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Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That mak’st but game on earnest pain:

Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lover's plain,

Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lie wither'd and old
In winter nights that are so cold,

Plaining in vain unto the moon :
Thy wishes then dare not be told,

Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent,

To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,

And wish and want, as I have done!

Now cease my lute: this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,

And ended is that we begun;
Now is this song both sung and past;

My lute be still, for I have done!

That each Thing is hurt of itself. Why fearest thou thy outward foe,

When thou thyself thy harm dost feed?

Of grief or hurt, of pain or wo,

Within each thing is sown the seed.

So fine was never yet the cloth,

No smith so hard his ir'n did beat,
But th’ one consumed was with moth,

Th' other with canker all to-fret.

The knotty oak, and wainscot old,
Within doth eat the silly worm:
mind in


roll'd Always within itself doth burn.

E’en so,


Thus every thing that Nature wrought

Within itself his hurt doth bear :
No outward harm need to be sought

Where enemies be within so near.

The Lover in Liberty smileth at them in Thraldom,

that sometime scorned his Bondage. At liberty I sit, and see

Them that have erst laugh’d me to scorn, Whipp'd with the whip that scourged me,

And now they ban' that they were born!

1 Curse.

I see them sit full soberly,

And think their earnest looks to hide; Now in themselves they cannot spy

That they, or this, in me have spied !

I see them sitting all alone,

Marking the steps, each word, and look: And now they tread where I have gone!

The painful path that I forsook !

I see them wander all alone,

And tread full fast in dreadful doubt The self-same path that I have gone !

Blessed be hap that brought me out!

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At liberty all this I see ;

And say no word but erst among ; Smiling at them that laugh’d at me;

Lo such is hap! mark well my song!

The Lover in Despair lamenteth his Case.

ADIEU desert, how art thou spent !

Ah dropping tears, how do you waste ! ! Ah scalding sighs, how be ye spent, To prick them forth that will not haste !

" I do not understand this expression. VOL. II.

Ah pained heart, thou gap'st for grace
E'en there where pity hath no place !

As easy 't is the stony rock

From place to place for to remove, As by thy plaint for to provoke

A frozen heart from hate to love. What should I say? such is thy lot, To fawn on them that force thee not.

Thus may'st thou safely say and swear

That rigour reign’th and ruth doth fail, In thankless thoughts thy thoughts do wear,

Thy truth, thy faith may nought avail For thy good will. Why should thou so Still graft where grace it will not grow?

Alas, poor heart, thus hast thou spent

Thy flowering time, thy pleasant years ! With sighing voice weep and lament,

, For of thy hope no fruit appears : Thy true meaning is paid with scorn, That ever sow'th and reap'th no corn.

And where thou seeks a quiet port,

Thou dost but weigh against the wind;

1. Love.


For where thou gladdest wouldst resort,

There is no place for thee assign'd. Thy destiny hath set it so That thy true heart should cause thy wo.

A Praise of his Lady.

Give place, you ladies, and be gone.

Boast not yourselves at all !
For here at hand approacheth one
Whose face will stain

you all !

The virtue of her lively looks

Excels the precious stone :
I wish to have none other books

To read or look upon.

In each of her two chrystal eyes

Smileth a naked boy: It would


all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy.

I think Natùre hath lost the mould:

Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could

So fair a creature make.

i So ed. 1.-Ed. 1567, “ gladdiest.”
2 So ed. I.--Ed. 1567," lamb,”

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