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Which she denies; “Night's murky noon

In Venus' plays

Makes bold,” says, “Forego me now, come to me soon!"

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But what promise, or profession,

From his hands could purchase scope?
Who would sell the sweet possession
Of such beauty for a hope?

Or for the sight

Of lingering night,
Forego the present joys of noon?

Tho' ne'er so fair

Her speeches were, “Forego me now, come to me soon !"

How at last agreed these lovers ?

She was fair, and he was young :
The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers ?
Joys unseen are never sung.

Did she consent,

Or he relent?
Accepts he night, or grants she noon?

Left he her maid,

Or not? she said, “ Forego me now, come to me soon!"

HIS LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.

SHALL I, like a hermit, dwell,
On a rock, or in a cell,
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing in my heart,

To bestow it where I may
Meet a rival every day?
If she undervalue me,
What care I how fair she be?

Were her tresses angel gold,
If a stranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,
To convert them to a braid;
And with little more ado
Work them into bracelets, too?
If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be?

Were her band as rich a prize
As her hairs, or precious eyes,
If she lay them out to take
Kisses, for good manners' sake :
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;
If she seem not chaste to me,
What care I how chaste she be?

No;

she must be perfect snow, In effect as well as show; Warming but as snow-balls do, Not like fire, by burning too ; But when she by change hath got To her heart a second lot, Then, if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be!

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