WHEN She was born, whom I entirely love;
Th' immortal Gods, her birth-rites forth to grace,
Descending from their glorious seat above,

They did on her these several virtues place:
First, SATURN gave to her Sobriety;

JOVE then enduèd her with Comeliness; And SoL with Wisdom did her beautify.

MERCURY with Wit and Knowledge did her bless; VENUS with Beauty did all parts bedeck;

LUNA therewith did Modesty combine; DIANA chaste, all loose desires did check:

And like a lamp in clearness She doth shine!
But MARS, according to his stubborn kind,
No virtue gave; but a disdainful mind!

You, that embrace enchanting Poesy,

Be gracious to perplexèd CORIN'S lines! You, that do feel Love's proud authority,

Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs! CHLORIS, requite not faithful love with scorn;

But, as thou oughtest, have commiseration! I have enough anatomized and torn

My heart! thereof to make a pure oblation. Likewise consider, how thy CORIN prizeth

Thy parts, above each absolute perfection! How he, of every precious thing, deviseth

To make thee Sovereign! Grant me then afíection; Else thus I prize thee-CHLORIS is alone

More hard than gold! or pearl! or precious stone!

'CHANGE thy mind! since She doth change.
Let not Fancy still abuse thee!
Thy untruth can not seem strange;
When her falsehood doth accuse thee.

Love is dead; and thou art free!
She doth live; but dead to thee!

'When She loved thee best a while;
See how still She did delay thee!
Using shows for to beguile

Those vain hopes which have betrayed thee.
Now thou seest, but all too late,
Love loves truth; which Women hate!'

Love, farewell! more dear to me
Than my life which thou preservedst!
Life, thy joy is gone from thee!

Others have what thou deservedst.

They enjoy what 's not their own!
Happier life to live alone!

Yet, thus much, to ease my mind,
Let her know what She hath gotten!
She, whom time hath proved unkind,
Having changed, is quite forgotten!

FORTUNE now hath done her worst;
Would she had done so at first

'Love no more! since She is gone.
She is gone, and loves another.
Having been deceived by one,

Leave to love; and love no other!
She was false; bid her adieu!
She was best; but yet untrue!'

THERE is none, O, none but you!

Who from me estrange the sight; Whom mine eyes affect to view,

And chained ears hear with delight. Others' beauties, others move;

In you, I all the graces find! Such are the effects of love,

To make them happy that are kind. Women in frail beauty trust;

Only seem you kind to me! Still be truly kind and just;

For that can't dissembled be! Dear! afford me then your sight! That, surveying all your looks, Endless volumes I may write,

And fill the world with envied books: Which, when after Ages view,

All shall wonder and despair; Women, to find a man so true!

And men, a woman half so fair!

THE BARGİNET OF ANTIMACHUS.

IN pride of youth, in midst of May,
When birds, with many a merry lay,
Salute the sun's uprising;
I sat me down fast by a spring,
And, while these merry chanters sing,
I fell upon surmising.

Amidst my doubt and mind's debate,
Of change of time, of world's estate,
I spied a boy attirèd

In silver plumes, yet naked quite;
Some pretty feathers fit for flight,
Wherewith he still aspirèd.

A bow he bare, to work men's wrack;
A little quiver at his back,
With many arrows filled:
And, in his soft and pretty hand,
He held a lively burning brand,
Wherewith he Lovers killed.

Fast by his side, in rich array,
There sat a lovely Lady gay,

His mother, as I guessèd:
That set the lad upon her knee,
And trimmed his bow, and taught him flee,
And mickle love professèd.

Oft from her lap, at sundry stours,
He leaped, and gathered summer flowers,
Both violets and roses.

But see the chance! that followed fast,
As he the pomp of prime doth waste,
Before that he supposes.

A bee, that harboured hard thereby,
Did sting his hand, and made him cry,
'O, mother, I am wounded!'
Fair VENUS, that beheld her son,
Cried out, 'Alas, I am undone !'

And thereupon she swounded.

'My little lad!' the Goddess said,
'Who hath my CUPID SO dismayed?'
He answered, 'Gentle mother!
The honeyworker in the hive,
My grief and mischief doth contrive.
Alas, it is none other!'

She kissed the lad. Now, mark the chance!
And straight she fell into a trance,
And, crying, thus concluded:

'Ah! wanton boy! like to the bee,
Thou, with a kiss, hast wounded me;
And hapless love included!