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Well could he ride, and often men would say "That horse his mettle from his rider takes : Prond of subjection, noble by the sway,
So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kind of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep: To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, He had the dialect and different skill, Catching all passions in his craft of will:
That he did in the general bosom reign Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted, To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty, following where he haunted: Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted; And dialogu'd for him what he would say, Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.
Many there were that did his picture get, To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; Like fools that in the imagination set The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.
So many have, that never touch'd his hand, Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple, not in part, What with his art in youth, and youth in art, Threw my affections in his charmed power, Reserv'd the stalk and gave him all my flower.
Yet did I not, as some my equals did. Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; Finding myself in honour so forbid, With safest distance I mine honour shielded. Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah! who ever shunn'd by precedent
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what That we must curb it upon others' proof;
stop he makes!"
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
'For further I could say "This man's untrue," And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; Knew vows were ever brokers to d filing; Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
'Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
"O pardon me, in that my boast is true;
Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd,
"How mighty then you are, O! hear me tell: The broken bosoms that to me belong
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
"And, lo! behold these talents of their hair, With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, I have receiv'd from many a several fair, Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd, With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, And deep-brain'd sonnets, that did amplify Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
"The diamond; why, 'twas beautiful and hard, Whereto his invis'd properties did tend; The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard Weak sighits their sickly radiance do amend; The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend With objects manifold: each several stone, With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some
"Lo! all these trophies of affections hot,
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
"O! then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command, Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did
And mine I pour your ocean all among :
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
"When thou impressest, what are precepts
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
For being both to me, both to each friend,
guess one angel in another's hell.
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd Whenas himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as poets feign; One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.
Celestial as thou art, O! do not love that Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love, wrong,
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A brook where Adon us'd to cool his spleen:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood: 'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring! Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded; Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; For why I craved nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee, Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
As if the boy should use like loving charms.
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather:
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O! my love, my love is young :
Age, I do defy thee: O! sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
And as goods lost are seld or never found,
So beauty blemish'd once 's for ever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again to
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, "T may be, again to make me wander thither: 'Wander,' a word for shadows like thyself, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Lord! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ; My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with