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And ye, high Heavens ! the temple of the gods,
In which a thousand torches flaming bright
Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods
In dreadful darkness lend desired light;
And all ye Powers which in the same remain,
More than we men can feign,
Pour out your blessing on us plenteously,
And happy influence upon us rain,
That we may rise a large posterity,
Which from the earth, which they may long possess
With lasting happiness,
Up to your haughty palaces may mount,
And for the guerdon of their glorious merit
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,
Of blessed saints for to encrease the count:
So let us rest, sweet Love! in hope of this,
And cease till then our timely joys to sing,
The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring.

Song made in lieu of many ornaments
With which my love should duly have been deckt.
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,
Ye would not stay your due time to expect,
But promis'd both to recompence,
Be unto her a goodly ornament,
And for short time an endless monument.

SONNET.
FAIR is my love, when her fair golden hairs

With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark,
Fair when the rose in her red cheek appears,
Or in her eyes the fire of love doth spark ;
Fair when her brest, like a rich laden bark
With precious merchandize, she forth doth lay;
Fair when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away;

But fairest she when so she doth display
The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight,
Through which her words so wise do make their way,
To bear the message of her gentle spright:
The rest be works of Nature's wonderment,
But this the work of hearts' astonishment.

SONNETS.

THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love! is vain,

That fondly fear to lose your liberty, When losing one, two liberties ye gain, And make him bound that bondage erst did fly, Sweet be the bands the which true Love doth tye, Without constraint or dread of any ill ; The gentle bird feels no captivity Within her cage, but sings and feeds her fill. There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath bound, But simple truth and mutual good-will Seeks with sweet peace to salve each other's wound; There Faith doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, And spotless Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.

RIDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,

In finding fault with her too portly pride : The thing which I do most in her admire, Is of the world unworthy most envide; For in those lofty looks is close implide Sorn of base things and 'sdeign of foul dishonour, Threatning rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour, That boldness innocence bears in her eyes, And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner, Spreads in defiance of all enemies. Was never in this world ought worthy tride, Without some sparke of such self-pleasing pride.

SONNETS. FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king,

In whose coat-armour richly are displaid All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously array'd, Go to my love, where she is careless laid, Yet in her winter's bowre not well awake, Tell her the joyous Time will not be staid, Unless she do him by the fore-lock take: Bid her, therefore, her self soon ready make To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew, Where every one that misseth then her make Shall be by him ameargt with penance dew. Make haste, therefore, sweet Love! whilst it is prime, For none can call again the passed time.

LIKE as a huntsman

after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escape away, Sits down to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their prey ; . So after long pursute and vain assay, When I all weary had the chace forsook, The gentle deer return'd the self-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook ; There she beholding me with milder look, Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide, Till I in hand her yet half trembling took, And with her own good-will her firmly tide: Strange thing me seem'd to see a beast so wild So goodly wone, with her own will beguil'd.

JOHN DONNE.

SEND home my long-stray'd eyes to me,

Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee; But if they there have learn'd such ill,

Such forc'd fashions,
And false passions,
That they be

Made by thee
Fit for no good sight, keep them still.
Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
But if it be taught, by thine,

To make jestings
Of protestings,
And break both

Word and oath,
Keep it still—'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know and see thy lies ;
And may laugh and joy when thou

Art in anguish,
And dost languish
For some one

That will none,
Or prove as false as thou dost now.

.

GEORGE WITHER.

SONG.
SHALL I, wasting in despair,

Die because a woman's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May;

If she be not so for me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican;

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may merit name of best;

If she be not kind to me,

What care I how good she be?
Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do,
Who without them dare to woo;

And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

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