LOVER'S INFINITENESS.

IF yet I have not all thy love,

Dear! I shall never have it all:

I cannot breathe one other sigh to move,
Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;

And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters, I have spent;
Yet no more can be due to me

Than at the bargain made was meant.

If then thy gift of love was partial,

That some for me, some should to others fall,
Dear! I shall never have it all.

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Or, if then thou giv'st me all,

All was but all, which thou hadst then:

But if in thy heart since there be, or shall,

New love created be by other men,

Which have their stocks intire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, in letters, outbid me,

This new love may beget new fears,

For this love was not vow'd by thee;

And yet it was thy gift, being general.

The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall
Grow there, Dear! I should have it all.

Yet I would not have all yet;

He that hath all can have no more:

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And since my love doth every day admit

New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store.
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart;

If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it.
Lovers riddles are, that tho' thy heart depart,

Than changing hearts to join us; so we shall
Be one, and one another's all.

It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it:
But we will love away more liberal

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SONG.

SWEETEST Love! I do dot go
For weariness of thee,

Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;

But since that I

Must die at last, 't is best

Thus to use myself in jest
By feigned death to die.

Yesternight the sun went hence,

And yet is here to-day;
He hath no desire nor sense,

Nor half so short a way:

Then fear not me,

But believe that I shall make
Hastier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.

O how feeble is man's power,

That if good fortune fall,

Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall!

But come bad chance,

And we join to 't our strength,

And we teach it art and length,
Itself o'er us t' advance.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st no wind,
But sigh'st my soul away;

When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.

It cannot be

That thou lov'st me as thou say'st;
If in thine my life thou waste,
That art the life of me.

Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill,
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfill;
But think that we

Are but laid aside to sleep:
They who one another keep
Alive ne'er parted be,

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THE LEGACY.

WHEN last I dy'd (and, Dear! I die

As often as from thee I go,

Tho' it be but an hour ago,
And lovers' hours be full eternity)

I can remember yet that I

Something did say, and something did bestow;
Tho' I be dead, which sent me, I might be
Mine own executor and legacy.

I heard me say, tell her anon
That myself, that is you, not I,

Did kill me, and when I felt me die,

I bid me send my heart when I was gone,..

But I, alas! could find there none.

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When I had ripp'd and search'd where hearts should lie,

It kill'd me again that I, who still was true

In life, in my last will should cozen you.

Yet I found something like a heart,
For colours it and corners had;
It was not good, it was not bad,

It was intire to none, and few had part:
As good as could be made by art

It seem'd, and therefore for our loss be sad.

I meant to send that heart instead of mine;
But oh! no man could hold it, for 'twas thine.

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A FEVER.

OH! do not die, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
When I remember thou wast one.

But yet thou canst not die, I know:
To leave this world behind is death;
But when thou from this world wilt go,
The whole world vapours in thy breath.

Or if when thou, the world's soul, goest,
It stay, 'tis but thy carcass then,
The fairest woman but thy ghost,

But corrupt worms the worthiest men.

O wrangling Schools! that search what fire
Shall burn this world: had none the wit

Unto this knowledge to aspire,

That this her Fever might be it ?

And yet she cannot waste by this,
Nor long endure this torturing wrong,
For more corruption needful is
Tofuel such a Fever long.

These burning fits but meteors be,
Whose matter in thee soon is spent;

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