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Then misconceive not, dearest heart !

My true, though secret, passion ;
He smarteth most that hides his smart,

And sues for no compassion !

A Vision upon the Fairy 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 V irtue kept:

All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen;
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,

And, from thenceforth, those Graces were not seen: 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 :

Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And curs'd the access of that celestial thief!

On the same.

The praise of meaner wits this work like profit brings,
As doth the cuckoo's song delight, when Philomela sings;
If thou hast formed right true Virtue's face herein,
Virtue herself can best discern, to whom they written been.
If thou hast Beauty prais'd, let her sole looks divine,
Judge if ought therein be amiss, and mend it by her eyne.
If Chastity want ought, or Temperance her due,
Behold her princely mind aright, and write thy Queen anew.
Meanwhile she shall perceive, how far her virtues soar
Above the reach of all that live, or such as wrote of yore:
And thereby will excuse and favour thy good will;
Whose virtue cannot be express’d but by an angel's quill.

Of me no lines are lov'd, nor letters are of price,
Of all which speak our English tongue, but those of thy


The Lover's absence kills me, her presence kills me. The frozen snake oppress’d with heaped snow,

By struggling hard gets out her tender head,
And spies far off, from where she lies below,
The winter sun that from the north is fled.

But all in vain she looks upon the light,
Where heat is wanting to restore her might.

What doth it help a wretch in prison pent,

Long time with biting hunger overpress'd,
To see without, or smell within, the scent
Of dainty fare for others' tables dress'd ?

Yet snake and prisoner both behold the thing,
The which (but not with sight) might comfort bring.


Such is my taste, or worse,


worse may
My heart oppress'd with heavy frost of care,
Debarr’d of that which is most dear to me,
Killd up with cold, and pin'd with evil fare;

And yet I see the thing might yield relief,

the sight doth breed my greater grief.

So Thisbe saw her lover through the wall,

And saw thereby she wanted that she saw :
And so I see, and, seeing, want withal,
And, wanting so, unto my death I draw.

And so my death were twenty times my friend,
If with this verse my hated life might end.

A Defiance to disdainful Love. Now have I learnd, with much ado at last,

By true disdain to kill desire ;

This was the mark at which I shot so fast;
Unto this height I did aspire.

Proud Love, now do thy worst, and spare not;
For thee and all thy shafts I care not!

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind?

What life to quicken dead desire ?
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind;
I feel no heat in all thy fire.

Go charge thy bows, and get a stronger;
Go break thy shafts, and buy thee longer.

In vain thou bait'st thy hook with Beauty's blaze;

In vain thy wanton eyes allure:
These are but toys, for them that love to gaze:
I know what harm thy looks procure: -

Some strange conceit must be devised,
Or thou and all thy skill despised.

The two following Poems are taken from Cayley's LIFE OF RALEGH; but it is not known from which of the authorities

referred to by him they are extracted.


As at noon Dulcina rested

In her sweet and shady bower,
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lap to sleep an hour.

But from her look

A wound he took
So deep, that for a farther boon

The nymph he prays;

Whereto she says,
Forego me now, come to me soon!"

But in vain she did conjure him

To depart her presence so,
Having a thousand tongues t'allure him,
And but one to bid him go.

When lips invite,

And eyes delight,
And cheeks as fresh as rose in June,

Persuade delay,

What boots to say,
“ Forego me now, come to me soon!"

He demands, what time for pleasure

Can there be more fit than now?
She says, Night gives love that leisure
Which the day doth not allow.

He says, the sight

Improves delight;
Which she denies ; “ Night's murky noon

In Venus' plays

Makes bold,” she says,
“ Forego me now, come to me soon!"

But what promise, or profession,

From his hands could purchase scope ?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beauty for a hope?

Or for the sight

Of lingering night,
Forego the present joys of noon?

Tho' ne'er so fair

Her speeches were,
Forego me now, come to me soon!"

How at last agreed these lovers ?

She was fair, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what theye discovers ;

Joys unseen are never sung.

Did she consent,

Or he relent? Accepts he night, or grants she noon ?

Left he her maid,

Or not? She said
Forego me now, come to me soon !"

His Love admits no Rival.
Shall I, like a 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?
If she undervalue 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 ado
Work them into bracelets, too:
If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be!

Were her lips as rich a prize
As her hairs, or precious eyes,
If she lay them out to take
Kisses, for good manners' 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 !

No; she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show;

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