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In our two loves there is but one respect,
Tho'in our lives a feparable spite;
Which tho' it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Left
my

bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with publick kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name.

But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth;
So I, made lame by fortune's deareft fpite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Intitled in their parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love ingrafted to this store :
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis’d,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory live:

Look what is beft, that best I wish in thee;
This wish I have, then ten times happy me.

Loth to depart.

Good night, good rest; ah! neither be my share: She bad good night, that kept my rest

away ; And daft me to a cabben hang'd with care, To descant on the doubts of my decay.

Farewel (quoth she) and come again to-morrow ; Fare well I could not, for I fupt with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did the smile,
In scorn, or friendship, nill I confter whether :
It may be she joy'd to jest at my exile;
It may be

again to make me wander thither. Wander (a word) for shadows like myself,

As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. Lord ! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise Dóth cite each moving sense from idle reft, Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.

While Philomela fits and fings, I sit and mark,

And wish her lays were tuned like the lark. For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, And drives away dark dreaming night: The night so packt, I poft unto my pretty; Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished fight; Sorrow chang’d to folace, and solace inixt with

forrow; For why? the sigh’d, and bad me come to-morrow. Were I with her, the night would post too soon, But now are minutes added to the hours: To spite me now, each minute seems an hour, Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.

Pack night, peep day, good day of night now Short night, to night, and length thyself to-morrow.

borrow,

A Master-Piece. Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steeld Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For thro’ the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now fee what good turns eyes for eyes have done ;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where thro' the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
Yet

eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they fee, know not the heart.

Happiness in Content.

Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of publick honour and proud titles boast:
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour moft.
Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye;
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for worth,
After a thousand victories, once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot, for which he toil'd.

Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

A Dutiful Mijage. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;

To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to thew

my

wit. Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to thew it ; But that I hope fome good conceit of thine In my soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it. Till whatsoever ftar, that guides my moving, Points on me graciously with fair alpect, And puts apparel on niy tatter'd loving, To show me worthy of their sweet respect.

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee: Till then, not show my head, where thou may'st

[prove me. Go and Come quickly.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When that I seek (iny weary travel's end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend?
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me;
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrufts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me, than spurring to his side,

For that fame groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

Thus can my love excuse the flow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed.
Form where thou art, why should I hafte me thence?
Till I return, of potting is no need.

O! what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but flow?
Then should I fpur tho' mounted on the wind ;
In winged speed no motion shall I know.
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace,
Therefore defire (of perfect love being made)
Shall neigh no dull Aesh in his fiery race,
But love for love thus shall excuse my jade.
Since from thee going, he went wilful flow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

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Two Faithful Friends.
Mine

eye

and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy fight:
Mine eye, my heart their pictures fight would bar,
My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right:
My heart doth plead, that thou in him dolž lie;
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says, in him their fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title, is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part,

As thus; mine eyes due is their outward part,
And my heart's right, their inward love of heart.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other :
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with fighs himself doth smother :
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart.

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