I know she swore, with raging mind,
Her kingdom only fet apart,
There was no lofs by law of kind,
That could have gone so near her heart;
And this was chiefly all her pain,
She could not make the like again.
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she wrought;
In faith, methinks, fome better ways
On your behalf might well be fought,
Than to compare (as ye have done)
To match the candle with the fun.
THE foote feason, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With
green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale;
The nightingale, with feathers new, fhe fings,
The turtle to her mate hath told her tale.
Summer is come: for every spray now springs.
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings,
The fishes float, with new repaired scale;
The adder all her flough away fhe flings;
The swift swallow purfueth the flies small;
The bufy bee, her honey now she mings,
Winter is gone, that was the flower's bale;
And thus I fee, among these pleasant things,
Each care decays, and yet my forrow springs !
YOUR looks fo often caft,
Your eyes fo friendly roll'd,
Your fight fixed so fast,
Always one to behold;
Tho' hide it fain ye would,
It plainly doth declare,
Who hath your heart in hold,
And where good-will ye bear.
Fain would ye find a cloak
Your burning fire to hide,
Yet both the flame and smoke
Breaks out on every fide.
Ye cannot love fo guide
That it no iffue win;
Abroad needs must it glide
That burns fo hot within.
SINCE love will needs that I must love,
very force I muft agree:
And fince no chance may
In wealth and in adverfity,
I fhall always myself apply,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.
Though for good-will I find but hate,
And Cruelty my life to waste,
And though that still a wretched state,
Should pine my days unto the last,
Yet I profefs it willingly,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.
There is no grief, no smart, no woe,
That yet I feel, or after shall,
That from this mind may make me go;
And, whatsoever me befal,
I do profefs it willingly,
To ferve and fuffer patiently.
My Lute awake, perform the last
Labour that thou and I fhall wafte,
And end that I have now begun :
And when this fong is fung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
The rocks do not fo cruelly
Repulfe the waves continually,
As fhe my fuit and affection:
So that I am paft remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the fpoil which thou haft got
Of fimple Hearts through Love's fhot,
By whom (unkind!) thou haft them won Think not he hath his bow forgot, Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy difdain
That makest but game on earnest pain:
Think not alone under the Sun
Unquit to cause thy Lover's plaine,
Although my lute and I have done.
May chance thee lie withered and old
In winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told,
Care then who lift, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent The time that thou haft loft and spent, To cause thy Lover's figh and fwoon; Then fhalt thou know beauty but lent, And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease my lute: this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun;
Now is this Song both fung and past,
My lute be ftill, for I have done.
ADIEU defert, how art thou spent!
Ah dropping tears how do ye wafte,
Ah fcalding fighs how be ye spent,
To prick them forth that will not hafte!
Ah pained heart thou gap'ft for grace
Even there where pity hath no place.
As eafy 'tis the ftony rock
From place to place for to remove,
As by thy plaint for to provoke
A frozen heart from hate to love:
What should I fay! fuch is thy lot
To fawn on them that force thee not.
Thus may'ft thou fafely fay and fwear
That rigour reigns where truth doth fail,
In thankless thoughts thy thoughts do wear,
Thy truth thy faith may not avail
For thy good-will. Why shouldft thou so
Still graft where grace it will not grow?
Alas poor heart, thus haft thou spent
Thy flowering time, thy pleasant years?
With fighing voice weep and lament,
For of thy Hope no fruit appears,
Thy true meaning is paid with Scorn
That ever soweth and reapeth no Corn.
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