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And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

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So now I have confeft that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will;
Myfelf I'll forfeit, fo that other mine
Thou wilt reftore to me, my comfort ftill.
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ;
He learn'd, but furety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as faft doth bind.
The ftatute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou ufurer, that put'ft forth all to use;
And fue a friend, came debtor for
my fake,
So him I lose thro' my unkind abuse.

Him have I loft, thou haft both him and me;
He pays the whole, and yet I am not free.

Love-Suit.

Whoever hath her wifh, thou haft thy Will,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee ftill,
To thy fweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whofe will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others feem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance fhine?
The fea all water, yet receives rain ftill,
And in abundance addeth to his ftore;
So thou being rich in Will, add to thy Will
One will of mine, to make thy large Will more.
Let no unkind, no fair befeechers kill,
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

If thy foul check thee that I come fo near,
Swear to thy blind foul that I was thy Will;
And will, thy foul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-fuit fweet fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
I fill it full with wills, and my will one:
In things of great receipt with ease we prove,
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Tho' in thy ftore's account I one must be :
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a fomething sweet to thee.
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov'ft me, for my name is Will.

His Heart wounded by her Eye.

Thou blind fool, love, what doft thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and fee not what they fee?
They know what beauty is, fee where it lies;
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride;
Why of eyes falfhood haft thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd?
Why fhould my heart think that a feveral plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common
Or mine eyes feeing this, fay this is not [place?
To put fair truth upon fo foul a face;

In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd,
And to this falfe plague are they now transferr'd.

O! call not me to justify the wrong,

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;

Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and flay me not by art:
Tell me thou lov'ft elsewhere; but in my fight,
Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye afide;
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy
Is more than my o'er-preft defence can bide? [might
Let me excufe thee; ah! my love well knows,
Her pretty looks have been my enemies,
And therefore from my face fhe turns my foes.
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries.
Yet do not fo, but fince I am near flain,

Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain.

Be wife as thou art cruel, do not press
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much difdain:
Left forrow lend me words, and words exprefs
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Tho' not to love, yet love to tell me fo:
As tefty fick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their phyficians know.
For if I fhould defpair, I fhould grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee;
Now this ill-wrefting world is grown fo bad,
Mad flanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be fo, nor thou bely'd,
Bear thine eyes ftrait, tho' thy proud heart go wide.

A Proteftation.

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thoufand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to doat.

Το

any

Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to bafe touches prone,
Nor tafte, nor fmell defire to be invited
fenfual feaft with thee alone:
But my five wits, nor my five fenfes can
Diffuade one foolish heart from ferving thee;
Who leaves unfway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's flave and vaffal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That the that makes me fin, rewards my pain.

Love is my fin, and my dear virtue, hate;
Hate of fin, grounded on a finful loving:
O! but with mine, compare thou thine own ftate,
And thou fhalt find it merits not reproving:
Or if it do, not from thofe lips of thine,
That have profan'd their fearlet ornaments,
And feal'd falfe bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others beds revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful, I love thee, as thou lov❜ft those,
Whom thine eyes woo, as mine importune thee;
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deferve to pity'd be.

If thou doft feek to have what thou doft hide,
By felf-example may'ft thou be deny'd!

An Allufton,

Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away;
Sets down her babe, and makes all fwift difpatch,
In pursuit of the thing fhe would have stay:
Whilft her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her, whose busy care is bent

To follow that which flies before her face;
Not prizing her poor infant's difcontent.
So-run'ft thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilft I thy babe chafe thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kifs me, be kind.
So will I pray, that thou may'ft have thy Will,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

Life and Death.

Thofe lips that love's own hand did make,
Breath'd forth the found that faid, I hate,
To me that languifh'd for her fake:
But when fhe faw my woful ftate,
Strait in her heart did mercy come;
Chiding that tongue, that, ever fweet,
Was us'd in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus a-new to greet:
I hate, the alter'd with an end
That follow'd it, as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away.
I hate, from hate away fhe threw,
And fav'd my life, faying not you.

A Confideration of Death.

Poor foul! the center of my finful earth,
My finful earth these rebel powers that thee array,
Why doft thou pine within and fuffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls in coftly clay?
Why fo large coft, having fo fhort a leafe,
Doft thou upon thy faded manfion spend?

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