That no more Summers best dresses,

Be beholden

For their golden

Locks to Phœbus flaming Tresses.

O deliver

Love his Quiver,

From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes,

Where Apollo

Cannot follow :

Feathered with his Mothers Sparrows.

O envy not

(That we dye not)

Those deer lips whose door encloses

All the Graces

In their places,

Brother Pearles, and sister Roses.

From these treasures

Of ripe pleasures

One bright smile to clear the weather.

Earth and Heaven

Thus made even,

Both will be good friends together.

The aire does wooe thee,

Winds cling to thee,

Might a word once fly from out thee;

Storm and thunder

Would sit under,

And keep' silence round about thee.

But if natures

Common Creatures,

So dear glories dare not borrow;
Yet thy beauty

Owes a duty,

To my loving lingring sorrow.

When my dying

Life is flying;

Those sweet Aires that often slew me ;

Shall revive me,

Or reprive me,

And to many deaths renew me.

The Cruell Maid.

And cruell maid, because I see
You scornfull of my love, and me:
Ile trouble you no more; but go
My way, where you shall never know
What is become of me: there I
Will find me out a path to dye;
Or learn some way to forget
You and your name, for ever: yet
Ere I go hence, know this from me,
What will, in time, your fortune be:
This to your coynesse I will tell ;
And having spoke it once, Farewell.
The Lilly will not long endure;

Nor the Snow continue pure;

The Rose, the Violet, one day
See, both these Lady-flowers decay :
And you must fade, as well as they.
And it may chance that love may turn,
And (like to mine) make your heart burn.
And weep to see't; yet this thing do,
That my last vow commends to you:
When you shall see that I am dead,
For pitty let a tear be shed;
And (with your Mantle o're me cast)
Give my cold lips a kisse at last :
If twice you kisse, you need not feare,
That I shall stir, or live more here.
Next hollow out a Tomb to cover
Me; me, the most despised Lover;
And write thereon, This, Reader, know,
Love kill'd this man. No more but so.

Silence.

No; to what purpose should I speak?
No, wretched Heart, swell till you break!

She cannot love me if she would;

And to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.

No, to the Grave thy sorrows beare,

As silent as they will be there;

Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound doth give,

So handsomely the thing contrive,

That she may guiltlesse of it live.

So perish, that her killing thee

May a chance Medley, and no murther be.

'Tis nobler much for me that I
By her beauty, not her Anger dye;
This will look justly, and become
An Execution, that a Martyrdome.

The censuring world will ne're refrain
From judging men by thunder slain.
She must be angry sure, if I should be
So bold to ask her to make me
By being hers, happier than she;
I will not; 'tis a milder fate/
To fall by her not loving, than her hate.

And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her appear:

When, sound in every other part,

Her sacrifice is found without an Heart;
For the last tempest of my death
Shall sigh out that too, with my breath.

His Misery.

Water, water I espy:

Come, and cool ye, all who fry
In your loves; but none as I..

Though a thousand showers be
Still a falling, yet I see
Not one drop to light on me.

Happy you, who can have seas
For to quench ye, or some ease
From your kinder Mistresses.

I have one, and she alone

Of a thousand thousand known,
Dead to all compassion.

Such an one, as will repeat

Both the cause, and make the heat
More by provocation great."

And run not thus like a young Roe away,
No Enemy

Pursues thee (foolish Girle) 'tis onely I,
Ile keep off harmes,

If thou'll be pleas'd to garrison mine arms;
What dost thou feare

Ile turn a Traytour? may these Roses here

To palenesse shred,

And Lillies stand disguised in new red,

If that I lay ́

A snare, wherein thou wouldst not gladly stay;
See, see the Sun

Doth slowly to his azure lodging run;
Come sit but here,

And presently hee'l quit our Hemisphere;