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Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be,
That thine be just and honest, that thy deeds
Not wound thy conscience, when thy body bleeds;
That thou dost all things more for truth than

And never but for doing wrong be sorry;
That by commanding first thyself, thou mak'st
Thy person fit for any charge thou tak'st;
That fortune never make thee to complain,
But what she gives, thou dar'st give her again;
That whatsoever face thy fate puts on,
Thou shrink or start not, but be always one,
That thou think nothing great, but what is good,
And from that thought strive to be understood.
So, 'liye or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame
Still precious with the odor of thy name.
And last, blaspheme not: we did never hear
Man thought the valianter 'cause he durst swear;
No more than we should think a lord had had
More honor in him, 'cause we've known him mad.
These take; and now go seek thy peace in war,
Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star.


Reader, stay!

And if I had no more to say,
But here doth lie till the last day,
All that is left of Philip Gray,
It might thy patience richly pay:
For if such men as he could die,
What surety of life have thou and I?


They are not, sir, worst owers that do pay Debts when they can; good men may break their day,

And yet the noble nature never grudge;
"Tis then a crime, when the usurer is judge,
And he is not in friendship; nothing there
Is done for gain: if 't be, 'tis not sincere.
Nor should I at this time protested be,
But that some greater names have broke with me,
And their words too, where I but break my

band; 23


I add that but, because I understand

That as the lesser breach; for he that takes
Simply my band, his trust in me forsakes,
And looks unto the forfeit. If you be
Now so much friend, as you would trust in me,
Venture a longer time, and willingly;

All is not barren land doth fallow lie;

Some grounds are made the richer for the rest, And I will bring a crop, if not the best.


Can beauty, that did prompt me first to write,
Now threaten with those means she did invite?
Did her perfections call me on to gaze,
Then like, then love; and now would they amaze?
Or was she gracious afar off, but near

A terror? or is all this but my fear?

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That as the water makes things, put in't straight, Crooked appear, so that doth my conceit?

I can help that with boldness; and Love sware, And Fortune once, t' assist the spirits that dare.24 But which shall lead me on? both these are blind.

Such guides men use not, who their way


Except the way be error to those ends;


And then the best are still the blindest friends!

Oh how a lover may mistake! to think

Or Love, or Fortune blind, when they but wink
To see men fear; or else for truth and state,
Because they would free justice imitate,
Veil their own eyes, and would impartially
Be brought by us to meet our destiny.
If it be thus, come Love, and Fortune go,
I'll lead you on; or if my fate will so,
That I must send one first, my choice assigns
Love to my heart, and Fortune to my lines.


By those bright eyes, at whose immortal fires
Love lights his torches to inflame desires;
By that fair stand, your forehead, whence he

His double bow, and round his arrows sends;
By that tall grove, your hair, whose globy rings.
He flying curls, and crispeth with his wings;

24 He alludes to the two proverbs, Faint Heart, &c., and Fortes Fortuna juvat.-G.

By those pure baths your

either cheek discloses, Where he doth steep himself in milk and roses; And lastly, by your lips, the bank of kisses, Where men at once may plant and gather blisses:

Tell me, my loved friend, do you love or no?
So well as I may tell in verse, 'tis so?

You blush, but do not:- friends are either none,
Though they may number bodies, or but one.
I'll therefore ask no more, but bid you love,
And so that either may example prove
Unto the other; and live patterns, how
Others, in time, may love as we do now.
Slip no occasion; as time stands not still,
I know no beauty, nor no youth that will.
To use the present, then, is not abuse,
You have a husband is the just excuse
Of all that can be done him; such a one
As would make shift to make himself alone
That which we can; who both in you, his wife,
His issue, and all circumstance of life,

As in his place, because he would not vary,
Is constant to be extraordinary.

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A woman's friendship! God, whom I trust in, Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin,

25 This is more in the style and manner of Donne than of our author. It may, however, be his; though I suspect that

Amongst my many other, that I may

No more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say
At fifty years, almost, to value it,

That ne'er was known to last above a fit!

Or have the least of good, but what it must
Put on for fashion, and take up on trust.
Knew I all this afore? had I perceived
That their whole life was wickedness, though

Of many colors; outward, fresh from spots,
But their whole inside full of ends and knots ?
Knew I that all their dialogues and discourse
Were such as I will now relate, or worse?
[Here something is wanting.]

Knew I this woman? yes, and you do see,
How penitent I am, or I should be.
Do not you ask to know her, she is worse
Than all ingredients made into one curse,
And that poured out upon mankind, can be:
Think but the sin of all her sex, 'tis she!
I could forgive her being proud! a whore!
Perjured and painted! if she were no more
But she is such, as she might yet forestall
The devil, and be the damning of us all.

the loose scraps found after his death, among his papers, were committed to the press without much examination. There was undoubtedly an intercommunity of verse between the two friends; but I do not wish to carry the argument any further.-G.

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