SONG.

AWAY with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
Away, poor fouls, that figh and weep,
In love of those that be asleep;
For Cupid is a merry god,

And forceth none to kifs the rod.

Sweet Cupid's fhafts, like destiny,
Do caufelefs good or ill decree ;
Defert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his wing doth go.

What fools are they that have not known
That love likes no laws but his own.

My fongs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holidays,

On

I write her name,
every tree
And every day I read the fame;
Where Honour Cupid's rival is,

There miracles are feen of his.

The worth that worthiness should move
Is love, that is the bow of Love;
And love as well thee fofter can
As can the mighty nobleman.

Sweet faint, 'tis true, you worthy be,

Yet, without love, nought worth to me!

THE DREAM.

My fenfes all, like beacon's flame, Gave alarum to defire,

To take arms in Cynthia's name, And fet all my thoughts on fire.

Up I ftart, believing well

To fee if Cynthia were awake; Wonders I faw, who can tell? And thus unto myfelf I spake:

Sweet god, Cupid, where am I?
That by pale Diana's light,
Such rich beauties do efpy

As harm our fenfes with delight.

Am I borne up to the skies?

See where Jove and Venus fhine, Shewing in her heavenly eyes That defire is divine!

I ftept forth to touch the sky,
I a god by Cupid's dreams,
Cynthia, who did naked lie,

Runs away, like filver ftreams

Leaving hollow banks behind,

Who can neither forward move;

Nor, if rivers be unkind,

Turn away, or cease to love.

There ftand I, like men that preach From the execution-place,

At their death content to teach

All the world with their difgrace.

He that lets his Cynthia lie
Naked on a bed of play,
To say prayers ere she die,
Teacheth time to run away.

Let no love-defiring heart
In the ftars go feek his fate,
Love is only Nature's art,
Wonder hinders love and hate.

M

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

THE SOUL's ERRAND.

Go, foul, the body's gueft,

Upon a thankless errand,

Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant;
Go, fince I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Go, tell the court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood,
Go, tell the church it shows
What's good, and doth no good;
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live

Acting by others actions,
Not lov'd unless they give,
Not ftrong but by their factions.

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate.
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

i

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, Seek nothing but commending. And if they make reply,

Spare not to give the lie.

Tell zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell love it is but luft,
Tell time it is but motion,
Tell flesh it is but duft.
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wafteth,

Tell honour how it alters, Tell beauty how she blasteth, Tell favour how the falters. And as they shall reply Give each of them the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over wifenefs.

And if they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.