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A Lover's Excufe for his long Abfence.

Oh! never fay that I was false of heart,
Tho' abfence feem'd my flame to qualify;
As eafy might I from myfelf depart,

As from my foul which in my breaft doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have rang'd,
Like him that travels, I return again

Juft to the time, not with the time exchang'd;
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, tho' in my nature reign'd
All frailties, that befiege all kinds of blood,
That it could fo prepoftercufly be ftain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy fum of good:
For nothing this wide univerfe I call,
Save thou, my rofe, in it thou art my all.

Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there;
And made myfelf a motly to thy view;

Gor'd mine own thoughts, fold cheap what is most

dear;

Made old offences of affections new.

Moft true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Afkance and ftrangely but by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worst affays prov'd thee my beft of love.
Now all is done, have what fall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confin'd.

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the beft,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.

A Complaint.

Oh! for my fake do you with fortune chide
The guilty goddefs of my harmless deeds,
That did not better for my life provide,

Than publick means which publick manners breeds.
Thence comes it, that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is fubdu'd
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd;
Whilft like a willing patient I will drink
Potions of eyfel 'gainst my strong infection,
No bitterness, that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance to corred correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I affure ye,
E'en that your pity is enough to cure me.

Your love and pity doth th' impreffion fill,
Which vulgar fcandal ftamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-skreen my bad, my good allow?
You are my all, the world and I must strive,
To know my fhames and praises from your tongue;
None elfe to me, nor I to none alive,

That my fteel'd fenfe or changes right or wrong.

In fo profound abyfme I throw all care

Of others voices, that my adder's sense
To critick and to flatterer ftopped are :
Mark how with my neglect I do difpenfe.

You are fo ftrongly in my purpose bred,

That all the world befides me thinks I'm dead.

H

Self Flattery of her Beauty.

Since I left you mine eye is in my mind,
And that which governs me to go about,
Doth part his function, and is partly blind;
Seems feeing, but effectually is out.

For it no form delivers to the heart

Of birds, or flower, or fhape, which it doth lack;
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,

Nor his own vifion holds what it doth catch:
For if it fee the rud'ft or gentleft fight,
The moft fweet favour or deformed'ft creature,
The mountain or the fea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it fhapes them to your feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you,

My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I fay mine eye faith true,
And that your love taught it the alchymy?
To make of monfters, and things indigeft,
Such cherubims as your fweet felf resemble;
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As faft as objects to his beams affemble?
Oh! 'tis the firft, 'tis flattery in my seeing,

And my great mind most kindly drinks it up;
Mine eye well knows what with his guft is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup.

If it be poifon'd, 'tis the leffer fin,

That mine eye loves it, and doth firft begin.

Thofe lines, that I before have writ, do lye,
E'en those that said I could not love you

dearer :

Yet then my judgment knew no reafon why,
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reck'ning time, whofe million accidents

Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Can facred beauty, blunt the fharp'it intents,
Divert ftrong minds to th' courfe of alt'ring things:
Alas! why fearing of time's tyranny,

Might I not then fay, now I love you beft,
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the prefent, doubting of the reft?
Love is a babe, then might I not fay fo,
To give full growth to that which ftill doth grow?

A Trial of Love's Conftancy.

Accufe me thus; that I have scanted all,
Wherein I fhould your great deferts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;

That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear purchas'd rights
That I have hoifted fails to all the winds,
Which should tranfport me fartheft from your fight.
Book both my wilfulness and error down,
And on just proof furmife, accumulate;
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeal fays, I did ftrive to prove
The conftancy and virtue of your love.

Like as you make your appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge;
As to prevent our maladies unfeen,

We ficken, to fhun ficknefs, when we purge:

Even fo being full of your near cloying sweetness,
To bitter fauces did I frame my feeding;

And fick of welfare, found a kind of meekness,
To be difeas'd ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, t' anticipate

The ills that were not, grew to faults affured,
And brought to medicine a healthful ftate,
Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured.
But thence I learn, and find the leffon true,
Drugs poifon him that fell fo fick of you.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Diftill'd from limbecks foul as hell within ?
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still lofing when I saw myself to win.
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilft it hath thought itself fo blessed never ?
How have mine eyes out of their fpheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever?

Oh! benefit of ill! now I find true,

That better is by evil ftill made better;

And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,

Grows fairer than at firft, more ftrong, far greater. So I return rebuke to my content,

And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.

A good Conftruction of his Love's Unkindness.

That you
were once unkind befriends me now;
And for that forrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my tranfgreffion bow,
Unless my nerves were brafs or hammer'd fteel.
For if you were by my unkindness fhaken,
As I by yours, y' have pass'd a hell of time;

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