(In the Nice Valour.)

Hence all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly;
There's nought in this life sweet,
If men were wise to see't,

But only melancholy,
O sweetest melancholy !

Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies;
A look that's fasten'd to the ground,
A tongue



without a sound.

Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves;
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly hous'd save bats and owls;

A midnight bell, a parting groan,
These are the sounds we feed

upon. Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.


[In a Masque.]

Ye should stay longer if we durst-
Away. Alas, that he that first
Gave time wild wings to fly away,
Has now no power to make him stay!
And though these games must needs be play'd,
I wish this pair, when they are laid,

And not a creature nigh 'em,
Might catch his scythe as he doth pass,
And cut his wings, and break his glass,

And keep him ever by 'em.


[In the Queen of Corinth.]

WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor gruan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone. Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again. Trim thy locks, look cheerfully, Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see. VOL. III.


Joys, as winged dreams, fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe,
Gentlest fair! mourn, mourn, no moe,


[In the Captain.]
66 Tell me, dearest, what is love ?"
"Tis a lightning from above;

”Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire;
"Tis a boy they call Desire ;

'Tis a grave

Gapes to have

Those poor

fools that long to prove.

66 Tell me more, are women true ?"
Yes, some are, and some as you.

Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change ;

And till troth

Be in both,
All shall love, to love anew.

“ Tell me more yet, can they grieve?" Yes, and sicken sore, but live,

And be wise, and delay
When you men are as wise as they:

" Then I see

« Faith will be “ Never till they both believe.”


[In the Elder Brother.]

Beauty clear and fair,
Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells ;
Where the violet and the rose
Their blue veins in blush disclose,

And come to honour nothing else.

Where to live near
And planted there,

Is to live and still live new ;
Where to gain a favour is
More than light, perpetual bliss;

Make me live by serving you!


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Let those complain that feel love's cruelty,

And in sad legends write their woes ; With roses gently he has corrected me;

My war is without rage or blows; My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires, And hope springs up inflam'd with her new fires.

No more an exile will I dwell,

With folded arms and sighs all day, Reckoning the torments of my hell,

And flinging my sweet joys away. I am call’d home again to quiet peace, My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease.

Yet what is living in her eye,

Or being blest with her sweet tongue, If these no other joys imply?

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong. To be your own but one poor month, I'd give My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live.

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