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But ere the least of all these ills betide me,
But I shall all your Phrygian wealth possessz And more than your epiftle can express : Gifts, woven gold, imbroidery, rich attire, Purple and plate, or what I can defire. Yet give me leave, think you all this extends To countervail the loss of my chief friends? Whofe friendship, or whose aid shall I imploy To succour me, when I am wrong'd in Troy? Or whether can I, having thus misdone, Unto my father, or my brothers run? As much as you to me, false Jafon swore Unto Medea, yet from Æfon's door He after did exile her. Now, poor heart, Where is thy father that should take thy part? Old Ætes or Calciope? thou took'st No aid from them, whom thou before forfook'ft. Or say thou didft (alas ! they cannot hear Thy fad complaints) yet I no such thing fear ; No more Medea did : good hopes engage Themselves so far, they fail in their prefage. You see the ships that in the main are tofs'd, And many times by tempefts wreck'd and loft, Had, at their launching from the haven's mouth, A smooth sea, and a calm gale from the south. Besides, the brand your mother dreamt the bare, The night before your birth, breeds me fresh care. It prophefy'd, ere many years expire, Infamed Troy must burn with Greekish fire. As Venus favours you, because she gain'd A doubtful prize by you; yet the disdain'd
And vanquish'd goddesses, disgrac'd so late,
So where your valour and rare deeds you boast, And warlike fpirits in which you triumph'd most; By which you have attain’d 'mongst soldiers grace, None will believe you, that but fees your face. Your feature, and fair shape, is fitter far For amorous courtships, than remorsless war. Let rough-hew'd soldiers warlike dangers prove, 'Tis pity Paris should do ought save love. Hector (whom you so praise) for you may fight; I'll find you war to skirmish every night, Which shall become you better.
Were I wise, And bold withal, I might obtain the prize : In such sweet single combats, hand to hand, 'Gainst which no woman that is wise will stand. My champion I'll encounter breast to breast, Tho' I were fure to fall, and be o'erprest.
If that you private conference intreat me, I apprehend you, and you cannot cheat me :
I know the meaning, durst I yield thereto,
The passionate Shepherd to his Love,
Live with me, and be my love,
If these delights thy mind may move,
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd, If that the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue; These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee, and be thy love, Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, And all complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yield : A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but forrow's fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses, Thy cap, thy girdle, and thy posies; Some break, fome wither, some forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds Thy coral clasps, and ainber studs ; All these in me no means can move To come to thee, and be thy love. But could youth last, and love ftill breed, Had joys no date and age no need ; Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee, and be thy love.
Another of the same Nature.
Come live with me, and be my dear,
In plains and groves, on hills and dales,