Tell phyfic of her boldness,
Tell skill it is pretenfion,
Tell charity of coldness,
Tell law it is contention.
And as they yield reply,
So give them ftill the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness,
Tell nature of decay,
Tell friendship of unkindness,

Tell justice of delay.

And if they dare reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming,

Tell schools they want profoundness,

And ftand too much on feeming.

If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city,

Tell how the country erreth, Tell manhood shakes off pity, Tell virtue leaft preferreth. And if they do reply, Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou haft, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing; Although to give the lie

Deferves no less than stabbing;

Yet ftab at thee who will,

No ftab the foul can kill.

THE NYMPH's REPLY

TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.

If that the world and love were young, And truth in every fhepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter's reckoning yield;
A honey tongue-a heart of gall,
Is fancy's fpring, but forrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy pofies,
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of ftraw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clafps and amber ftuds ;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date-nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

DULCINA.

As at noon Dulcina rested

In her fweet and fhady bower,
Came a fhepherd and requested
In her lap to fleep an hour,
But from her look

A wound he took

So deep, that for a further boon
The nymph he prays;

Whereto she says,

Forego me now, come to me foon.

But in vain she did conjure him

To depart her presence so,

Having a thousand tongues t' allure him,

And but one to bid him go.

When lips invite,
And eyes delight,

And cheeks as fresh as rofe in June,
Perfuade delay-

What boots to fay,

Forego me now, come to me foon?

He demands, what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now?
She fays, night gives love that leifure
Which the day doth not allow.
He fays, the fight
Improves delight;

Which she denies; night's murky noon
In Venus' plays

Makes bold (fhe fays);
Forego me now, come to me foon.

But what promise or profeffion

From his hands could purchase scope? Who would fell the fweet poffeffion

Of fuch beauty for a hope?

Or for the fight

Of lingering night

Forego the present joys of noon?

Tho' ne'er fo fair

Her fpeeches were,
Forego me now, come to me foon.

How at laft agreed these lovers?

She was fair, and he was young; The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers, Joys unfeen are never fung.

Did the confent,

Or he relent,

Accepts he night, or grants fhe

Left he her a maid

Or not, fhe faid

noon,

Forego me now, come to me foon.

THE SILENT LOVER.

PASSIONS are liken'd beft to floods and ftreams

;

The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb : So, when affections yield difcourfe, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
They that are rich in words must needs discover,
They are but poor in that which makes a lover.
Wrong not, fweet mistress of my heart,
The merit of true paffion,

With thinking that he feels no fmart
Who fues for no compaffion.

Since if my plaints were not t' approve

The conqueft of thy beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t' exceed my duty.
For, knowing that I fue to ferve,
A faint of fuch perfection,
As all defire, but none deserve
A place in her affection,
I rather choose to want relief,

Than venture the revealing :
Where glory recommends the grief,
Defpair difdains the healing.