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In our two loves there is but one respect,
Tho' in our lives a feparable spite;
Which tho' it alter not love's fole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Left my bewailed guilt fhould do thee fhame,
Nor thou with publick kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name.
But do not fo, I love thee in fuch fort,

As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

As a decrepit father takes delight
To fee his active child do deeds of youth;
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Intitled in their parts, do crowned fit,
I make my love ingrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor defpis'd,
Whilft that this fhadow doth fuch fubftance give,
That I in thy abundance am fuffic'd,

And by a part of all thy glory live:

Look what is beft, that beft I wifh in thee;
This wish I have, then ten times happy me.

Loth to depart.

Good night, good reft; ah! neither be my fhare:
She bad good night, that kept my reft away;
And daft me to a cabben hang'd with care,
To defcant on the doubts of my decay.

Farewel (quoth fhe) and come again to-morrow;
Fare well I could not, for I fupt with forrow.

Yet at my parting fweetly did fhe smile,
In fcorn, or friendship, nill I confter whether:
It may be the joy'd to jeft at my exile;
It may be again to make me wander thither.
Wander (a word) for fhadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

Lord! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east!
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rife
Doth cite each moving fenfe from idle rest,
Not daring truft the office of mine eyes.

While Philomela fits and fings, I fit and mark,,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark.

For fhe doth welcome day-light with her ditty,
And drives away dark dreaming night:
The night fo packt, I poft unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wifhed fight;
Sorrow chang'd to folace, and folace mixt with
forrow;

For why? fhe figh'd, and bad me come to-morrow.

Were I with her, the night would poft too foon,
But now are minutes added to the hours:
To fpite me now, each minute seems an hour,
Yet not for me, fhine fun to fuccour flowers.
Pack night, peep day, good day of night now
borrow,

Short night, tonight, and length thy felf to-morrow.

A Mafter-Piece.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steel'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart:

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For thro' the painter muft you fee his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bofom's fhop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now fee what good turns eyes for eyes have done;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breaft, where thro' the fun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they fee, know not the heart.

Happiness in Content.

Let thofe who are in favour with their stars,
Of publick honour and proud titles boast:
Whilft I, whom fortune of fuch triumph bars,
Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the fun's eye;
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoufed for worth,
After a thousand victories, once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the reft forgot, for which he toil'd.
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

A Dutiful Meffage.

Lord of my love, to whom in vaffalage
Thy merit hath my duty ftrongly knit,

To thee I fend this written embaffage,
To witnefs duty, not to fhew my wit.
Duty fo great, which wit fo poor as mine.
May make feem bare, in wanting words to fhew it;
But that I hope fome good conceit of thine
In my foul's thought (all naked) will beftow it.
Till whatsoever ftar, that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To fhow me worthy of their fweet refpect.
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee:
Till then, not fhow my head, where thou may'st
[prove me.

Go and Come quickly.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When that I feek (my weary travel's end)
Doth teach that eafe and that repofe to fay,
Thus far the miles are meafur'd from thy friend?
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me;
As if by fome inftinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee.
The bloody fpur cannot provoke him on,
That fometimes anger thrufts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More fharp to me, than fpurring to his fide,
For that fame groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

Thus can my love excufe the flow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed.
Form where thou art, why fhould I hafte me thence?
Till I return, of potting is no need.

O! what excufe will my poor beaft then find,
When swift extremity can feem but flow?
Then should I fpur tho' mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion fhall I know.
Then can no horse with my defire keep pace,
Therefore defire (of perfect love being made)
Shall neigh no dull flefh in his fiery race,
But love for love thus fhall excufe my jade.
Since from thee going, he went wilful flow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

Two Faithful Friends.

Mine and heart are at a mortal war, eye

How to divide the conqueft of thy fight:

Mine eye, my heart their pictures fight would bar,
My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right:
My heart doth plead, that thou in him doft lie;
(A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And fays, in him their fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title, is impannelled

A queft of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined

The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part,
As thus; mine eyes due is their outward part,
And my heart's right, their inward love of heart.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famifh'd for a look,
Or heart in love with fighs himself doth smother:
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart.

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