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Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow

Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburn'd brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;

Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;

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You that do search for every purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesie wring;
Ye that do dictionary's method bring
Into your rimes, running in rattling rows;
You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes
With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing;
You take wrong ways; those far-fet1 helps be

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As do bewray a want of inward touch,
And sure, at length stol'n goods do come to light:
But if, both for your love and skill, your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame,
Stella behold, and then begin to endite.

XXI

Your words, my friend, right healthful caustics, blame

My young mind marred, whom Love doth windlass so;

That mine own writings, like bad servants, show
My wits quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame;
That Plato I read for nought but-if he tame
Such coltish years; that to my birth I owe
Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe,
Great expectation, wear a train of shame:
For since mad March great promise made of me,
If now the May of my years much decline,
What can be hoped my harvest-time will be?
Sure, you say well, "Your wisdom's golden mine
Dig deep with Learning's spade." Now tell me
this

Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is?

XXXI

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Morpheus, the lively son of deadly Sleep,
Witness of life to them that living die,
A prophet oft, and oft an history,
A poet eke, as humors fly or creep;

Since thou in me so sure a power dost keep,
That never I with clos'd-up sense do lie,
But by thy work my Stella I descry,

Teaching blind eyes both how to smile and weep;
Vouchsafe, of all acquaintance, this to tell,

Whence hast thou ivory, rubies, pearl, and gold, To show her skin, lips, teeth, and head so well? "Fool!" answers he; "no Inds such treasures hold;

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ELEVENTH SONG

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XLI

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance
Guided so well that I obtain'd the prize,
Both by the judgment of the English eyes
And of some sent from that sweet enemy France;
Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance,
Town folks my strength; a daintier judge applies

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"But the wrongs Love bears will make
Love at length leave undertaking."
No, the more fools it do shake,
In a ground of so firm making
Deeper still they drive the stake.

"Peace, I think that some give ear! Come no more, lest I get anger!"

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WOOING STUFF

Faint Amorist, what! dost thou think
To taste Love's honey, and not drink
One dram of gall? or to devour
A world of sweet, and taste no sour?
Dost thou ever think to enter

Th' Elysian fields, that dar'st not venture
In Charon's barge? a lover's mind
Must use to sail with every wind.
He that loves, and fears to try,
Learns his mistress to deny.

Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it,
That thy coldness makes her do it;
Is she silent? is she mute?

Silence fully grants thy suit;
Doth she pout, and leave the room?
Then she goes to bid thee come;

Is she sick? why then be sure
She invites thee to the cure;

Doth she cross thy suit with No?
Tush, she loves to hear thee woo;
Doth she call the faith of man

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In question? nay, 'uds-foot, she loves thee than;1 And if ere she makes a blot,

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From so ungrateful fancy,

From such a female franzie,

From them that use men thus,

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Hath no warrant to acquire

The dainties of his chaste desire.

HYMN TO APOLLO

Apollo great, whose beams the greater world do

light,

And in our little world do clear our inward

sight,

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At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

His mother's doves and team of sparrows:
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

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ΙΟ

Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note; Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring; Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring!

HYMN TO APOLLO

Sing to Apollo, god of day,
Whose golden beams with morning play
And make her eyes so brightly shine,
Aurora's face is called divine;
Sing to Phoebus and that throne
Of diamonds which he sits upon.
Io, pæans let us sing

To Physic's and to Poesy's king!

Crown all his altars with bright fire,
Laurels bind about his lyre,

A Daphnean coronet for his head,
The Muses dance about his bed;
When on his ravishing lute he plays,
Strew his temple round with bays.
Io, pæans let us sing

To the glittering Delian king!

FAIRY REVELS

107

OMNES. Pinch him, pinch him black and blue;

Saucy mortals must not view

What the queen of stars is doing,

Nor pry into our fairy wooing.

I FAIRY. Pinch him blue

2 FAIRY. And pinch him black

3 FAIRY. Let him not lack

Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red, Till sleep has rocked his addlehead. 4 FAIRY. For the trespass he hath done, Spots o'er all his flesh shall run. Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes, Then to our midnight heydeguyes.

ΙΟ

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SPRING'S WELCOME

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
“Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.

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