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SWEET violets, Love's paradise, that spread

Your gracious odours, which you couched beare
Within your palie faces,

Upon the gentle wing of some calme breathing winde,
That playes amidst the plaine,

If by the favour of propitious starres you gaine
Such grace as in my ladie's bosome place to finde,
Be proud to touch those places!

And when her warmth your moysture forth doth weare,
Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed,

Your honours of the flowrie meades I pray,

You pretty daughters of the earth and sunne, With milde and seemely breathing straite display

My bitter sighs, that have my hart undone!

Vermillion roses, that with new dayes rise,
Display your crimson folds fresh looking faire,
Whose radiant bright disgraces

The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne!
Ah, if her virgin's hand

Do pluck your purse, ere Phoebus view the land,
And vaile your gracious pompe in lovely Nature's scorne,
If chaunce my mistresse traces

Fast by your flowers to take the Sommer's ayre,
Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes
To spread their teares, Adonis' death reporting,
And tell Love's torments, sorrowing for her friend,
Whose drops of bloud, within your leaves consorting,
Report fair Venus' moanes to have no end!
Then may Remorse, in pittying of my smart,
Drie up my teares, and dwell within her hart!

THE SHEPHEARD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.

MELIBEUS.

SHEPHEARD, what's Love, I pray thee tell?

FAUSTUS.

It is that fountaine, and that well,
Where pleasure and repentance dwell:
It is, perhaps, that sauncing bell,

That toules all into heaven or hell:
And this is Love, as I heard tell.

MELIBEUS.

Yet what is Love, I prethee say?

FAUSTUS.

It is a worke on holy-day,

It is December match'd with May,
When lustie bloods in fresh aray

Heare ten months after of the play:
And this is Love, as I heare say.

MELIBEUS.

Yet what is Love, good Shepheard saine?

FAUSTUS.

It is a sun-shine mixt with raine;
It is a tooth-ach; or like paine :

It is a game, where none doth gaine.

The lass saith no, and would full faine:
And this is Love, as I heare saine.

MELIBEUS.

Yet, Shepheard, what is Love, I pray?

FAUSTUS.

It is a yea, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,

It is a thing will soone away;

Then Nimphs take 'vantage while ye may;
And this is Love, as I heare say.

MELIBEUS.

Yet what is Love, good Shepheard show?

FAUSTUS.

A thing that creepes, it cannot goe;

A prize that passeth to and fro,

A thing for one, a thing for moe,

And he that prooves shall find it so,
And, Shepheard, this is Love I trow.

THE SILENT LOVER.

PASSIONS are likened best to floods and streames; The shallow murmur, but the deepe are dumb. So, when affections yield discourse, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come : They that are rich in words must needs discover, They are but poor in that which makes a lover.

Wrong not, sweet mistresse of my heart,
The merit of true passion,

With thinking that he feels no smart,
Who sues for no compassion!

Since, if my plaints were not t' approve
The conquest of thy beautie,
It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t' exceed my dutie.

For, knowing that I sue to serve
A sainte of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve
A place in her affection,

I rather choose to want reliefe
Than venture the revealing:
Where glory recommends the griefe,
Despaire disdains the healing!

Thus those desires that boil so high
In any mortal lover,

When Reason cannot make them die,
Discretion them must cover.

Yet when Discretion doth bereave
The plaintes that I should utter,
Then your Discretion may perceive
That Silence is a Suitor.

Silence in Love bewrays more woe
Than words, though nere so witty;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pitty!

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart!
My love for secret passion;

He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion!

A VISION UPON THE FAIRY QUEEN.

METHOUGHT I Saw the grave, where Laura lay
Within that temple, where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and, passing by that way,
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair Love, and fairer Virtue kept:
All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen;
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,
And, from thenceforth, those Graces were not seen;
For they this Queen attended; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse:
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,

And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce :
Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And curs'd the access of that celestial thief!

THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS DEATH.

EVEN Such is Time, that takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days!

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.

THE LYE.

GOE, Soule, the bodies guest,
Upon a thankelesse arrant;
Feare not to touche the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant :
Goe, since I needs must dye,
And give the world the lye.

I

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