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WHEN She was born, whom I entirely love;
They did on her these several virtues place:
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!
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.
Love is dead; and thou art free!
'When She loved thee best a while;
Those vain hopes which have betrayed thee.
Love, farewell! more dear to me
Others have what thou deservedst.
They enjoy what 's not their own!
Yet, thus much, to ease my mind,
FORTUNE now hath done her worst;
'Love no more! since She is gone.
Leave to love; and love no other!
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,
Amidst my doubt and mind's debate,
In silver plumes, yet naked quite;
A bow he bare, to work men's wrack;
Fast by his side, in rich array,
His mother, as I guessèd:
Oft from her lap, at sundry stours,
But see the chance! that followed fast,
A bee, that harboured hard thereby,
And thereupon she swounded.
'My little lad!' the Goddess said,
She kissed the lad. Now, mark the chance!
'Ah! wanton boy! like to the bee,