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What then is Love but Mourning?

What then is love but mourning?
What desire, but a self-burning?
Till she, that hates, doth love return,
Thus will I mourn, thus will I sing,
"Come away! come away, my darling!"

Beauty is but a blooming,

Youth in his glory entombing;

Time hath a while, which none can stay: Then come away, while thus I sing, "Come away! come away, my darling!"

Summer in winter fadeth;

Gloomy night heavenly light shadeth:
Like to the morn, are Venus flowers;
Such are her hours: then will I sing,
"Come away! come away, my darling!"

(B 325)

401

2 D

Thoughts to Eyes

Turn all thy thoughts to eyes,
Turn all thy hairs to ears,
Change all thy friends to spies,
And all thy joys to fears:

True love will yet be free,
In spite of jealousy.

Turn darkness into day,
Conjectures into truth,
Believe what the envious say,
Let age interpret youth:

True love will yet be free,
In spite of jealousy.

Wrest every word and look,
Rack every hidden thought,
Or fish with golden hook;
True love cannot be caught.

For that will still be free,
In spite of jealousy!

Love Me or not, Love Her

I Must or Die

Love me or not, love her I must or die; Leave me or not, follow her, needs must I. O that her grace would my wished comforts give!

How rich in her, how happy should I live!

All my desire, all my delight should be,
Her to enjoy, her to unite to me:
Envy should cease, her would I love
alone:

Who loves by looks is seldom true to one.

Could I enchant, and that it lawful were, Her would I charm softly that none should hear.

But love enforced rarely yields firm content;

So would I love that neither should repent.

Spring of

Speaking Grace!

Awake, thou spring of speaking grace! mute rest becomes not thee!

The fairest women, while they sleep, and pictures, equal be.

O come and dwell in love's discourses!

Old renewing, new creating.

The words which thy rich tongue discourses,

Are not of the common rating!

Thy voice is as an Echo clear which Music doth beget,

Thy speech is as an Oracle which none can counterfeit :

For thou alone, without offending, Hast obtained power of enchanting;

And I could hear thee without ending,

Other comfort never wanting.

AWAKE, THOU SPRING

Some little reason brutish lives with human glory share;

But language is our proper grace, from which they severed are.

As brutes in reason man surpasses,
Men in speech excel each other:
If speech be then the best of graces,
Do it not in slumber smother!

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