SONNET.

ONLY joy, now here you are,
Fit to hear and ease my care;
Let my whispering voice obtain
Sweet reward, for sharpest pain.

Take me to thee, and thee to me-
No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.

Night hath closed all in her cloak, Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke, Danger hence good care doth keep, Jealousy itself doth sleep.

Take me, &c.

Better place no wit can find,
Cupid's yoke to loose, or bind:

These sweet flow'rs on fine bed too,
Us in their best language woo.
Take me, &c.

That you heard was but a mouse:
Dumb sleep holdeth all the house:

Yet, asleep, methinks they say,

"Young folks, take time while you may."

Take me, &c.

Your fair mother is a-bed,

Candles out, and curtains spread :

She thinks you do letters write;

Write, but let me first indite.
Take me, &c.

Sweet (alas!) why strive you thus ?
Concord better fitteth us;

Leave to Mars the force of hands,
Your pow'r in your beauty stands.
Take me, &c.

Woe to me! and do you swear
Me to hate? but I forbear!

Cursed be my destin's all,

That brought me to so high a fall!

Soon with my death I will please thee.—

No! no! no! no! my dear, let be!

SONNET.

BECAUSE I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use such colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan;

The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan

Of them, who in their lips love's standards bear Where he (say they of me), now dare I swear He cannot love! No, no; let him alone.

And think so still! so Stella know my mind;
Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art:

But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find,
That his right badge is but worn in the heart:

Dumb swans, not chirping pies, do lovers prove; They love indeed, who quake to say they love.

SONG.

"WHO is it that this dark night,

"Underneath my window plaineth ?”

It is one, who from thy sight,

Being (ah!) exil'd, disdaineth Every other vulgar light.

"Why, alas! and are you he?

"Be not yet these fancies changed?” Dear, when you find change in me, Though from me you be estranged,

Let my change to ruin be.

"What if ye new beauties see?

"Will not they stir new affection?"

I will think they pictures be

(Image-like of saint-perfection)

Poorly counterfeiting thee.

"Peace! I think that some give ear; "Come no more, lest I get anger." Bliss! I will my bliss forbear,

Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; But my soul shall harbour there.

"Well, begone; begone, I say,
"Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you.”
O! unjust is Fortune's sway,

Which can make me thus to leave you,
And from louts to run away!

A TALE.

[Vide Pembroke's Arcadia, p. 705, octavo edit.]

A NEIGHBOUR mine not long ago there was, But nameless he, for blameless he shall be, That married had a trick and bonny lass,

As in a summer day a man might see: But he himself a foul unhandsome groom, And far unfit to hold so good a room.

Now, whether moved with self unworthiness,
Or with her beauty, fit to make a prey,
Fell jealousy did so his brain oppress,

That, if he absent were but half a day,
He guest the worst: (you wot what is the worst,
And in himself new doubting causes nurst.)

While thus he fear'd the silly innocent,

Who yet was good, because she knew none ill,