Then gentle cheater urge not my amifs,
Left guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray

My nobler part to my grofs body's treafon;
My foul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason :
But rifing at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize; proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To ftand in th

A Monument to Fame.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetick foul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love controul,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipfe endur'd,
And the fad augurs mock their own prefage:
Incertainties now crown themselves affur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Then gentle cheater urge not my amifs,
Left guilty of my faults thy fweet felf prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray

My nobler part to my grofs body's treafon;
My foul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason :
But rifing at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize; proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To ftand in thy affairs, fall by thy fide.

No want of confcience hold it, that I call
Her love, for whofe dear love I rise and fall.

In loving thee, thou know'ft I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forfworn to me love fwearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths breach do I accufe thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd moft;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee;
And all my honest faith in thee is loft.
For I have fworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness;
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy conftancy;
And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness;
Or made them fwear against the thing they fee.
For I have fworn thee fair; more perjur'd I,
To swear against the truth fo foul a lye.

The Tale of Cephalus and Procris.

Beneath Hymettus' hill, well cloth'd with flowers,
A holy well her foft fprings gently pours:
Where ftands a cops, in which the wood-nymphs
fhrove,

(No wood) it rather feems a slender grove.

The humble fhrubs and bushes hide the grass,
Here laurel, rofemary, here myrtle was:
Here grew thick box, and tamʼrifk, that excels,
And made a mere confufion of fweet fmells:
The triffoly, the pine; and on this heath
Stands many a plant that feels cold Zephyr's breath.
Here the young Cephalus, tir'd in the chace,
Us'd his repofe and reft alone t' embrace;
And where he fat, these words he would repeat,
Come air, fweet air, come cool my mighty heat!
'Come, gentle air, I never will forfake thee,

I'll hug thee thus, and in my bofom take thee."
Some double duteous tell-tale hapt to hear this,
And to his jealous wife doth ftraitway bear this;
Which Procris hearing, and withal the name
Of air, sweet air, which he did oft proclaim,
She ftands confounded, and amaz'd with grief,
By giving this fond tale too found belief.
And looks, as do the trees by winter nipt,
Whom froft and cold of fruit and leaves half ftript.
She bends like corveil, when too rank it grows,
Or when the ripe fruits clog the quince-tree boughs.
But when he comes t' herself, the tears
Her garments, eyes, her cheeks, and hairs;
And then fhe ftarts, and to her feet applies her,
Then to the wood (ftark wood) in rage fhe hies her.
Approaching fomewhat near, her fervants they
By her appointment in a valley ftay;

While fhe alone, with creeping paces, fteals
To take the ftrumpet, whom her lord conceals.
What mean'ft thou, Procris, in thefe groves to hide

thee?

What rage of love doth to this madness guide thee? Thou hop'ft the air he calls, in all her bravery, Will ftrait approach, and thou shalt fee their knavery.

And now again it irks her to be there,

For fuch a killing fight her heart will tear.
No truce can with her troubled thoughts difpenfe,
She would not now be there, nor yet be thence.
Behold the place her jealous mind foretels,
Here do they use to meet, and no where else :
The grafs is laid, and fee their true impreffion,
Even here they lay! aye, here was their tranfgreffion.
A body's print fhe faw, it was his feat,

Which makes her faint heart 'gainst her ribs to beat.
Phoebus the lofty eastern hill had fcal'd,

And all moift vapours from the earth exhal'd.
Now in his noon-tide point he fhineth bright,
It was the middle hour, 'twixt noon and night.
Behold young Cephalus draws to the place,
And with the fountain-water fprinks his face.
Procris is hid, upon the grafs he lies,

And come sweet Zephyr, come sweet air he cries.
She fees her error now from where he stood,
Her mind returns to her, and her fresh blood;
Among the fhrubs and briars fhe moves and ruftles,
And the injurious boughs away fhe juftles,
Intending, as he lay there to repofe him,
Nimbly to run, and in her arms inclofe him.
He quickly cafts his eye upon the bufh,
Thinking therein fome favage beast did rush;
His bow he bends, and a keen fhaft he draws:
Unhappy man, what doft thou? ftay, and pause,
It is no brute beast thou would'ft 'reave of life;
O! man unhappy! thou haft flain thy wife!
O heaven! the cries, O help me! I am flain;
Still doth thy arrow in my wound remain.
Yet tho' by timeless fate my bones here lie,
It glads me moft, that I no cuck-quean die.