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Disdainfully delivering thus her words,
I yet a novice in my new learn'd art,
Admir'd so quick a change from joy to woe; Doubted myself even if it was my heart,
My tears which trickling from mine eyes did go; But, ah! in vain, for yet my wound did bleed; No spates of tears could quench the boiling lead.
I flamed, I froze, in love, in cold disdain;
Died in despair, in hope again I lived:
Her frown did kill, her smile again revived.
While in this weak estate, all means I sought
To be avenged on him, whose shafts did grieve me; Alas! a faint pursuit_I further'd nought,
For he, now Cupid, now a sprite, did leave me;Thus metamorphos’d, fled away for aid In beauty's lips, where I durst naught invade.
Then favour begg’d; pity moved her consent,
Render the fortress and his surest shield; Great search I made to make the wretch repent
His bold attempts, entreating bim to yield: But neither prayers could prevail, nor wishes, Then I resolved to kill him-even with kisses.
ROWALLAN S POEMS.
Afraid, he fled then in her eyes to hide bim;
Out of her eyes into her lips again.
Or choose her heart thou changest oft in vain :
But nothing could the cruel spider move,
To leave his hold, delighting in my woe;
Laughing to see my trickling tears down go:
What then, shall I leave off my hope to speed,
And live no more cross'd with consuming care? No! let her frown and flyte, there's no remead,
I live resolved never to despair: Content I am,
faith deservest, My spring be toilsome, with a pleasant harvest.
and so my
TO THE MOST HOPEFUL AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE,
CHARLES, PRINCE OF WALES. [CHARLES I.]
MATCHLESS Montgomery in his native tongue,
My muse, which nought doth challenge worthy fame,
When thy ancestors' passions I have shown,
The most unworthy of your Highnesses vassals–S. W. M.
SIX LINES UPON THE FALL OF SOMERSET.
Each man with silence stops his mouth, and hears
best excuse. Since malice thirsts for brave Ephestion's blood, I'll write no ill, nor dare I write no good.
1 i. e. without : we have invariably retained the word, where it occurs in this sense.
SIX LINES SENT TO ME BY MY COUSIN,
MR. W. MUIR.
ARE lofty Parnassus' sacred shades disdain'd,
A REPROACH TO THE PRATTLER.
Envious wretch! on earth the most ingrate,
In Venus' court thy liberty is losed,
Misconstruing ladies merrily disposed!
Doth suffer torture on the restless wheel
Juno's discredit who did not conceal.
Turn'd in a hart—thus for a view revenged-
In worse than he demerits to be changed:
Calling to mind the heavenly feature,
The bashful blinks and comely grace,
The form of her angelic face,
Oft am I forced,
To steal away
Although she, ruthless she, doth know
The secret burden of my woes,
The tears which from mine eyes down goes Regretting Fortune, now my foe, In whom much once I did repose:
Yet she, alace!
Cares not my case ;
She knows my pain,
Yet doth disdain;
Though by mine eyes I should distil
And quite dissolve in tears my heart,
To satisfy her causeless smart; Yet, rather she delights to kill,
Than any joy to me impart.