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A Monument to Fame. Not mine own fears, nor the propherick soul Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the leafe of my true love controule . Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd, And peace proclaims olives of endless age.. Now with the drops of this moft balmy time, My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes ; Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhime, • While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.

And thou in this fhalt find thy monument,

When tyrants crests and tombs of brass are spent.
What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true fpirit ?
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit ?
Nothing, sweet love ! but yet like prayers divine.
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, tbou mine, I thine
E'en as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love, in love's fresh case,
Weighs not the dust and injuries of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page :

Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would shew it dead:

Perjury.
Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?:

Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss,
Left guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove,
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason ;
My foul doth tell my body that he may

Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason :
But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize ; proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side..

No want of conscience hold it, that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

In loving thee, thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forfworn to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee;
And all my honest faith in thee is lost.
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness;
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy;
And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness ;
Or made them swear against the thing they see.

For I have sworn thee fair ; more perjur'd I,
'To.swear against the truth fo foul a lye.

The Tale of Cephalus and Procris.

Beneath Hymettus' hill, well cloth’d with flowers,
A holy well her soft springs gently pours :
Where stands a cops, in which the wcod-nymphs throve,
(No wood) it rather seems a dender grove.

The humble shrubs and bushes hide the grass, Here laurel, rosemary, here myrtle was : Here grew thick box, and tam’risk, that exceis, And made a mere confusion of sweet smells; The triffoly, the pine ; and on this heath Stands many a plant that feels cold Zephyr's breath. Here the young Cephalus, tir’d in the chace, Us'd his repose and rest alone t embrace ; And where he fat, these words he would repeat, • Come air, sweet air, come cool my mighty heat !

Come, gentle air, I never will forsake thee, • I'll hug thee thus, and in my bosom take thee." Some double duteous tell-tale hapt to hear this, And to his jealous wife doth straitway bear this; Which Procris hearing, and withal the name Of air, sweet air, which he did oft proclaim, She stands confounded, and amaz'd with grief, By giving this fond tale too found belief. And looks, as do the trees by winter nipt, Whom frost and cold of fruit and leaves half stript. She bends like corveil, when too rank it grows, Or when the ripe fruits clog the quince-tree boughs. But when the comes t'herself, she tears Her garments, eyes, her cheeks, and hairs ; And then she starts, and to her feet applies her, Then to the wood (stark wood) in rage the hies her. Approaching somewhat near, her servants they By her appointment in a valley stay; While she alone, with creeping paces, steals To take the strumpet, whon her lord conceals. What mean'st thou, Procris, in these groves to hide

thee? What rage of love doth to this madness guide thee? Thou hop'st the ai: he calls, in all her bravery, Will Itrait approach, and thou shalt see their knavery.

And now again it irks her to be there,
For such a killing right her heart will tear.
No truce can with her troubled thoughts dispense,
She would not now be there, nor yet be thence.
Behold the place her jealous mind foretels,
Here do they use to meet, and no where else :
The grass is laid, and see their true impression,
Even here they lay! aye, here was their transgression.
A body's print the law, it was his seat,
Which makes her faint heart 'gainst her ribs to beat.
Phæbus the lofty eastern hill had scald,
And all moist vapours from the earth exhal'd.
Now in this noon-tide point he shineth bright,
It was the middle hour, 'twixt noon and night.
Behold young Cephalus draws to the place,
And with the fountain-water sprinks his face.
Procris is hid, upon the grafs he lies,
And come sweet Zephyr, come sweet air he cries.
She sees her error now from where he stood,
Her mind returns to her, and her fresh blood;
Among the shrubs and briars she moves and rustles,
And the injurious boughs away she justles,
Intending, as he lay there to repose him,
Nimbly to run, and in her arms inclore him.
He quickly casts his eye upon the bush,
Thinking therein some savage beast did rush ;
His bow he bends, and a keen shaft he draws:
Unhappy man, what dost thou ? stay, and pause,
It is no brute beast thou would'st 'reave of life ;
O! man unbappy! thou haft flain thy wife!
O heaven! the cries, O help me! I am flain;
Still doth thy arrow in my wound remain.
Yet tho' by timeless fate ny bones here lie,
It glads me most, that I no cuck-quean die.

Her breath (thus in the arms the most affected)
She breathes into the air (before suspected)
The whilft he lifts her body from the ground, .
And with his tears doth wath her bleeding wound.

Cupid's Treachery.

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep;
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground:
Which borrow'd from his holy fire of love,
A dateless lively heat.Atill to endure,
And grew .a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eyes love's brand new fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I fick withal the help of bath desired,
And thither hied a fad distemper'd guest:

But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
When Cupid got new fire, my mistress' eyes.

The little love.god lying once afleep,
Laid by his fide his heart in flaming brand,
Whilft many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep,
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand,
The fairelt votary took up that fire,
Which many legions of true hearts had warm’d;
And so the general of hot defire
Was fieeping, by a virgin hand difarm’d.-
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which fion love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall,

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