7 But day by day still bears

The burden on my back,

With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears,
To hold my hope aback.

8 All things I see have place
Wherein they bow or bend,
Save this, alas! my woful case,
Which nowhere findeth end.

FROM THE PHOENIX' NEST.'

O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure,
O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content,
There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure,
Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent.

Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till

to-morrow,

Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my

sorrow,

Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs.

Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining,
Let them that miss the way be guided by the light,
I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining,
Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night.

Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining,

And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise.

And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady,
All other nights and days in honour of that night,
That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady,
Wherein my love had that lighted my delight.

eyes

FROM THE SAME.

1 The gentle season of the year

Hath made my blooming branch appear,
And beautified the land with flowers;
The air doth savour with delight,

The heavens do smile to see the sight,
And yet mine eyes augment their showers.

2 The meads are mantled all with green,
The trembling leaves have clothed the treen,
The birds with feathers new do sing;
But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack,
Attire myself in mourning black,
Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring.

3 And as you see the scarlet rose

In his sweet prime his buds disclose,
Whose hue is with the sun revived;
So, in the April of mine age,
My lively colours do assuage,
Because my sunshine is deprived.

4 My heart, that wonted was of yore,
Light as the winds, abroad to soar
Amongst the buds, when beauty springs,
Now only hovers over you,

As doth the bird that's taken new,

And mourns when all her neighbours sings.

5 When every man is bent to sport,
Then, pensive, I alone resort
Into some solitary walk,

As doth the doleful turtle-dove,
Who, having lost her faithful love,
Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk.

6 There to myself I do recount

How far my woes my joys surmount,
How love requiteth me with hate,
How all my pleasures end in pain,
How hate doth say my hope is vain,
How fortune frowns upon my state.

7 And in this mood, charged with despair,
With vapour'd sighs I dim the air,
And to the gods make this request,
That by the ending of my life,

I may have truce with this strange strife, And bring my soul to better rest.

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand,

Fear not to touch the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant;

Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

2 Go tell the Court it glows,

And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good and doth no good;

If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

3 Tell potentates they live,

Acting by others' actions,
Not loved, unless they give,

Not strong, but by their factions;
If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

4 Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

5 Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell Love it is but lust,
Tell Time it is but motion,
Tell Flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

7 Tell Age it daily wasteth,

Tell Honour how it alters,
Tell Beauty how she blasteth,
Tell Favour how she falters;

And as they shall reply,

Give every one the lie.

8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In treble points of niceness,
Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness;
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

9 Tell Physic of her boldness,
Tell Skill it is pretension,

Tell Charity of coldness,

Tell Law it is contention;

And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

10 Tell Fortune of her blindness,
Tell Nature of decay,

Tell Friendship of unkindness,

Tell Justice of delay;

And if they will reply,

Then give them all the lie.

11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming,

Tell Schools they want profoundness,

And stand too much on seeming;

If Arts and Schools reply,

Give Arts and Schools the lie.

12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, Tell how the country erreth, Tell Manhood shakes off pity,

Tell Virtue least preferreth;