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And each (tho' enemies to other's reign)

Do in consent shake hands to torture me;

The one by toil, the other to complain,

How far I toil, still farther off from thee.

1 tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,

And dofs him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:

So flatter I the fwart-complexion'd night,

"When sparkling stars tweer out, thou gild'st th' even.

But day doth daily draw my forrows longer,.

And night doth nightly make grief's length seem


When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes

I ail altne beweep my out-cast state,

And trc uble deas heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate:

W shing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possest y

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

TYith what I most enjoy. contented least.

Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising;

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark, at break of day arising

From sullen earth, to sing at heaven's gate.

For thy sweet love remembered,such wealth.brings,.

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Cruel Deceit.

Scarce had the sun dry'd up the dewy morn,

And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade;

When Cytherea (all in love forlorn)

A longing tarriance for Adonis made

Under an osier growing by a brook;

A brcok, wheie Adon us'd to cool his spleen.

Hot was the day, she hotter, that did look
For his approach, that often here had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not fo wistly, as this queen on him:

He spying her, bounc'd in (whereas he stood)
O! Jove! (quoth she) why was not I a flood?

Unconftant Lover.

Fair iff my love, but not fo fair as sickle;

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;

B'righter than glass, and yet as glass is brittle }~'

Softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty:

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her; .
None sairer, nor none falser to deiace her.

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing?
How many tales to please me hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still searing?
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were

She burnt with love, as straw with sire flameth;
She burnt out love, as foon as straw out burning y
She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framings
She bad love last, and yet she sell a turning.

Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?

Bad at. the best, tho' excellent in neither*].
F S..

The Benefit of Friendship.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I fought,

And with old woes new wail my.dear time's waste.

Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow)

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep asresh love's long since cancell'd woe,

A nd moan th"s expence of many a vanish'd sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The fad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Wffich I new pay, as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,.

All losses are restor'd, and forrows end.

Thy bosom is endeared with all'hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts,.
And all those friends, which I thought buried.
Wow many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'h from mine eye,-.
As interest of the dead, which now appear
Eut things rtmov'd, that hidden in thee lie!
Thou arr the grave where buried love doth live^,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone
Who all their parts of me to thee did give,-
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I lov'd, 1 view in thee,
And thou-(all they) hast all the all of me.

If thou survive my wellrcontented day,
When that churl dearh my bones with dust shall*

Arid shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover:
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
.And tho' they be out-stripr. by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhime,
Exceeded by the height os happier men,
Oh-then vouchfase me but this loving though!
Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,
-A dearer birth than this, his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:

But since he. died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for therr stile I'll read, his for his lovc-.

Friendly Concords.

If'musick and sweet poetry agree, '.
As they must needs (the sister and the brother)"
Then must the love be great'twixt thee and me, .
Because thou lov'st the" one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch <
Upon the lute, doth-raviffi human sense:
Spencer to me, whose deep conceit is such,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the'sweet melodious found,'
That Phœbus' lute(the queen of musick) makes ;r.-
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,.
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One God is God of both (as poets fain)"
Qne-knight loves both, .and. both in thee remains-

Inhumanity. .

Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love,';. Ealer for forrow than her milk-white dove*.

For Adon's fake, a youngster proud and wild,

Her stand (lie takes upon a steep-up hill.

Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds,

She, silly queen, with more than love's good-will,

Foibad the boy he should not pass those grounds:

Once (quoth she) did I sea a fair sweet youth

Here in these brakes, deep wounded with a boary

Deep in the thigh a spectacle of ruth;

See in my thigh (quoth she) here was the fore:

She shewed hers, he faw more wounds than one,.

And blushing sled, and left her all alone.

A Congratulation.

How- can my muse want subject to invent,

Whilst thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

Oh! give thyself the thanks, if ought in mey

"Worthy perufal, stand against thy sight \

For who's so dull, that cannot write to thee;.

When rhcu thyself dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth,.

Than these old Nine which rhimers invocate;

Ai d he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to out-live long date.

Is my flight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

Ah! how thy worth with manners may I sing,

When thou art all the better part of me?

What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?'

And what is't but mine own when I praise thee I

Even for this, let us divided live,

And our dear love lese name os single one;

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