As  doth  the  doleful  turtle-dove,
Who,  having  lost  her  faithful  love,
Sits  mourning  on  some  withered  stalk.
There  to  myself  I  do  recount
How  fiir  my  woes  my  joys  surmount,
How  love  requiteth  me  with  hate.
How  all  my  pleasures  end  in  pain,
How  hate  doth  say  my  hope  is  vain.
How  fortune  frowns  upon  my  state.
And  in  this  mood,  charged  with  despair.
With  vapour'd  sighs  I  dim  the  air.
And  to  the  Grods  make  this  request,
That  by  the  ending  of  my  life,
I  may  have  truce  with  this  strange  strife.
And  bring  my  soul  to  better  rest.
SONGS.
FROM  WILBYI'8  KADlUOAIiS.     EDIT.  1U8.
Lady,  your  words  do  spite  me,'

Yet  your  sweet  lips  so  soft  kiss  and  delight  me ;

Your  deeds  my  heart  surcharged  with  overjoying,

Your  taunts  my  life  destroying  ;

Since  both  have  force  to  kill  me.
Let  kisses  sweet,  sweet  kill  mel

Knights  fight  with  swords  and  lances.
Fight  you  with  smiling  gUnces,

So,  like  swans  of  Meander,

My  ghost  from  hence  shall  wander.
Singing  and  dying,  singing  and  dying.
Thkrb  is  a  jewel  which  no  Indian  mine  can  buy,
No  chemic  art  can  counterfeit ;
It  makes  men  rich  in  greatest  poverty.
Makes  water  wine,  turns  wooden  cups  to  gold.
The  homely  whistle  to  sweet  music's  strain  ;
Seldom  it  comes,  to  few  from  heaven  sent.
That  much  in  little — all  in  nought— Content


Chahoe  me,  O  heaven !  into  the  ruby  stone
That  on  my  love's  fair  locks  doth  hang  in  gold.
Yet  leave  me  speech  to  her  to  make  my  moan,
And  give  me  eyes  her  beauty  to  behold :
Or  if  you  will  not  make  my  flesh  a  stone,
Make  her  hard  heart  seem  flesh,  that  now  is
none.
60


POETRY  OF  UNCERTAIN  AUTHORS.
