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Which stuck there like a curious seal, Renew us like the teeming springs,
As though it should forbid

And we thus fresh are seen.”
Us, wretched mortals, to reveal
What under it was hid.

At length I on a fountain light,

Whose brim with pinks was platted,
Besides, the flowers which it had press'd, The bank with daffodillies dight
Appeared to my view

With grass like sleeve was matted:
More fresh and lovely than the rest,
That in the meadows grew.

When I demanded of that well

What pow'r frequented there;
The clear drops, in the steps that stood Desiring it would please to tell
Of that delicious girl,

What name it us'd to bear:
The nymphs, amongst their dainty food,
Drunk for dissolved pearl.

It told me, “ It was Cynthia's own,

Within whose cheerful brims,
The yielding sand, where she had trod, That curious nymph had oft been known
Untouch'd yet with the wind,

To bathe her snowy limbs;
By the fair posture plainly shew'd
Where I might Cynthia find.

“ Since when that water had the pow'r

Lost maidenhoods to restore
When on upon my wayless walk And make one twenty in an hour,
As my desires me draw,

Of Æson's age before,”
I like a madman fell to talk
With everything I saw.

And told me, “That the bottom clear,

Now lay'd with many a fett
I ask'd some lilies, “Why so white Of seed pearl, e'er she bath'd her there
They from their fellows were?”

Was known as black as jet :
Who answer'd me, “ That Cynthia's sight
Had made them look so clear."

As when she from the water came

Where first she touch'd the mould, I ask'd a nodding violet, “Why

In balls the people made the same
It sadly hung the head?”

For pomander, and sold.”
It told me,“ Cynthia late past by,"
Too soon from it that fled.

When chance me to an arbour led,

Whereas I might behold; A bed of roses saw I there,

Two blest elysiums in one sted,
Bewitching with their grace,

The less the great infold;
Besides so wond'rous sweet they were,
That they perfum'd the place.

The place which she had chosen out,

Herself in to repose:
I of a shrub of those inquir’d,
From others of that kind,

Had they come down the gods no doubt
Who with such virtue them inspir'd?

The very same had chose. It answer'd (to my mind):

The wealthy Spring yet never bore “ As the base hemlock were we such,

That sweet, nor dainty flower, The poisoned'st weed that grows,

That damask'd not the chequer'd floor Till Cynthia, by her godlike touch,

Of Cynthia's summer bower. Transform'd us to the rose.

The birch, the myrtle, and the bay, “ Since when those frosts that winter Like friends did all embrace; brings

And their large branches did display, Which candy every green,

To canopy the place.

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Down the French host did ding,

As to o’erwhelm it;
And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent
And many a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet.

And at the banquet in his drunkenness, Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest

heart: A gentle warning (friends) thus may

you see, What’tis to keep a drunkard company.


Glo'ster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,

With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight

Scarce such another.


LOVE banish'd heaven, in earth was held

in scorn,

Warwick in blood did wade,
Oxford the foe invade,
And cruel slaughter made,

Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bear them right doughtily,

Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon St. Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay,

To England to carry; O when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again

Such a King Harry?

Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; And wanting friends, though of a god.

dess born, Yet cray'd the alms of such as passed

by: I, like a man devout and charitable, Clothed the naked, lodg'd this wand'ring

guest, With sighs and tears still furnishing his

table, With what might make the miserable

blest; But this ungrateful, for my good desert, Entic'd my thoughts against me to con

spire, Who gave consent to steal away my

heart, And set my breast his lodging on a fire. Well, well, my friends, when beggars

grow thus bold, No marvel then though charity grow


SONNET. Love in a humor play'd the prodigal, And bade my senses to a solemn feast; Yet more to grace the company withal, Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest : No other drink would serve this glut

ton's turn But precious tears distilling from mine

eyne, Which with my sighs this epicure doth

burn, Quaffing carouses in this costly wine; Where, in his cups o'ercome with foul

excess, Straightways he plays a swaggering ruf

fian's part,

SONNET IF he, from heaven that filch'd that live

ing fire, Condemn'd by Joveto endless tormentbe, I greatly marvel how you still go free, That far beyond Prometheus did aspire: The fire he stole, although. of heavenly

kind, Which from above he craftily did take, Of lifeless clods, us living men to make, He did bestow in temper of the mind : But you broke into heav'n's immortal


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