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And when I yield myself a slave,

To thee, or to thy son,
Such recompense I ought not have,

If things be rightly done.”
“ Why fool,” stept forth Delight, and said,

“ When thou art conquer'd thus: Then lo dame Lust, that wanton maid,

Thy mistress is, I wus:
And Lust is Cupid's darling dear,

Behold her where she goes;
She creeps the milk-warm flesh so near,

She hides her under close,
Where many privy thoughts do dwell,

A heaven here on earth :
For they have never mind of hell,

They think so much on mirth.” “ Be still, Good Meaning," quoth Good Sport,

“ Let Cupid triumph make :
For sure his kingdom shall be short,

If we no pleasure take.
Fair Beauty, and her play-feres gay,

The virgin's vestals too,
Shall sit, and with their fingers play,

As idle people do.
If Honest Meaning fall to frown,

And I Good Sport decay :
Then Venus' glory will come down,

And they will pine away."
“ Indeed," quoth Wit, “ this your device,

With strangeness must be wrought:
And where you see these women nice,

And looking to be sought,
With scowling brows their follies check,

And so give them the fig:
Let Fancy be no more at beck,

When Beauty looks so big."
When Venus heard how they conspir’d

To murder women so,

Methought, indeed, the house was fir'd,

With storms and lightning tho';
The thunder-bolt through windows burst,

And in there steps a wight,
Which seem'd some soul or sprite accurst,

So ugly was the sight!
“ I charge you, ladies all,” quoth he,

“ Look to yourselves in haste, For if that men so wilful be,

And have their thoughts so chaste,
That they can tread on Cupid's breast,

And march on Venus' face,
Then they shall sleep in quiet rest,

When you shall wail your case.”
With that had Venus, all in spite,

Stirr'd up the dames to ire;
And Lust fell-cold, and Beauty white,

Sat babbling with Desire,
Whose muttering words I might not mark;

Much whispering there arose :
The day did lower, the sun wax'd dark;

Away each lady goes.
But whither went this angry flock ?

Our Lord himself doth know :
Wherewith full loudly crew the cock,

And I awaked so.
“ A dream !” quoth I, “ a dog it is,

I take thereon no keep:
I 'gage my head, such toys as this

Doth spring from lack of sleep!"

De Morte. Man's life's a tragedy: his mother's womb, From which he enters, is the tiring room; This spacious earth the theatre; and the stage That country which he lives in : passions, rage,

Folly, and vice are actors: the first cry
The prologue to the ensuing tragedy.
The former act consisteth of dumb shows;
The second, he to more perfection grows;
I'th third he is a man, and doth begin
To nurture vice, and act the deeds of sin :
I’th the fourth declines; i'th fifth diseases clog
And trouble him; then death's his epilogue !

A Nymph's Disdain of Love.
Hey, down, a down, did Dian sing,

Amongst her virgins sitting :
Than love there is no vainer thing,

For maidens most unfitting:
And so think I, with a down, down, derry.

When women knew no woe,

But liv'd themselves to please,
Men's feigning guiles they did not know

The ground of their disease.
Unborn was False Suspect,

No thought of Jealousy:
From wanton toys and Fond Affect,
The virgin's life was free.

Hey, down, a down, did Dian sing, &c.

At length men used charms,

To which what maids gave ear,
Embracing gladly endless harms,

Anon, enthralled were.
Thus women welcom'd woe,

Disguis'd in name of love:
A jealous hell, a painted show,

So shall they find that prove.

Hey, down, a down, did Dian sing,

Amongst her virgins sitting: RALEGH, MISC. WORKS.

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Than love there is no vainer thing,

For maidens most unfitting :
And so think I, with a down, down, derry.

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The Shepherd's Description of Love. Melibeus. SHEPHERD, what's love, I pray thee tell ? Faustus. It is that fountain, and that well,

Where pleasure and repentance dwell :
It is, perhaps, that sauncing d bell,

That tolls all into heaven or hell:

And this is love, as I heard tell.
Meli. Yet what is love, I prithee say ?
Faust. It is a work on holyday,

It is December match'd with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array

Hear ten months after of the play:

And this is love, as I hear say.
Meli. Yet what is love, good Shepherd sain ?
Faust. It is a sunshine mix'd with rain ;

It is a toothach; or like pain ;
It is a game, where none doth gain.

The lass saith no, and would full fain :

And [this] is love, as I hear sain.
Meli. Yet, Shepherd, what is love, I pray ?
Faust. It is a yea, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,
It is a thing will soon away;

Then nymphs take 'vantage while ye may:

And this is love, as I hear say.
Meli. Yet what is love, good Shepherd show ?
Faust. A thing that creeps, it cannot go;

A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for mo,

And he that proves shall find it so,
And, Shepherd, this is love I trow.

" Sounding."

Hymn.
RISE, O my soul, with thy desires to Heaven,

And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time where time's eternity is given,

And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse; · But down in darkness let them lie:

So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die!

And thou, my soul, inspir'd with holy flame,

View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross, whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die !

For in that sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.

To thee, O Jesu! I direct my eye,

To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees;
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees :

To thee myself, myself and all I give;
To thee I die, to thee I only live!

SONG.
By Christopher Marlow.
COME, live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That grove or valley, hill or field,
Or wood and steepy mountain yield.

Where we will sit on rising rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

Pleas'd will I make thee beds of roses,
And twine a thousand fragrant posies ;

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