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Again! till these two lights be four

No error here can dangerous prove :
Thy passion, man, deceiv'd thee more ;

None double see like men in love.

[Extract from “ The Spring."]

THOUGH

you

be absent here, I needs must say The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay

As ever they were wont to be:

Nay, the birds' rural music too
Is as melodious and free

As if they sung to pleasure you.
I saw a rose-bud ope this morn—I'll swear,
The blushing morn open'd not more fair.

[From “ The Request.")

I ASK not one in whom all beauties grow

Let me but love, whate'er she be,

She cannot seem deform'd to me;
And I would have her seem to others so.

That happy * thing a lover grown,
I shall not see with others' eyes--scarce with

mine own.

But do not touch my heart, and so be gone:

Strike deep thy burning arrows in:

Lukewarmness I account a sin
As great in love as in religion.

Come arm'd with flames, for I would prove
All the extremities of mighty love!

[From “ Not fair."]

'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair

As women in th' idea are:
Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be

But a faint metaphor of thee.
But then, methought, there something shin'd within

Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin.

But since I knew thy falsehood, and thy pride, And all thy thousand faults beside ;

* " When I'm that."-Ed. 1647.

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,

White as his teeth would seem to be;

Nay, when the world but knows how false you are,

There's not a man will think you fair.

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Love in her sunny eyes does basking play,

Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair, Love does on both her lips for ever stray,

And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there. In all her outward parts Love's always seen ;But oh! he never went within.

(From “ The Soul."]

IF mine eyes do e'er declare
They've seen a second thing that's fair,
Or ears, that they have music found
Besides thy voice in any sound;
If my taste ever meet
After thy kiss with ought that's sweet ;

If my abused touch allow
Ought to be smooth or soft but you;
If what seasonable springs,
Or the eastern summer brings,
Do my smell persuade at all
Ought perfume but thy breath to call;

May I as worthless seem to thee,
As all but thou appear to me.

If I ever anger know,
Till some wrong be done to you;

If ever I an hope admit,
Without thy image stamp'd on it;
Or any fear, till I begin
To find that you're concern'd therein;
If a joy e'er come to me,
That tastes of any thing but thee;
If
any sorrow touch

my

mind Whilst you are well and not unkind; If I a minute's space debate, Whether I shall curse and hate The things beneath thy hatred fall, Though all the world, myself and all;

If any passion of my heart,
By any force or any art,
Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no passion have for me.

[From“ The Wish.”]

Well, then; I now do plainly see
This busy world and I shall ne'er agree.

The very honey of all earthly joy
Does of all meats the soonest cloy:

And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings,

Of this great hive, the city,

Ah! yet, ere I descend to th’ grave,
May I a small house and large garden have;

And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

And since Love ne'er will from me flee,) A mistress, moderately fair, And good, as guardian-angels are;

Only belov'd, and loving me!

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