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WHO taught thee first to sigh, 'Alas!' my heart?
Who taught thy tongue the woeful words of plaint? Love.
Who filled your eyes with tears of bitter smart? Love.
Who gave thee grief, and made thy joys so faint? Love.
Who first did paint with colours pale thy face?
Who first did break thy sleeps of quiet rest? Above the rest in Court, who gave thee grace?
Who made thee strive in honour to be best? In constant troth, to bide so firm and pure?
To scorn the World, regarding but thy friends? With patient mind, each Passion to endure?
In one desire to settle to the end?
Love then thy choice! wherein such choice thou bind;
As nought but death may ever change thy mind.
THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH.
WHAT Shepherd can express
The favour of her face!
To whom, in this distress,
I do appeal for grace.
A thousand CUPIDS fly
About her gentle eye:
From which, each throws a dart,
That kindleth soft sweet fire
Within my sighing heart;
Possessed by desire.
No sweeter love I try
Than in her love to die.
The lily in the field,
That glories in his white,
For pureness, now must yield
And render up his right!
Heaven, pictured in her face,
Doth promise joy and grace!
Fair CYNTHIA's silver light,
That beats on running streams, Compares not with her white;
Whose hairs are all sunbeams.
So bright my Nymph doth shine,
As day unto mine eyne!
With this, there is a red
Exceeds the damask rose ;
Which in her cheeks is spread,
Whence every favour grows.
In sky, there is no star,
That She surmounts not far!
When PHOEBUS, from the bed
Of THETIS doth arise,
The morning, blushing red,
In fair carnation wise,
He shews in my Nymph's face,
As Queen of every grace!
This pleasant lily white,
This taint of roseate red,
This CYNTHIA's silver light,
This sweet fair DEA spread,
These sunbeams in mine eye,
These beauties make me die!
TIMES GO BY TURNS.
THE lopped tree, in time, may grow again!
Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower!
The sorriest wight may find release of pain!
The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower!
Times go by turns! and chances change, by course,
From foul to fair; from better hap, to worse!
The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow!
She draws her favours to the lowest ebb;
Her tides hath equal times to come and go;
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web!
No joy so great; but runneth to an end!
No hap so hard; but may, in fine, amend!
Not always Fall of Leaf; nor ever Spring!
No endless night; yet not eternal day!
The saddest birds a season find to sing!
The roughest storm, a calm may soon allay!
Thus, with succeeding turns, GOD tempereth all!
That Man may hope to rise; yet fear to fall.
A chance may win, that by mischance was lost!
The net that holds no great, takes little, fish!
In some things, all! in all things, none, are crossed!
Few, all they need; but none have all they wish!
Unmeddled joys here to no man befall!
Who least, hath some! who most, hath never all!
LOVE'S SERVILE LOT.
LOVE, Mistress is of many minds;
Yet few know whom they serve! They reckon least, how little Love Their service doth deserve!
The Will She robbeth from the Wit,
The Sense from Reason's lore;
She is delightful in the rind,
Corrupted in the core.
She shroudeth Vice in Virtue's veil;
Pretending good in ill!
She off'reth joy, affordeth grief!
A kiss, where she doth kill!
A honey-shower rains from her lips!
Sweet lights shine in her face!
She hath the blush of virgin mind;
The mind of viper's race!
She makes thee seek; yet fear to find!
To find; but not enjoy!
In many frowns, some gliding smiles
She yields; to more annoy!