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SIR. W. A. L T E R. R. A. L E I (; H .
PASSIONs are likened best to floods and streams,
Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart,
Since, if my plaints were not to approve
It comes not from defect of love,
For, knowing that I sue to serve
As all desire, but none deserve,
I rather choose to want relief,
Where glory recommends the grief,
Thus those desires that boil so high
When Reason cannot make them die,
Yet when Discretion doth bereave
Then your Discretion may perceive
Silence in love bewrays more woe
The beggar that is dumb, you know,
Then wrong not, dearest to my heart
He smarteth most that hides his smart,
HIS I.OVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.
Shall I, like a hermit, dwell
If she undervalue me,
Were her tresses angel-gold,
And with little more ado
If the mine be grown so free,
Were her hands as rich a prize
No; she must be perfect snow,
SIR. E. D WA R D D Y E R.
My Phillis hath the morning sun, At first to look upon her; My Phillis hath morn-waking birds, Her risings still to honour. My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers, That smile when she treads on them ; And Phillis hath a gallant flock, That leaps since she doth own them. But Phillis hath too hard a heart, Alas, that she should have it ! It yields no mercy to desert, Nor grace to those that crave it: Sweet sun, when thou look'st on, Pray her regard my moan ; Sweet birds, when you sing to her. To yield some pity, woo her ; Sweet flowers, that she treads on, Tell her her beauty deads one. And if in life her love she will agree me, Pray her before I die she will come see me.
N I C H O L A S B R E TO N.
ON a hill there grows a flower,
For that flower there is a bower,
In that bower there is a chair,
Where doth sit the fairest fair,
It is Phillis, fair and bright,
She that Venus did despite,
This is she, the wise, the rich,
This is 'pse qua, the which
Who would not this face admire 2