Me of my lawful pleasure fhe reftrain'd,
And pray'd me, oft, forbearance; did it with
A pudency fo rofy, the sweet view on't

Might well have warm'd old Saturn-that I thought her
As chafte as unfunn'd fnow. Oh, all the devils!
This yellow Fachimo in an hour-was't not?-
Or lefs-at first? Perchance, he spoke not, but
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,

Cry'd, Oh! and mounted; found no oppofition
But what he look'd for fhould oppofe, and fhe
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but, I affirm,
It is the woman's part: be't lying, note it,
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Luft, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, difdain,
Nice longings, flanders, mutability:

All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows, Why, hers, in part, or all; but rather all :-For even to vice

They are not conftant, but are changing ftill

One vice, but of a minute old, for one

Not half fo old as that. I'll write against them,
Deteft them, curfe them ;-yet 'tis greater fkill,
In a true hate, to pray they have their will;
The very devils cannot plague them better.

Cymbeline, A. 2. Sc. 7.

WRONG.

-Now breathlefs Wrong

Shall fit and pant in your great chairs of eafe,

And purfy Infolence fhall break his wind,

With fear and horrid flight.

Timon of Athens, A. 5. Sc. 5.

THE

prove,

Abfence, what a torment would't thou
Were it not thy four leifure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
(Which time and thoughts fo fweetly doth deceive)
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here, who doth hence remain!
Sonnets, No. 39;

From you have I been abfent in the fpring,
When proud-pied April, drefs'd in all his trim,
Hath put a fpirit of youth in every thing;
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any fummer's ftory tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praife the deep vermilion in the rofe:
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet feem'd it winter ftill, and, you away,
As with your fhadow I with these did play.

A G E.

Ibid. No. 98.

That time of year thou may'ft in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds fang.
Y

In me thou feeft the twilight of fuch day,
As after fun-fet fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's fecond felf, that feals up all in reft.
In me thou feeft the glowing of fuch fire,
That on the afhes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Confum'd with that which it was nourish'd by,
This thou perceiv'ft, which makes thy love more
ftrong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

AGE AND

Ibid. No. 73.

YOUTH.

Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleafance,
Age is full of care:
Youth like fummer morn,
Age like winter weather;
Youth like fummer brave,
Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is ffort;

Youth is nimble, age is lame:

Youth is hot and bold,

Age is weak and cold;

Youth is wild, and age is tame.

Age, I do abhor thee,

Youth, I do adore thee;

O, my love, my love is young:

Age, I do defy thee;

O fwee thepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou ftay'ft too long.

Paffionate Pilgrim, No. 10.

AVARICE.

Those that much covet, are with gain fo fond,
That what they have not (that which they possess)
They scatter and unloofe it from their bond,
And fo, by hoping more, they have but lefs;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excefs

Is

Is but to furfeit, and fuch griefs fuftain,

That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain." The Rape of Lucrece,

BEAUTY.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A fhining glofs, that fadeth fuddenly;
A flower that dies, when firft it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glafs, that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a glofs, a glafs, a flower,
Loft, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
And as goods loft are feld or never found,
As faded glofs no rubbing will refrefs,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glafs no cement can redress,

So Beauty blemish'd once, for ever's loft,
In spite of phyfic, painting, pain, and coft.

BEAUTY

Paffionate Pilgrim, No. 1

PERPETUATED.

When forty winters fhall befiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, fo gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of fmall worth held:
Then being afk'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lufty days;
To say, within thine own deep-funken eyes,
Were an all-eating fhame, and thriftlefs praife.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's ufe,
If thou could'st answer-" This fair child of mine
Shall fum my count, and make my old excufe-"
Proving his beauty by fucceffion thine.

This were to be new made when thou art old,
And fee thy blood warm when thou feel'ft it cold.

Sonnets, No. 2.

COVE TOUSNESS.

The aged man that coffers up his gold,

Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits,
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,

But like ftill pining Tantalus he fits,
And ufelefs barns the harvest of his wits,
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
Y 2.

Se

So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be mater'd by his young;
Who in their pride do prefently abuse it:
Their father was too weak, and they too ftrong,
To hold their curfed bleffed fortune long.

The fweets we wifh for turn to loathed fours,
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
The Rape of Lucrece.

DEATH.

Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love, (thus chides the death)
Grim-grinning ghoft, earth's worm, what doft thou

To ftifle beauty, and to fteal his breath,

Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Glofs on the rose, smell to the violet ?

If he be dead,-O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou fhould't ftrike at it-
O yes, it may; thou haft no eyes to fee,
But hatefully at random doft thou hit.

Thy mark is feeble age; but thy falfe dart
Miftakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart.
Hadft thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And hearing him, thy power had loft his power.
'The Deftinies will curfe thee for this ftroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'ft a flower;
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not death's ebon dart, to ftrike him dead.
Doft thou drink tears, that thou provok'ft fuch weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why haft thou caft into eternal fleeping
Thofe eyes that taught all other eyes to fee?

Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her beft work is ruin'd with thy rigour.
Venus and Adonis.

DEGENER A CY.

The bafer is he, coming from a king,
To fhame his hope with deeds degenerate.
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest ftate.

The