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But woe is me! too early I attended
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodg'd, and newly deify'd.
For on his visage was in little drawn,
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; His phenix down began but to appear, Like unshorn velvet, on that terinless skin, Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear; Yet show'd his visage by that cost most dear :
And nice affections wavering, stood in doubt
It best 'twere as it was, or best without.
His rudeness so, with his authoriz'd youth,
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. Well could he ride, and often men would say, 'That horse his mettle from his rider takes ; Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Can for additions yet their purpose trim,
Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. So on the tip of his subduing tongue All kinds of arguments and questions deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep, To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep.
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will. That he did in the general bosom reign Of young, of old, and sexes both inchanted, To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty following where he haunted ; Consent's bewitched, ere he desire have granted ;
And dialogu'd for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. Many there were that did his picture get, To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; Like fools that in th’imagination set The goodly objects, which abroad they find, Of lands and mansions theirs in thought assign'd ;
And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them,
Than the true gouty landlord, who doth owe them. So many have, that never touch'd his hand, Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart : My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee simple, not in part, What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. Yet did I not, as some my equals did, Demand of him, nor being desir’d, yielded : Finding myself in honour so forbid, With safest distance I my honour shielded : Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new bleeding, which remain’d the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
For when we rage, advice is often seen,
By blunting us, to make our wits more keen.
The one a palate hath, that needs will taste,
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adult'rate heart,
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto ;
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow : All my offences, that abroad you see, Are errors of the blood, none of the mind ; Love made them not, with acture they may be, Where neither party is nor true nor kind : They sought their shame, that so their shame did find.
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.
And reign'd commanding in his monarchy.
Effects of terror, and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
And deep-brain'd sonnets, that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth and quality :
With objects manifold ; each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smil'd, or made some moan. Lo! all these trophies of affection hot, Of pensive and subdu'd desires, the tender ; Nature hath charg'd me, that I hoard them not, But yield them up where I myself must render : That is, to you my origin and ender.
For these of force must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
Works under you, and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels, in combined sums.
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
 By nobles, whose high descent is marked by the number of quarters in their coats of arms, MALONE.
But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The scars of battle 'scapeth, by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
Not to be tempted, would she be immured ;
And now to tempt, all liberty procured.
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
In thee hath neither string, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine. When thou impressest, what are precepts worth, Of stale example? When thou wilt enflame, How coldly those impediments stand forth Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame? Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
And credent soul to that strong bonded oath,
27* VOL. IX.