Giv'n all to whore and drink,
To quarrel and blaspheme.

Tell townsmen, that because that
They prank their brides so proud,
Too many times it draws that
Which makes them beetle-brow'd.

Ohe jam satis!

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

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.

Go, tell the Court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the Church it shews
What's good and doth no good,
If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others actions,
Not lov'd, unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions;

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness;
And when they do reply,

Straight give them both the lie.

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.

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.

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.

Tell Faith its fled the city,
Tell how the country erreth,
Tell manhood shakes off pity,
Tell Virtue least preferreth;

And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

And when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing;
Yet stab at thee who will.
No stab the Soul can kill.

CANZONET.

FROM DAVISON'S RHAPSODY. EDIT. 1608.

THE golden sun that brings the day,
And lends men light to see withal,
In vain doth cast his beams away,
When they are blind on whom they fall;
There is no force in all his light
To give the mole a perfect sight.

But thou, my sun, more bright than he
That shines at noon in summer tide,
Hast given me light and power to see
With perfect skill my sight to guide;
Till now I liv'd as blind as mole
That hides her head in earthly hole.

I heard the praise of Beauty's grace,
Yet deem'd it nought but poet's skill,

I gaz'd on many a lovely face,
Yet found I none to bend my will,
Which made me think that beauty bright
Was nothing else but red and white.

But now thy beams have clear'd my sight,
I blush to think I was so blind,

Thy flaming eyes afford me light,
That beauty's blaze each where I find ;
And
yet those dames that shine so bright,
Are but the shadows of thy light.

FROM THE PHOENIX NEST. EDIT. 1593.

O NIGHT, O jealous night, repugnant to my plea

sure,

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.