I am no Italian lover, That will mew thee in a jail; Yet in this thou may'st believe me, For, if VIRTUE me forsake, All a scorn of me will make. Then, as I, on thee relying, Do no changing fear in thee, So, by my defects supplying, From all changing keep thou me: That unmatched we may prove, Thou for beauty; I for love. Why doth your sleeping fail, Now all men's else are closed? And will you make me now * What hopes have I that she That constant can perséver? When Fortunes do deceive me, Then she, with all the rest, I fear, alas! will leave me. Shall then in earnest truth My careful eyes observe her? Shall I consume my youth And short my time to serve her? Shall I beyond my strength Let passion's torments prove me, To hear her say at length, 66 "Away—I cannot love thee?” O, rather let me die Whilst I thus gentle find her; 'Twere worse than death, if I Should find she proves unkinder! Would rob me of more rest But in her eyes I find Such signs of pity moving, She cannot be unkind, Nor err, nor fail in loving. And on her forehead this Seems written to relieve me; My heart no joy shall miss, * And this shall be the worst Of all that can betide me, If I, like some, accurs'd, Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long, I know which way to mend them; I'll think who did the wrong, Sigh, break my heart, and end them. SONNET. [From 10 stanzas.] HENCE, away, thou Syren, leave me! 2 Pish! unclasp these 3 wanton arms! No common snare Can 5 ever my affection chain: 6 Thy painted baits, And poor deceits, Are all bestow'd on me in vain. I'm no slave to such as you be, Nor shall that soft 7 9 snowy breast, Rolling eye, and lip of ruby, Ever rob me of my rest. Go, go, display Thy beauty's ray To some more-soon-enamour'd to swain: Those forced " wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestow'd on me in vain. I have elsewhere vow'd a duty; These 3 impostures I defy. 4 Where gaudy clothes And feigned oaths may love obtain: Whose looks swears no That all thy labour will be vain Can he prize the tainted posies Which on other's breast are worn, 6 That may pluck the virgin roses I can go rest On her sweet breast That is the pride of Cynthia's train: Then stay thy tongue, Thy mermaid song 10 Is" all bestow'd on me in vain. |