Some things that may sweeten gladness
In the very gall of sadness:

The dull loneness, the black shade
That these hanging vaults have made,
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves,

This black den, which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals, that give light
More to terror than delight,
This my chamber of neglect,
Wall'd about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair.

She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.

Therefore then, best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this!
Poesy, thou sweet'st content

That e'er heav'n to mortals lent;
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee,
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to nought but earth are born;
Let my life no longer be,

Than I am in love with thee!

Though our wise ones call it madness,
Let me never taste of gladness

If I love not thy mad'st fits

Above all their greatest wits!

And though some, too seeming holy,
Do account thy raptures folly,

Thou dost teach me to contemn,

What makes knaves and fools of them!

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

SHALL I, wasting in despair,

Die because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in May;
If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd,
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican;

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or, her well-deservings known,
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
Which may merit name of best;

If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die?

Those that bear a noble mind,

Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do,
That without them dare to woo:

And, unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe--
I will die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go:
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,
Pish! unclasp these wanton arms;
Sugar'd wounds can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charms).
Fie, fie, forbear;

No common snare
Can ever my affection chain :

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such as you be;
Neither shall that 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 swain:
Those common wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestowed on me in vain..

I have elsewhere vowed a duty;
Turn away thy tempting eye:
Shew not me a painted beauty;
These impostures I defy :
My spirit loaths

Where gaudy clothes

And feign'd oaths may love obtain:
I love her so,

Whose look swears No,

That all your labours will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies,
Which on every breast are worn,
That may pluck the virgin roses
From their never-touched thorn?
I can go rest

On her sweet breast,

That is the pride of Cynthia's train:
Then stay thy tongue,

Thy mermaid song

Is all bestowed on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him: Shall I haunt the thronged valleys, Whilst there's noble hills to climb ?

No, no, though clowns
Are scar'd with frowns,
I know the best can but disdain;
And those I'll prove :

So will thy love

Be all bestowed on me in vain.

I do scorn to vow a duty

Where each lustful lad may woo; Give me her whose sun-like beauty Buzzards dare not soar unto : She, she it is

Affords that bliss

For which I would refuse no pain:
But such as you,

Fond fools, adieu;

You seek to captive me in vain.

Leave me then, you Sirens, leave me ; Seek no more to work my harms: Crafty wiles cannot deceive me,

Who am proof against your charms: You labour may

To lead astray

The heart, that constant shall remain ;

And I the while

Will sit and smile

To see you spend your time in vain.