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My wealth is health and perfect ease,

My conscience clear my choice defence ; I neither seek by bribes to please,

Nor by deceit to breed offence : Thus do I live, thus will I die ; Would all did so well as I.

Sir WALTER RALEIGH,

1552–1618.

XII.

THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS.

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WEET violets, Love's paradise, that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couched bear

Within your paly faces;
Upon the gentle wing of some calm-breathing wind

That plays amidst the plain,

If by the favour of propitious stars you gain
Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find ;

Be proud to touch those places.
And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear,
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed ;

Your honours of the flowery meads I pray,

You pretty daughters of the earth and sun ; With mild and seemly breathing straight display

My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone.

Vermilion roses, that with new day's rise
Display your crimson folds fresh-looking fair,

Whose radiant bright disgraces
The rich adorned rays of roseate rising morn;

Ah ! if her virgin's hand

Do pluck your pure, ere Phoebus view the land, And vail your gracious pomp in lovely Nature's scorn.

If chance my mistress traces
Fast by your flowers to take the summer's air ;
Then woeful blushing tempt her glorious eyes,

To spread their tears, Adonis' death reporting,

And tell Love's torments, sorrowing for her friend;
Whose drops of blood within your leaves consorting,

Report fair Venus' moans to have no end.
Then may Remorse in pitying of my smart,
Dry up my tears, and dwell within her heart.

XIII.

DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS'

FOLLIES.

IF

F love be life, I long to die,

Live they that list for me :
And he that gains the most thereby,

A fool at least shall be.
But he that feels the sorest fits,
'Scapes with no less than loss of wits.

Unhappy life they gain,
Which love do entertain.

In day by feigned looks they live,

By lying dreams in night;
Each frown a deadly wound doth give,

Each smile a false delight.
If't hap their lady pleasant seem,
It is for others' love they deem :

If void she seem of joy,
Disdain doth make her coy.

Such is the peace that lovers find,

Such is the life they lead, Blown here and there with every wind,

Like flowers in the mead.
Now war, now peace, now war again,
Desire, despair, delight, disdain,

Though dead in midst of life,
In peace and yet at strise.

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My true love hath my heart, and I have is,

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By just exchange one to the other giren :
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven :

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,

My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his because in me it abides.

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

XV.

RING

ASTROPHEL'S LOVE IS DEAD.
ING out your bells, let mourning shews be spread,

For Love is dead.
All love is dead infected

With plague of deep disdain :

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