But musing thoughts, deep sighs, or tears that flow,
Discover what my heart hides all in vain.

Yet blame not, dear, this undissembled passion;
For well may love, within small limits bounded,
Be wisely mask'd in a disguised fashion:

But he whose heart, like mine, is thoroughly wounded,
Can never feign, no, though he were assured
That feigning might have greater grace procured.

UPON HIS ABSENCE FROM HER.

THE fairest eye, O eyes in blackness fair!

That ever shin'd, and the most heavenly face, The daintiest smiling, the most conquering grace, And sweetest breath that e'er perfumed the air; Those cherry lips,' whose kiss might well repair A dead man's state; that speech which did displace All mean desires, and all affections base,

Clogging swift hope, and winging dead despair;

That snow-white breast, and all those faultless features,

Which made her seem a personage divine,
And far excelling fairest human creatures,
Hath absence banish'd from my cursed
But in my heart, as in a mirror clear,
All these perfections to my thoughts appear.

i The cherrist lips.-edit. 1602.

k Omitted.-edit. 1610 and 1621.

eyne.

UPON PRESENTING HER WITH THE SPEECH OF

GRAY'S-INN MASK, AT THE COurt, 1595,

Consisting of Three Parts-The Story of Proteus' Transformations, The Wonders of the Adamantine Rock, and a Speech to Her Majesty.

WHO in these lines may better claim a part,
That sing the praises of the maiden Queen,
Than you, fair sweet, that only sovereign been
Of the poor kingdom of my faithful heart?

Or to whose view should I this speech impart, Where th' adamantine rock's great power is shown; But to your conq'ring eyes, whose force once known, Makes even iron hearts loath thence to part?

Or who of Proteus' sundry transformations,
May better send you the new-feigned story,
Than I, whose love unfeign'd felt no mutations,
Since to be yours I first received the glory?
Accept, then, of these lines, though meanly penn'd,
So fit for you to take, and me to send.

1 Some observations on this Masque, and of the part taken in it by Francis Davison, will be found in the Memoir of him in this volume. That portion of it which is considered to have been written by Davison is inserted in a subsequent page.

ELEGY.

HE RENOUNCETH HIS FOOD, AND FORMER DELIGHT IN MUSIC, POESY, AND PAINTING.

SITTING at board sometimes, prepared to eat,
If't hap my mind on these my woes to think,
Sighs fill my mouth instead of pleasant meat,
And tears do moist my lips in lieu of drink :
But yet, nor sighs, nor tears, that run amain,
Can either starve my thoughts, or quench my pain.

Another time with careful thought o'erta'en,

I thought these thoughts with music's might to chase: But as I'gan to set my notes in frame,

A sudden passion did my song displace:

Instead of rests, sighs from my heart did rise;
Instead of notes, deep sobs and mournful cries.

Then, when I saw, that these my thoughts increas'd,
And that my thoughts unto my woes gave fire,
I hop'd both thoughts and woes might be releas'd,
If to the Muses I did me retire;

Whose sweet delights were wont to ease my woe:
But now, alas! they could do nothing so.

For trying oft, alas! yet still in vain,

To make some pleasant numbers to arise, And beating oft my dullen" weary brain,

In hope some sweet conceit for to devise: Out of my mouth no words but groans would come ; Out of my pen no ink but tears would run.

Of all my old delights yet one was left ;
Painting alone to ease my mind remain'd;
By which, when as I look'd to be bereft

Of these heart-vexing woes that still me strain'd, From forth mine eyes the blood for colours came, And tears withal to temper so the same.

Adieu, my food! that wont'st my taste to please, Adieu, my songs! that bred mine ears' delight; Adieu, sweet Muse! that oft my mind didst ease; Painting, adieu! that oft refresh'd my sight; Since neither taste, nor ears, nor sight, nor mind, In your delights can aught, save sorrow, find.

- Dulled. edit. 1608. The proper reading appears to be, "And beating oft my dull and weary brain.”

SONNET.

TO PITY.

WAKE, Pity, wake! for thou hast slept too long
Within the tig'rish heart of that fierce fair,
Who ruins most where most she should repair,
And where she owes most right, doth greatest wrong.
Wake, Pity, wake! Oh do no more prolong

Thy needful help, but quickly hear my prayer;
Quickly, alas! for otherwise despair,

By guilty death, will end my guiltless wrong.
Sweet Pity, wake, and tell my cruel sweet,
That if my death her honour might increase,
I would lay down my life at her proud feet,
And willing die, and dying, hold my peace.
And only live, and living, mercy cry,
Because her glory in my death will die."

a This sonnet, in the first edition, concludes thus :
"Tell her I live, and living, cry for grace,
Because my death her glory would deface."