Until it did approach my Sun too near;
And then (alas) untimely was it blasted,

So soon as once thy beauty did appear:
But after all my comfort rests in this,
That for thy sake my youth decayéd is.

Sweet stroke, (so might I thrive) as I must praise,
But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke:
The lute itself is sweetest, when she plays;

But what hear I? A string through fear is broke. The lute doth shake, as if it were afraid,

O sure some goddess holds it in her hand!
A heavenly power that oft hath me dismayed,
Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand.
Cease, lute; my ceaseless suit will ne'er be heard:
(Ah! too hard-hearted she that will not hear it!)
If I but think on joy, my joy is marred,

My grief is great, yet ever must Ì bear it.
But love 'twixt us will
prove a faithful
And she will love my sorrows to assuage.

page,

Weep now no more, mine eyes, but be you drowned
In your own tears, so many years distilled :
And let her know that at them long hath frowned,
That you can weep no more, although she willed.
This hap her cruelty hath her allotten,

Who whilom was commandress of each part:
That now her proper griefs must be forgotten,

By those true outward signs of inward smart. For how can he that hath not one tear left him,

Stream out those floods that's due unto her moaning, When both of eyes and tears she hath bereft him? O yet I'll signify my grief with groaning! True sighs, true groans shall echo in the air, And say Fidessa (though most cruel) is most fair.

THE NEW ( PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX

VILDEN MOSINTA**2.