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"If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, "And every tongue more moving than your own, "Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, "Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, "And will not let a false sound enter there;


"Lest the deceiving harmony should run
"Into the quiet closure of my breast;
"And then my little heart were quite undone,
"In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.

"No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
"But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

"What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove? "The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger; "I hate not love, but your device in love, "That lends embracements unto every stranger. You do it for increase; O strange excuse! "When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.


"Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, "Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name: "Under whose simple semblance he hath fed "Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;

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Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon be

"As caterpillars do the tender leaves. [reaves,

"Love comforteth, like sunshine after rain, "But lust's effect is tempest after sun;

Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, "Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.

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Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies: "Love is all truth; lust full of forged lies.

"More I could tell, but more I dare not say; "The text is old, the orator too green "Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; "My face is full of shame, my heart of teen; "Mine cars that to your wanton talk attended, Do burn themselves for having so offended."

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With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, And homeward through the dark lawnd runs



Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, So glides he in the night from Venus' eye;

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,

Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend;
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,

34 teenli. e grief.

35 lawnd] An old form of lawn.

Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood ;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour-caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;

Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:

Ah me! she cries, and twenty times, woe, woe!
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.


She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemp'rally a woful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall, and old men
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:

Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answers so.

Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight
In such like circumstance, with such like sport:
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are never done.

For who hath she to spend the night withal,
But idle sounds, resembling parasites,
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call
Soothing the humour of fantastick wits?

She says, 'tis so: they answer all, 'tis so;
And would say after her, if she said no.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty ;

Who doth the world so gloriously behold,

That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow: "O thou clear god, and patron of all light, "From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow

"The beauteous influence that makes him bright, "There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother, "May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other."

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings, of her love;
She harkens for his hounds, and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,

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And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

And as she runs, the bushes in the way

Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, Some twine about her thigh to make her stay;

36 coasteth] i. e advanceth.

She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake.

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay, Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way,

The fear whereof doth make him shake and shud


Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.

For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,

They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first.

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart,
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield
They basely fly, and dare not stay the field.

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all-dismay'd,
She tells them, 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error that they are afraid;

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