiffes bring again,

Seals of love, tho' feal'd in vain.

Hide, O! hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bofom bears,
On whofe tops the pinks that grow,
Are of those that April wears.
But my poor heart firft fet free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

Let the bird of lowest lay,
On the fole Arabian tree,
Herald fad, and trumpet be,

To whofe found chafte wings obey,
But thou fhrieking harbinger,
Foul procurer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,

To this troop come thou not near.

From this feffion interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle feather'd king.
Keep the obfequy so strict;
Let the priest in furplice white,
That defunctive mufick ken,
Be the death-divining swan.
Left the requiem lack his right.
And thou treble-dated crow,
That thy fable gender mak'ft,
With the breath thou giv'ft and tak'ft,
'Mongft our mourners fhalt thou
Here the anthem doth commence,
Love and conftancy is dead,
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

So they loved as love in twain
Had the effence but in one
Two diftincts but in none;
Number there in love was flain :
Hearts remote, yet not afunder,
Distance, and no fpace was seen.
'Twixt thy turtle and his queen,
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did fhine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix fight,
Either was the other's mine.
Property was thus appalled,
That the felf was not the fame,
Single natures, double name,
Neither two nor one was called.
Reason in itself confounded,
Saw divifion grow together,


To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were fo well compounded,
That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one,
Love hath reafon, reafon none,
If what parts can fo remain.
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-fupremes and ftars of love,
As chorus to their tragic fcene.


Beauty, truth and rarity,
Grace in all fimplicity,

Hence inclosed, in cynders lie:
Death is now the phoenix nest,
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest;
Leaving no pofterity,
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may feem, but cannot be
Beauty brag, but 'tis not fhe;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair,
That are either true or fair;
For thefe dead birds figh a prayer.

Why should this defart be,

For it is unpeopled? No, Tongue I'll hang on every tree, That shall civil sayings show.



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