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Write, that I do write you 'blessèd'!
Will you write, "Tis but a writing!'
But if Truth and Love confess it;
Will ye doubt the true enditing?

No! I say, and think, and write it;
Write, and think, and say, your pleasure!

Love, and Truth, and I, endite it,
'You are blessèd out of measure!'

CORIDON'S SUPPLICATION TO PHILLIS.

'SWEET PHILLIS! if a silly Swain
May sue to thee for grace;
See not thy loving Shepherd slain,
With looking on thy face!

But think, what power thou hast got
Upon my flock and me!

Thou seest, they now regard me not;
But all do follow thee!

'And if I have so far presumed,
With prying in thine eyes;

Yet let not comfort be consumed!
That in thy pity lies:

But as thou art that PHILLIS fair,
That Fortune favour gives;

So let not love die in despair!
That in thy favour lives.

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The deer do browse upon the briar,
The birds do pick the cherries;
And will not Beauty grant Desire
One handful of her berries?
If so it be, that thou hast sworn,
That none shall look on thee;
Yet let me know, thou dost not scorn
To cast a look on me!

'But if thy beauty make thee proud;
Think then, what is ordained!
The heavens have never yet allowed
That LovE should be disdained!
Then lest the Fates, that favour Love,
Should curse thee for unkind;
Let me report, for thy behoof,
The honour of thy mind!

'Let CORIDON, with full consent,
Set down what he hath seen!
That PHILLIDA, with Love's content,
Is sworn the Shepherds' Queen.'

UPON A SCOFFING LAUGHTER GIVEN
BY A GENTLE WOMAN.

'LAUGH not too much! Perhaps, you are deceived!
All are not fools, that have but simple faces!
Mists are abroad! Things may be misconceived!
Frumps and disdains are favours in disgraces!

Now, if you do not know what mean these speeches,
Fools have long coats; and monkeys have no breeches!

'Tihee again! Why, what grace is this?
Laugh a man out, before he can get in!
Fortune so cross, and Favour so amiss!
Doomsday at hand, before the world begin!'
'Marry, Sir! then but if the weather hold,
Beauty may laugh, and Love be a-cold!'
'Yet leave betimes your laughing too too much;
Or find the fox, and then begin the chase!
Shut not a rat within a sugar hutch;

And think you have a squirrel in the place!
But when you laugh, let this go for a jest-
Seek not a woodcock in a swallow's nest!'

OF TRUTH, WISDOM, VIRTUE,
AND LOVE.

TRUTH shews herself in secret of her trust;
Wisdom, her grace in honour of her love;
Virtue, her life, where Love is not unjust;

Love is the sweet that doth no sorrow prove.
Truth hath in hate to hear a feignèd tale;

Wisdom doth frown, where Folly is in place;
Honour is gone, where Beauty is too small;
And Virtue lies, where Love is in disgrace.
I leave your truth to your desirèd trust!

Your wisdom to the wonder of the wise!
Your highest joy to judgement of the just;

Where Virtue lives, and Virtue never dies! And He vouchsafe you, that all Truth preserveth, What Truth of Love, and Love of Truth, deserveth!

OLD MELIBUS' SONG,

COURTING HIS NYMPH.

LOVE'S Queen (long waiting for her True Love, Slain by a boar which he had chased)

Left off her tears, and me embraced.

She kissed me sweet, and called me, 'New Love!'
With my silver hair she toyèd!

In my stayed looks she joyèd!
'Boys,' she said, 'breed Beauty's sorrow;
Old men cheer it, even and morrow!'

My face, she named 'the seat of favour'!
All my defects her tongue defended!

My shape she praised: but most commended
My breath, more sweet than balm in savour!
'Be, Old Man! with me delighted!
Love for love shall be requited!'
With her toys, at last she won me;
Now she coys, that hath undone me!

COME, Shepherd Swains! that wont to hear me sing; Now sigh and groan!

Dead is my Love! my hope! my joy! my Spring! Dead, dead, and gone!

Oh! She that was your Summer's Queen,

Your day's delight,

Is gone! and will no more be seen!

O, cruel spite!

Break all your pipes! that wont to sound
With pleasant cheer;

And cast yourselves upon the ground,
To wail my Dear!

Come, Shepherd Swains! Come, Nymphs! and all

arow,

To help me cry,

'Dead is my Love! and, seeing She is so; Lo, now I die!'

WHEN day is gone, and darkness come;
The toiling tired wight

Doth use to ease his weary bones
By rest in quiet night.

When storm is stayed, and harbour won;
The seaman, set on shore,

With comfort doth requite the care
Of perils past before.

When Love hath won, where it did woo,
And lights where it delights;

Contented mind thenceforth forgets
The frown of former spites.

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