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SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

THE SILENT LOVER.

Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams,
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So when affection yields discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come ;
They that are rich in words must needs discover
They are but poor in that which makes a lover.

Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart,
The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart
That sues for no compassion.

Since if my plaints were not t approve
The conquest of thy beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t exceed my duty.

For not knowing that I sue to serve
A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve
A place in her affection,

I rather chuse to want relief
Than venture the revealing;
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.

Silence in love betrays more woe
Than words, tho' ne'er so witty ;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart,
My love for secret passion ;
He smarteth most who hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

A NYMPH'S DISDAIN OF LOVE.

HEY down a down, did Dian sing,
Amongst her virgins sitting,
Than love there is no vainer thing,
For maidens most unfitting :
And so think I, with a down down derry.

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When women knew no woe,
But liv'd themselves to please,
Men's feigning guiles they did not know,
The ground of their disease.

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Unborn was false Suspect;
No thought of Jealousy ;
From wanton toys and fond affect
The virgin's life was free:
Hey down adown, did Dian sing, &o.

At length men used charms,
To which what maids gave ear,
Embracing gladly endless barms,
Anon enthralled were.

Thus women welconi'd woe,
Disguis'd in name of love;
A jealous hell, a painted show,
So shall they find that prove.

Hey down a down, did Dian sing,
Amongst her virgins sitting,
Than love there is no vainer thing,
For maidens most unfitting:

A VISION UPON THE FAIRY QUEEN.

Methovaur I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn: and passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living tame,
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,
All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen,
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;
And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,
For they this Queen attended ; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse.
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,
Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And curs’d th' access of that cælestial thief.

THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.

Ascribed to Sir W. Raleigh in England's Helicon.

Melibaeus. SHEPHERD, what's love? I pray thee tell.
Faustus. It is that fountain and that well

Where pleasure and repentance dwell ;
It is, perhaps, that sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell,

And this is love, as I heard tell.
M. Yet, what is love? I prithee say.
F. It is a work on holiday ;

It is December match'd with May,
When lusty blood 's in fresh array,

And this is love, as I hear say.
M. Yet, what is love? good shepherd, sain.
F. It is a sunshine mixt with rain ;

It is a toothache, or like pain;
It is a game where none doth gain ;
The lass saith no, and would full fain.

And this is love, as I hear sain.
M. Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?
F. It is a yea, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,
It is a thing will soon away;
Then nymphs take vantage while you

may,
And this is love, as I hear say.
M. And what is love, good shepherd, shew?
F. A thing that creeps, it cannot go;

A prize that passeth to and fro;
A thing for one, a thing for moe,

And he that proves shall find it so;
And, shepherd, this is love, I trow.

DULCINA.

As at noon Dulcina rested

In her sweet and shady bower, Came a shepherd, and requested In her lap to sleep an hour.

But from her look

A wound he took
So deep, that for a farther boon

The nymph he prays;

Whereto she says,
Forego me now, come to me soon!"

But in vain she did conjure him

To depart her presence so, Having a thousand tongues t allure him, And but one to bid him go.

When lips invite,

And eyes delight,
And cheeks, as fresh as rose in June

Persuade delay,

What boots to say, “Forego me now, come to me soon!” He demands, what time for pleasure

Can there be more fit than now? She says, night gives that leisure Which the day doth not allow.

He says, the sight

Improves delight; Vol. V,

L

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