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Perfuade my heart to this false perjury,
Vows for thee broke, deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore : but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,
Thy grace being gain’d, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou, fair fun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow, in thee it is :
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise ?

True Content .

So is it not with me, as with that muse,
Stirr’d by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse :
Making a compliment of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich geins;
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air, in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, tho' not fo bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.

Let them say more, that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.

A Bashful Lover.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides his part ;

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength abundant weakens his own heart:
So I, for fear of trust, forgot to say
The perfect ceremony of love's right,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more exprest.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ!
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

Strong Conceit.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou art of one date ;
But when in thee time's forrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty, that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art ?
O therefore, love! be of thyself so wary,
As I not for myself, but for thee, will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary,
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Presume not on thy heart, when mine is fain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

A Sweet Provocation.

Sweet Cytherea, fitting by a brook,
With young Adonis, lovely fresh and green,

Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories, to delight his ears ;
She show'd him favours, to allure his eye ;
To win his heart, she touch't him here and there;
Touches fo soft, still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or the refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler wou'd not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer.

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward,
He rose and ran away; ah ! fool too froward.

A Conftant Vow. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? O! never faith cou'd hold, if not to beauty vow'd: Tho' to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove. Those thoughts to me like Oaks, to theelike ofiers bow'd Study his byas leaves, and makes his book thineeyes, Where allthofe pleasures live,that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall fuffice: Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee com

mend! Allignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder, Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : Thine eye Hove's lightning seems, thy voice his

dreadful thunder, Which (not to anger bent) is musick and sweet fire.

Celestial as thou art, O! do not love that
Tosing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

wrong!

The Exchange. A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, Haft thou the master, mistress of my passion ;

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false womens fashion.
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth.
A man in hue all hue in his controuling,
Which steals mens eyes, and womens souls amazeth:
And for a woman wer't thou first created.
Till nature, as the wrought thee, fell a doating,
And by addition me of thee defeated ;
By adding one thing, to my purpose nothing.
But since the prick'd thee out for womens pleasure,
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.

A Disconfolation.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired,
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (far from where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkness, which the blind do fee.
Save that my soul's imaginary fight
Presents their shadow to my fightless view;
Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.

Lo! thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
3. For thee, and for myself no quiet find.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debar'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppreflion is not eas’d by night,
But day by night, and night by day oppreft?

And each (tho' enemies to other's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain,
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,
And doft him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars tweer out, thou gild'st th’even.

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem

[stronger. When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes I all alone beweep my out-cast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate : Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends poffeft; Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented leaft. Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark, at break of day arising From sullen earth, to sing at heaven's gate.

For thy sweet love rememb’red, such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Cruel Deceit.

Scarce had the sun dry'd up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for Thade;
When Cytherea (all in love forlorn)
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an ofier growing by a brook ;
A brook, where Adon us’d to cool his spleen,

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