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Will reward thee for thy pain;

Boldly light upon her lip,

There suck odours, and thence skip

To her bosom; lastly fall

Down, and wander over all;

Range about those ivory hills,
From whose every part distils
Amber dew; there spices grow,
There pure streams of nectar flow;
There perfume thyself, and bring
All those sweets upon thy wing:

As thou return'st, change by thy power
Every weed into a flower;
Turn each thistle to a vine,
Make the bramble eglantine:

For so rich a booty made,

Do but this, and I am paid.

Thou can'st, with thy powerful blast,

Heat apace, and cool as fast;

Thou canst kindle hidden flame,

And again destroy the same;

Then for pity, either stir

Up the fire of love in her,

That alike both flames may shine,

Or else quite extinguish mine.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day :
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixéd become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix. builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

JAMES GRAHAME,

MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

1612-1650.

MY DEAR AND ONLY LOVE, I PRAY.

PART FIRST.

My dear and only love I pray
This noble world of thee,
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy.
For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;

My thoughts shall evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch,
To win or lose it all.

But I must rule and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe.

But 'gainst my battery if I find
Thou shun'st the prize so sore,
As that thou set'st me up a blind,
I'll never love thee more.

Or in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
Another do pretend a part,

And dares to vie with me;

Or if committees thou erect,

And goes on such a score,
I'll sing and laugh at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if thou wilt be constant then,
And faithful of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before;

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,

And love thee evermore.

PART SECOND.

[The authenticity of the second part of this beautiful poem has been doubted. I have omitted one stanza, the text of which seems to me hopelessly corrupt.]

My dear and only love take heed,

Lest thou thyself expose,

And let all longing lovers feed

Upon such looks as those.

A marble wall then build about,
Beset without a door;

But if thou let thy heart fly out,
I'll never love thee more.

Let not their oaths, like vollies shot,

Make any breach at all;

Nor smoothness of their language plot Which way to scale the wall; Nor balls of wild-fire love consume

The shrine which I adore;

For if such smoke about thee fume,
I'll never love thee more.

I think thy virtues be too strong
To suffer by surprise;
Which victualled by my love so long,
The siege at length must rise,
And leave thee ruléd in that health
And state thou wast before;

But if thou turn a common-wealth
I'll never love thee more.

For if by fraud, or by consent,
Thy heart to ruin come,
I'll sound no trumpet as I wont,

Nor march by tuck of drum;
But hold my arms, like ensigns, up,
Thy falsehood to deplore,
And bitterly will sigh and weep,
And never love thee more.

I'll do with thee as Nero did,
When Rome was set on fire,

Not only all relief forbid,

But to a hill retire,

And scorn to shed a tear to see

Thy spirit grown so poor; But smiling, sing until I die,

I'll never love thee more.

Yet for the love I bare thee once,

Lest that thy name should die,

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