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That he might think me fome untutor'd youth, Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.

Thus vainly thinking, that the thinks me young,
Altho' I know my years be past the best;
I fmiling, credit her false speaking tongue,
Out-facing faults in love, with love's ill reft.
But wherefore fays my love, that she is young?
And wherefore fay not I, that I am old?
O love's beft habit is a fmoothing tongue,
And age (in love) loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lye with love, and love with me,
· Since that our faults in love thus fmother'd be.

A Temptation.

Two loves I have, of comfort and defpair,
That like two fpirits do fuggeft me ftill:
My better angel is a man (right fair)
My worfer spirit a woman (colour'd ill.)
To win me foon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my fide,
And would corrupt my faint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Sufpect I may, yet not directly tell;
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.

The truth I fhall not know, but live in doubt, 'Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Faft and Loofe.

Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,

Perfuade my heart to this falfe perjury,
Vows for thee broke, deferve not punishment.
A woman I forfwore: but I will prove,
Thou being a goddefs, I forfwore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath. a vapour is ;
Then thou, fair fun, that on this earth doth fhine,
Exhale this vapour vow, in thee it is:

If broken then, it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wife
To break an oath, to win a paradife?

True Content.

So is it not with me, as with that mufe,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itfelf for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse:
Making a compliment of proud compare
With fun and moon, with earth and fea's rich gems;
With April's firfl-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air, in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, tho' not so bright,
As thofe gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.
Let them fay more, that like of hearsay well;
I will not praife, that purpose not to fell.

A Bafbful Lover.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put befides his part;

Or fome fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whofe ftrength abundant weakens his own heart : So I, for fear of truft, forgot to fay

The perfect ceremony of love's right,

And in mine own love's ftrength feem to decay, O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. let my looks be then the eloquence,

And dumb prefagers of my fpeaking breaft;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more exprest.
O learn to read what filent love hath writ!
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

Strong Conceit.

My glass fhall not perfuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou art of one date;
But when in thee time's forrows I behold,
Then look I death my days fhould expiate.
For all that beauty, that doth cover thee,
Is but the feemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art ?
O therefore, love! be of thyself so wary,
As I not for myself, but for thee, will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep fo chary,
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Prefume not on thy heart, when mine is flain;
Thou gav'ft me thine, not to give back again.

A Sweet Provocation.

Sweet Cytherea, fitting by a brook,

With young Adonis, lovely fresh and green,

Did court the lad with many a lovely look,

Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. She told him stories, to delight his ears;

She fhow'd him favours, to allure his eye;

To win his heart, fhe touch't him here and there;
Touches fo foft, ftill conquer chastity.

But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler wou'd not touch the bait,
But smile and jeft at every gentle offer.

Then fell fhe on her back, fair queen, and toward,
He rofe and r ran away; ah! fool too froward.

A Conftant Vow.

If love make me forfworn, how fhall I fwear to love? O! never faith cou'd hold, if not to beauty vow'đ: Tho' to nyfelf forfworn, to thee I'll conftant prove. Thofe thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like ofiers bow'd Study his byas leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Where all thofe pleafures live, that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee fhall fuffice. Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend!

All ignorant that foul, that fees thee without wonder, Which is to me fome praise, that I thy parts admire : Thine eye Jove's lightning feems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,

Which (not to anger bent) is mufick and fweet fire. Celestial as thou art, O! do not love that wrong! To fing heaven's praife with fuch an earthly tongue.

The Exchange.

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, Haft thou the mafter, miftrefs of my paffion;

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With fhifting change, as is false women's fashion.
An eye more bright than theirs, lefs false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth.

A man in hue all hue in his controuling,
Which steals mens eyes, and womens fouls amazeth:
And for a woman wert thou firft created.

Till nature, as the wrought thee, fell a doating,
And by addition me of thee defeated;

By adding one thing, to my purpose nothing.

But fince the prick'd thee out for womens pleasure, Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.

A Difconfolation.

Weary with toil, I hate me to my bed,
The dear repofe for limbs with travel tired,
But then begins a journey in my head,

To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (far from where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkness, which the blind do fee.
Save that my foul's imaginary fight

Prefents their fhadow to my fightless view;
Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myfelf no quiet find..

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debar'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night, and night by day oppreft 2.

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