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Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not

Forth ; they die :
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,
Nymphs back peeping

All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry ineetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewel, sweet love,
Thy like ne'er was

For sweet content, the cause of all my moan:
Poor Coridon
Must live alone,

Other help for him I see that there is none.

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As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring : Every thing did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone : She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity : Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, Teru, Teru, by and by : That to hear her so complain, Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shewn, Made me think upon mine own. Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; None take pity on thy pain : Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; King Pandion, he is dead; All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : All thy fellow birds do sing, Careless of thy sorrowing: Even so, poor bird, like thee, None alive will pity me. Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, Thou and I were both beguild. Every one that flatters thee, Is no friend in misery. Words are easy like the wind ; Faithful friends are hard to find. Every man will be thy friend, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; But if store of crowns be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigal, Bountiful they will him call : And with such like flattering, Pity but he were a king." If he be addict to vice, Quickly him they will entice ; If to women he be bent, They have him at commandement; But if fortune once do frown, Then farewell his great renown: They that fawn'd on him before, Use his company no more. He that is thy friend indecd, He will help thee in thy need, If thou sorrow, he will weep; If thou wake, he cannot sleep : Thus of every grief in heart He with thee doth bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattering foe.

When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou should’st strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial might:

Take counsel of some wiser head,

Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell ;
(A cripple soon can find a halt :)

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,

And set her person forth to sale.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,

That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:

“ Had women been so strong as men,

In faith you had not had it then.”
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend,-and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear :
The strongest castle, tower, and town,

The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew :

When time shall serve, be thou not slack

To proffer, though she put thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know,

Have you not heard it said full oft,

A woman's nay doth stand for nought ?
Think women still to strive with men,
To sin, and never for to saint :
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age shall them attaint.

Were kisses all the joys in bed,

One woman would another wed. But soft; enough,—too much I fear, Lest that my mistress hear my song ; She'll not stick to round me i'th' ear, To teach my tongue to be so long :

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But first set my poor heart free,

So between them love did shine,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

That the turtle saw his right

Flaming in the phønix' sight:
Let the bird of loudest lay,

Either was the other's mine. On the sole Arabian tree,

Property was thus appalld, Herald sad and trumpet be,

That the self was not the same; To whose sound chaste wings obey.

Single nature's double name But thou shrieking harbinger,

Neither two nor one was call'd. Foul pre-currer of the fiend,

Reason, in itself confounded, Augur of the fever's end,

Saw division grow together; To this troop come thou not near.

To themselves yet either-neither,

Simple were so well compounded. From this session interdict

That it cried how true a twain Every fowl of tyrant wing,

Seemeth this concordant one! Save the eagle, feather'd king :

Love hath reason, reason none, keep the obsequy so strict.

If what parts can so remain. Let the priest in surplice white,

Where upon it made this threne That defunctive music can,

To the phenix and the dove, Be the death-divining swan,

Co-supremes and stars of love ;
Lest the requiem lack his right.

As chorus to their tragic scene.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st
With the breath thou givest and tak’st,

Beauty, truth, and rarity,

Grace in all simplicity, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here inclos'd in cinders lie. Here the anthem doth commence :

Death is now the phænix' nest; Love and constancy is dead ;

And the turtle's loyal breast Phænix and the turtle fied

To eternity doth rest, In a mutual fame from hence.

Leaving no posterity :So they lov'd as love in twain

'Twas not their infirmity, Had the essence but in one ;

It was married chastity. Two distincts, division none :

Truth may seem, but cannot be ; Number there in love was slain.

Beauty brag, but 'tis not she; Hearts remote, yet not asunder ;

Truth and beauty buried be, Distance, and no space was seen

To this urn let those repair, "Twixt the turtle and his queen :

That are either true or fair ; But in them it were a wonder.

For these dead birds sigh a prayer.




From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ,
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
And down I lay to list the sad tun'd tale :

Though slackly braided in loose negligence. Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale,

A thousand favours from a maund she drew Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,

Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. Which one by one she in a river threw, Upon her head a platted hive of straw,

Upon whose weeping margent she was set,Which fortified her visage from the sun,

Like usury, applying wet to wet, Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw

Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall, The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. Time had not scythed all that youth begun,

Of folded schedules had she many a one, Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage, which she perus’d, sigh’d, tore, and gave the Hood; Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone, Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,

Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; Which on it had conceited characters,

Found yet more letters sadly pennd in blood,

With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,

Enswathod, and seald to curious secrecy.
And often reading what contents it bears ;

These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes, As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,

And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Cry'd, O false blood ! thou register of lies,

What unapproved witness dost thou bear! Sometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride, Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here! As they did battery to the spheres intend ;

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd Big discontent so breaking their contents. To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, Their view right on; anon their gazes lend

(Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew To every place at once, and no where fix'd,

Of court, of city, and had let go by
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. The swiftest hours,) observed as they flew;
Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat, | Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; And, privileg'd by age, desires to know
For some untuck’d, descended her sheav'd hat, In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe.

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