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The woods at her fair fight rejoice,

The little birds, with their loud voice,
In concert on the branches been,
To glad our lovely fummer queen.

Great Pan, our god, for her dear fake,
This feaft and meeting bids us make,
Of shepherd lads, and laffes fheen,
To glad our lovely fummer queen.

And

every fwain his chance doth To win fair Amargana's love;

prove,

In fporting ftrifes, quite void of spleen, To glad our lovely fummer queen.

All happiness let Heav'n her lend,
And all the Graces her attend;
Thus bid me pray the Muses nine,
Long live our lovely fummer queen.

R. GREEN.

SAMELA.

LIKE to Diana in her fummer-weed,

Girt with a crimson robe of brightest die,
Goes fair Samela;

Whiter than be the flocks that ftraggling feed,
When, wash'd by Arethufa, faint they lie,
Is fair Samela.

As fair Aurora in her morning gray,

Deck'd with the ruddy glifter of her love,

Is fair Samela;

Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day,

When as her brightness Neptune's fancies move,

Shines fair Samela.

Her treffes gold, her eyes like glaffy ftreams,
Her teeth are pearl, breasts are ivory

Of fair Samela;

Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams, Her brows' bright arches fram'd of ebony;

Thus fair Samela.

Paffeth fair Venus in her brightest hue,
And Juno in the fhew of majefty;
For fhe's Samela;

Pallas in wit all three, if well you view

For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity,
Yield to Samela.

ANONYMOUS.

FROM ENGLAND'S HELICON.

TITYRUS TO HIS FAIR PHILLIS.

THE filly fwain, whose love breeds discontent,
Thinks death a trifle, life a loathsome thing;
Sad he looks, fad he lies:

But when his fortune's malice doth relent,
Then of love's sweetness he will sweetly fing:
Thus he lives, thus he dies.

Then Tityrus, whom love hath happy made,
Will reft thrice happy in this myrtle shade:
For tho' love at first did grieve him,

Yet did love at last relieve him.

WILLOBY.

FROM HIS AVIZA.

WHAT fudden chance or change is this,
That doth bereave my quiet reft?
What furly cloud eclips'd my blifs?
What sprite doth rage within my breast ?
Such fainty qualms I never found,
Till firft I faw this western ground.

My liftlefs limbs do pine away,
Because my heart is dead within;
All lively heat I feel decay,

And deadly cold his room doth win.
My humours all are out of frame,
I freeze amid the burning flame.

I know the time, I know the place,

Both when and where my eye did view

That novel fhape, that friendly face,
That fo doth make my heart to rue.

O happy time, if she incline!
If not, woe worth these luckless eyne!

I love the feat where fhe did fit,

I kiss the grafs where she did tread;
Methinks I fee that face as yet,

And eyes that all these turmoils bred.
I envy, that this feat, this ground,
Such friendly grace and favour found.

I dreamt of late, (God grant the dream
Portend my good!) that she did meet
Me on this green, by yonder ftream,

And, smiling, did me friendly greet. Whe'er wand'ring dreams be just or wrong, I mean to try ere it be long.

But yonder comes my faithful friend,
That like affaults hath often tried,
On his advice I will depend,

Whe'er I fhall win or be denied. And look, what counsel he shall give, 'That will I do, whe'er die or live.

I

TO HIS AVIZA.

FIND it true, that some have said,
"It's hard to love and to be wife."

For wit is oft by love betray'd,
And brought asleep by fond devife.
Sith faith no favour can procure,
My patience must my pain endure.

L

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