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And I a tyrant have no leisure taken,
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.
Oh! that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true forrow hits,
And foon to you, as you to me then tendered
The humble falve, which wounded bofoms sits!
But that your trespass now becomes a see,
Mine ranfoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

Error in Opinion.

Tis better to be vile than vile efteem'd,

"When not to be, receives reproach of being;

And the just pleasure lost, which is fo deem'd,

Not by our seeling, bat by others seeing.

For why should others false adulterate eyes

Give falutation to my sportive blood?

Or on my frailties, why are frailer spies;

Which in their wills count bad what I think good?

No, I am that I am, and they that level"

At my abuses, reckon up their own;

I may be streight, tho' they themselves be bevel;

By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this-general evil they maintain,
AW men are bad, and in their badness reign.

Upon the Receipt of a- Table-Book from his Mistress*

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain,
Full charactei'd with a lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date, even to eternity;
Or at the least, fo long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;

Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be mist.
That pooi retention could not fo much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them srom me, was I bold
To trust those tables that receive thee more:

To krep an adjunct to remember thee,

Were to import loigetsulness in me.

A Vow.

No, Time! thou shalt not boast that I do change*

Thy pyramids built up with newer might,
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dretlings of a sormer sight.
Our dates are brief, and- therefore we admire
What thou dost soil! upon us that is old;
And raiher make them born to our desire,
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee 1 both desy,
Not wond'ring at the present nor the past;
For thy records, and what we see doth lye,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.

'Ihis I do vow,and this shall ever be;

I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee

Love's Safety.

If my dear love were but the child of state,

It might for fortune's bastard be un-father'd v

As subject to time's love, or to time's hate,

Weed6 among weeds, or slowerswith flowers gathet'd.

No, it was builded far from accident,

It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor fails*

Under the blow of thralled discontent,

Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls:

It sears not policy, that heretick,

Which works on leases of stiort number'd hours,

But all alone stands hugely politick,

That it norgrows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime.

An Intreaty for her Acceptance.

Where it ought to be, I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring;
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining.
Havel not seen dwellers on form and favour,
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent
For compound sweet, foregoing simple savour?
Pitisul thrivers in their gazing spent,
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows 00 art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
> Hence thou suborn'd insormer! a true soul,
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy controul.

Upon her playing on the Virginals.

How oft when thou thy musick, muGck-play'st,
Upon that blessed wood, whose motion founds
With thy sweet singers, when thou gently fway'st
The witty concord that mine ear consounds -t
Do 1 envy those jacks that nimble leap,
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,*

Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reapr
At the wood's boldness, by thee blushing stand
To be so tickled they would change their state,
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom their singers walk-with gentle gait,.
Making-dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since faucy jacks fo happy are in tbis,
Give them thy singers, me thy lips to kiss.

Immoderate Lvji.

TV expence of spirit in a waste of shame,
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjur'd, murd'rous, bloody, full of blarney
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no fooner, but despised streight,.
Past reason hunted, and no fooner had,
Past reason hated as a swallow'd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Made in pursuit and in possession fo,
Had, having, and in quest, to have exetreme,
A bliss in proof,"and proud and every woe;
Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows, yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell;

In praise of her beauty, though black.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name:
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty flander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,.
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,

SPweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profati'd; if not, lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes fo suited, and they mourners seem, .
At such who not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:

Yet fo they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue fays beauty should look fo, -

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun,-
Coral is far more red than her lips red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;:
If hairs be wires, black wires giow on her head.
I have seen roses, damask, red, and white y .
But no such roses fee I in her cheeks:
And in fome persumes these is more delights
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.''
1 Jove to hear her speak, yet well I know,
Thar musick hath a far more pleasing founts: .
I'grant I never faw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground i--
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare -
As any she, bely'd with false compare.

Thou att tyrannous, fo thou arty
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel:' -
For well thou know'st to my dear doating heart, .
Thou art the fairest, and most precious jewel.
Yet in good faith fome fay that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to -make love groan y i
To fay they err, I dare not be fo bold,
Altho' I swear it to myself alone.
And to be sure that is not false I swear;
A thoufand groans, but thinking on thy face*,
H S.

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