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She said, never man was true:
He says, none was false to you.
He said, he had loved her long:
She says, Love should have no wrong.
Corydon would kiss her then,
She says, maids must kiss no men,
Till they do for good and all.
Then she made the shepherd call
All the heavens to witness, truth
Never loved a truer youth.
Thus, with many a pretty oath,
Yea, and nay, and faith and troth !-
Such as silly shepherds use
When they will not love abuse;
Love, which had been long deluded,
Was with kisses sweet concluded :
And Phillida, with garlands gay,
Was made the lady of the May.

Nicholas Breton.


SEND back my long-stray'd eyes to me,
Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee:
But if from you they've learnt such ill,

To sweetly smile,

And then beguile,
Keep the deceivers, keep them still.
Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain;
But if it has been taught by thine

To forfeit both

Its word and oath,
Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.
Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
For I'll know all thy falsities;
That I one day may laugh, when thou

Shalt grieve and mourn

Of one the scorn,
Who proves as false as thou art now.

John Donne.



I LOVED thee once, I'll love no more,

Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same?

He that can love unloved again,

Hath better store of love than brain :
God send me love my debts to pay,

While unthrifts fool their love away!
Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,

If thou hadst still continued mine;
Yea, if thou hadst remain’d thy own,
I might perchance have yet been thine.

But thou thy freedom didst recall,

That if thou might elsewhere inthrall :
And then how could I but disdain

A captive's captive to remain ?
When new desires had conquer'd thee,

And changed the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy to love thee still.

Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so,
Since we are taught no prayers to say

To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice, –

Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost;

The height of my disdain shall be

To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging to a beggar's door.

Sir Robert Ayton.



WHEN slumber first unclouds my brain,

And sense refresh'd renews her reign-

I think of thee.
When next in prayer to God above

I bend my knee,
Then when I pray for those I love, -

I pray for thee.
And when the duties of the day

Demand of me
To rise and journey on life's way,–

I work for thee.
Or if, perchance, I sing some lay,

Whate'er it be;
All that the idle verses say, —

They say of thee.
If of an eye whose liquid light

Gleams like the sea,
They sing, or tresses brown and bright,-

They sing of thee.
And if a weary mood, or sad,

Possesses me,
One thought can all times make me glad, -

The thought of thee.
And when once more upon my bed,

Full wearily,
In sweet repose I lay my head,

I dream of thee.
In short, one only wish I have,

To live for thee;
Or gladly if one pang 'twould save,-
I'd die for thee.



SINCE first I saw your face I resolved

To honour and renown you; If now I be disdain'd, I wish

My heart I had never known you. What? I that loved, and you that liked

Shall we begin to wrangle?-
No, no, no, my heart is fast,

And cannot disentangle !
If I admire or praise you too much,

That fault you may forgive me;
Or if my hands had stray'd to touch,

Then justly might you leave me.
I ask'd you leave, you bade me love,

Is't now a time to chide me?
No, no, no, I'll love you still,

What fortune e'er betide me.

The sun, whose beams most glorious are,

Rejecteth no beholder;
And thy sweet beauty, past compare,

Made my poor eyes the bolder.
Where beauty moves, and wit delights,

And signs of kindness bind me, There, oh! there, where'er I go, I leave my heart behind me.



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 further 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 to allure him,
And but one to bid him go:

Where lips invite,

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

Persuade delay;

What boots she say,
· Forego me now, come to me soon.”



O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming ?
O stay and hear ! your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting-

Every wise mans' son doth know.
What is love ? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure;
In delay there lies no plenty, -
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

William Shakspere.


I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee; Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak had power to move thee : But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none. I do confess thou’rt sweet, yet find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,

That kisses everything it meets:
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou’rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

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