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WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING

A

H thou, my love, wilt lose thyself at last,

Who can to match thyself with none agree: Thou ow'st thy father nephews, and to me

A recompense for all my passions past.

Ah, why shouldst thou thy beauty's treasure waste,
Which will begin for to decay I see?

Erst Daphne did become a barren tree,
Because she was not half so wise as chaste:
And all the fairest things do soonest fade,
Which O, I fear, thou with repentance try;
The roses blasted are, the lilies die,

And all do languish in the summer's shade:
Yet will I grieve to see those flowers fall down,
Which for my temples should have framed a crown.

HRICE toss those oaken ashes in the air,
And thrice three times up this true
And thrice three times tie up this true love's knot;
Thrice sit you down in this enchanted chair,

And murmur soft "She will or she will not."
Go, burn those poisoned weeds in that blue fire,
This cypress gathered out a dead man's grave,
These screech-owls' feathers and this prickling briar,
That all thy thorny cares an end may have.
Then come, you fairies, dance with me a round:
Dance in a circle, let my love be centre!
Melodiously breathe an enchanted sound:

Melt her hard heart that some remorse may enter!

In vain are all the charms I can devise:

She hath an art to break them with her eyes.

A

H, sweet Content! where is thy mild abode?
Is it with shepherds, and light-hearted swains,
Which sing upon the downs and pipe abroad,
Tending their flocks and cattle on the plains?
Ah, sweet Content! where dost thou safely rest?
In heaven with angels? which the praises sing
Of Him that made, and rules at His behest,
The minds and hearts of every living thing.
Ah, sweet Content! where doth thine harbour hold?
Is it in churches with religious men,

Which please the gods with prayers manifold,
And in their studies meditate it then?

Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear,
Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.

DE

EATH! be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do

Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery.

go,

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past we wake eternally;

And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

HE sun is fair when he with crimson crown,

THE

And flaming rubies, leaves his eastern bed;
Fair is Thaumantius in her crystal gown,

When clouds engemm'd hang azure, green, and red:
To western worlds when wearied day goes down,
And from Heaven's windows each star shows her head,
Earth's silent daughter, night, is fair, though brown;
Fair is the moon, though in love's livery cled,
Fair Chloris is when she doth paint April,

Fair are the meads, the woods, the floods are fair;
Fair looketh Ceres with her yellow hair,

And apples' queen when rose-cheek'd she doth smile.
That heaven, and earth, and seas are fair is true,
Yet true that all not please so much as you.

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