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And not the least of all these maladies,
But in one minute's sight brings beauty under:
Both favour, favour, hue and qualities,
Whereat th' imperial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done,
As mountain snow melts with the mid-day sun.
Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity,
And barren dearth of daughters and of fons,
Be prodigal. The lamp that burns by night,
Dries up his oil* to lend the world his light.
What is thy body, but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity*
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in their obscurity?
if fo, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride fo fair a hope is flain.
So in thyself thyself art made away,
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strise,
Or theirs, whose desperate hands themselves do flay,
Or butcher's sire, that reaves. his fon of lise.
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets;
But gold, that's put to use, more gold begets.
Nay then, quoth A don, you will fall again
Into your idle over handled theam;
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream.
For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.
Iflove hath lent you twenty thoufand tongues, And every tongue more moving than your own, Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown. For know, my heart stands armed in my ear, And will not let a false found enter there:
Lest the deceiving harmony stiould run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no, my heart longs not to groan,
But foundly fleeps, while now it fleeps alone.
"What have you urg'd, that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger.
t hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase; O strange excuse!
When reafon is the bawd to lust's abuse.
Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled;
Since sweating lust on earth usurps his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath sed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame:
Which the hot tyrant stains, and foon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
Love comforteth like sun-shine aster rain;
But lust's effect is tempest aster sun:
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain:
Lust's winter comes, ere summer half be done:
Love surseits not; lust like a glutton dies:
Love is all truth; lust sull of forged lyes-.
More I could tell, but more I dare not fey f
The text is old, the orator too green:
Therefore in fadness now I will away,
My face is sull of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton calls attended,
Do burn themselves for having fo ofsended.
With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms, which bound him to her breast:
.And homeward thm' the dark lanes runs apace;
Reaves Love upon her back deeply distrese'd.
Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus'eye.
Which aster him she darts, as one on shore,
Gazing upon a late embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night,
Fold in the Object, that did seed her sight.
Whereat arnaz'd, as one that unaware
Hath dropt a precious jewel in the flood;
Or stonish'd, as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in fome mistrustsul wood:
Even fo consounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans:
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled^
Ay me! she cries, and twenty times, woe! woe!
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemp'rally a wosul ditty:
How love makes young men thrall, and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe!
And still the choir of echoes answers fo.
Her fong was tedious, and out-wore the night,
For lovers hours are long, tho' seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others they think delight
In suchlike cii cum stance, with such-like sport.
. Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are never done.
For who hath she to spend the night withal,
But idle founds, resembling parasites?
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastick wits.
She faid, 'tis fo: they answer all, 'tis fo,
And would fay. aster her,. if she faid no.
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest*
Frorn his moist cabinet mounts up on highti
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty:
Who doth the world.so glorioufly behold,
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Venus falutes him with this fair good-morrow:
O thou clear god, and patron of all light!
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence, that makes him bright :-
There lives a fon, that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.
This faid, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is fo much o'er-worn:
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn;
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,
'And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.
And as she runs, the bushes in the way,
Some catch her by the neck, fome kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh, to make her stay;
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ake,
Hasting to seed her fawn, hid in seme brake.
By this she hears the hounds are at a bay,'
Whereat she starts, like one that spies a-n adder,
Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way,
The sear whereof doth make him shake and shudder:
Ev'n fo the timorous yelping of the hounds,
Appals her senses, and her fp'rit consounds.
For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud }
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where searsully the dog^s exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be fo curst,
They all strain curt'sy who shall cope him sirst-
This dismal cry rings fadly in her ear,
Tbro' which it enters, to surprize her heart;
Who overcome by doubt and bloodless sear,
With cold pale weakness numbs each seeling part:
Like foldiers, when their captain once doth yield*
They basely fly, and dare not stay the sield.