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Sleep, silence child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortal, bno Indifferent host to shepherds and to king, Sole comforter of minds which are oppres; Lo by thy charming rod all breathing thor Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness posses, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wing Thou spar'st (alas!) who cannot be thy gues. Since I am thine, O come, but with that fice To inward light which thou art wont to show, With fained solace ease a true-felt woe: Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequai I long to kiss the image of my death.

Fair moon, who with thy cold and silver to:
Makes sweet the horror of the dreadful migo,
Delighting the weak eye with smiles divine,
Which Phoebus dazzles with his too much light;
Bright queen of the first heaven, is in thysio
By turning oft, and heaven's eternal might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet fire of the
Endymion, forgot, and lover's plight:
If cause like thine may pity breed in thee,
And pity somewhat else to it obtain,
Since thou hast power of dreams as wells, he
Who paints strange figures in the slumbringbo
Now while she sleeps in doleful guise hers."
These tears, and the black map of all my wo.

Dear quirister, who from those shadows seni,
Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light
Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends
(Become all ear), stars stay to hearthy plight;
If one whose grief even reach of thought transo
Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight
May thee importune who like case pretends,
And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despight:
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try,
And long long sing) for what thou thus comp"
Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled o y
Enamour'd smiles on woods and flowry Pla"
The bird, as if my question did her move. o
With trembling wings sigh'd forth, I love."

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DRUMMOND. |

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My lute, be as thou wert when thou did grow
With thy green mother in some shady grove,
When immelodious winds but made thee move,
And birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
Since that dear voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow,
Is reft from earth to tune those spheres above,
What art thou but a harbinger of woe
Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more,
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear,
Cach stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear,
For which be silent as in woods before :
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,
Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain.

Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
Of winters past or coming void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
'air seasons, budding sprays,sweet-smelling flow’rs:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leavy bow'rs
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that low’rs.
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
Juite to forget earth's turmoils, spites and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven
Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yea, and to angels lays.

MARLOW.

The PAssionate shepherd.

Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks; By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin'd choicely for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight, each May morning : l these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.

RALEIGH.

SONG.

Shall I like an hermit dwell,
On a rock, or in a cell—
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,
To bestow it where I may
Meet a rival every day 2
If she undervalues me,
What care I how fair she be?

Were her tresses angel-gold;
If a stranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert them to a braid,
And, with little more a-do,
Work them into bracelets too:
If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be 2

Were her hands as rich a prize,
As her hairs, or precious eyes;
If she lay them out to take
Kisses for good-manner's sake,
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip :
If she seem not chaste to me,
What care I how chaste she be 2

No; she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,
Warming but as snow-balls do,
Not like fire by burning too:
But when she, by change, hath got
To her heart a second lot;
Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she bel

A vision. Upon the conceit of the FAERY QUEEN"

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, Within that temple, where the vestal flame was wont to burn, and passing by that way To see that buried dust of living fame, whose tomb fair love, and fairer virtue kept, All suddenly I saw the Faery Queen: At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept, And from thenceforth those graces were not see", For they this Queen attended, in whose stead oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce; when Homer's spright did tremble all for grief, And curst the access of that celestial thies.

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The glories of our birth and state. Are shadows, not substantial things

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Such she is ; and if you know
Such a one as I have sung,
Be she brown, or fair, or—so,
That she be but somewhile young;
Be assur'd 'tis she, or none,
That I love, and love alone.

The syREN's song.

[In “The Inner Temple Masque.")

Steer, hither steer your winged pines,
All beaten mariners :
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
A prey to passengers:
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest.
Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you, save our lips;
But come on shore,
Where nojoy dies till Love hath gotten more.
For swelling waves, our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be a while our guests;
For stars gaze on our eyes;
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And, as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
Then come on shore,
Where nojoy dies till Love hath gotten more.

CAREW.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires,-
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

SoNo.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair,

** me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past;

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