THE LIE. And wish them not reply, Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell honour how it alters, Tell wit how much it wrangles Tell physic of her boldness, Tell fortune of her blindness, Tell nature of decay, Tell arts they have no soundness But vary by esteeming, Tell faith it's fled the city, Tell how the country erreth, Tell, manhood shakes off pity, Tell, virtue least preferreth: And if they do reply, Spare not to give the lie. So when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing • Deserves no less than stabbing; Sir Walter Raleigh. SONNET. Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny, Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair, And her disdains are gall, her favours honey: A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, Sacred on earth, design'd a saint above. Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, Live reconciled friends within her brow; And had she Pity to conjoin with those, Then who had heard the plaints I utter now* For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. Samuel Daniel. BIRDS IN SPRING. When Phcebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, BIRDS IN SPRING. Those quiristers are perch't, with many a speckled breast, Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, |