YOUTH made a fault through lightness of Belief,

YOUTH

Which fond Belief Love placed in my breast:

But now I find, that Reason gives relief;

And time shows Truth, and Wit that's bought, is best;
Muse not therefore although I change my vein,
He runs too far which never turns again.
Henceforth my mind shall have a watchful eye,
I'll scorn Fond Love, and practice of the same:
The wisdom of my heart shall soon descry
Each thing that's good, from what deserveth blame:
My song shall be; Fortune hath spit her spite,
And Love can hurt no more withal his might.
Therefore all you, to whom my course is known,
Think better comes, and pardon what is past;
I find that all my wildest Oats are sown,
And joy to see, what now I see at last;
And since that Love was cause I trod awry,

I here take off his Bells, and let him fly.

HY live I, wretch, and see my joys decay,

WW

Why live I and no hope of love's advancing: Why do mine eyes behold the sunny day, Why live I, wretch, in hope of better chancing. O wherefore tells my tongue this doleful tale, That every ear may hear my bitter plaint: Was never heart that yet bemoan'd my bale, Why live I, wretch, my pangs in vain to paint. Why strive I 'gainst the stream or 'gainst the hill, Why are my sorrows buried in the dust: Why do I toil and lose my labour still, Why do I feed on hope or build on trust.

Since hope had never hap and trust finds treason, Why live I, wretch, disdain'd and see no reason?

L

OOK, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose,

The image of thy blush, and summer's honour! Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose

That full of beauty time bestows upon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the air,

But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;
She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair:
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine!
No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:
Swift speedy time, feather'd with flying hours,
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain;
But love now, while thou may'st be loved again.

C

ARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my languish, and restore the light: With dark forgetting of my care return, And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

OPE, like the hyaena, coming to be old,

Halters his shape; is turned into Despair.

Pity my hoary hopes! Maid of Clear Mould!

Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair!
What harm is it to kiss, to laugh, to play?
Beauty's no blossom, if it be not used.
Sweet dalliance keeps the wrinkles long away:
Repentance follows them that have refused.
To bring you to the knowledge of your good
I seek, I sue. O try, and then believe!
Each image can be chaste that's carved of wood.
You show you live, when men you do relieve.
Iron with wearing shines. Rust wasteth treasure.
On earth, but love there is no other pleasure.