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No gem, do treasure like to this,
Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy.
'Tis my sole plague to be alone,
I am a beast, a monster grown,
I will no light nor company,
I find it now my misery.
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so fierce as melancholy.
I'll not change life with any king,
I ravish'd am ! can the world bring
More joy, than still to laugh and smile,
In pleasant toys time to beguile?
Do not, I do not trouble me,
So sweet content I feel and see.

All my joys to this are folly,

None so divine as melancholy.
I'll change iny state with any wretch
Thou canst from jail or dunghill fetch,
My pain's past cure; another hell;
I cannot in this torment dwell;
Now, desperate, I hate my life :
Lend me a halter or a knife.

All my griefs to this are jolly,
Nought so damn'd as melancholy.

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Good housewives now may say ; For now foule sluts in dairies

Doe fare as well as they ; And though they sweepe their hearths no less

Than mayds were wont to doe, Yet who of late for cleaneliness

Finds six-pence in her shoe?
Lament, lament, old Abbies,

The fairies lost command !
They did but change priests babies,

But some have chang'd your land :
And all your children stoln from thence

Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,

For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening both

You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth

These prettie ladies had.
When Tom came home from labour,

Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,

And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes

Of theirs, which yet remaine ; Were footed in queen Maries dayes

On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth

And later James came in;
They never danc'd on any heath,

As when the time had been.

By which wee note the fairies

Were of the old profession : Their songs were Ave Maries,

Their dances were procession. But now, alas! they all are dead,

Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fied,

Or else they take their ease. A tell-tale in their company

They never could endure; And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punish'd sure:
It was a just and christian deed

To pinch such blacke and blue :
O how the common-welth doth need
Such justices as you


Now they have left our quarters;

A Register they have,
Who can preserve their charters;

A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks

By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks
To William for the same.

To William Churne of Staffordshire

Give laud and praises due, Who every meale can mend your cheare

With tales both old and true; To William all give audience,

And pray yee for his noddle; Por all the fairies evidence

Were lost, if it were addle.

F the quick spirits in your eye

Now languish, and anon must die ;
If every sweet, and every grace,
Must tiy from that forsaken face,
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or, if that golden fleece must grow
For ever, free from aged snow;
If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade,
Then fear not, Celia, to bestow
What still being gather'd, still must grow.

Thus, either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.

SONG. He that

loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires; Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

SK me why I send you here,

This firstling of the winter year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose, all bepearld with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are wash'd with tears.
Ask me why this flow'r doth shew
So yellow, green, and sickly too,
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.




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Love and my sighs thus intertalked : “Tell me (said I, in deep distress) “ Where may I find my shepherdess ? “Thou fool (said Love), know'st thou not this, " In every thing that's good she is ? “In yonder tulip go and seek, " There may'st thou find her lip, her cheek:

In yon enamelld pansy by,

There thou shalt have her curious eye ; “In bloomy peach, in rosy bud,

There wave the streamers of her blood."
" Tis true,” said I; and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one, .
To make of parts a union :
But, on a sudden, all was gone,
With that I stopt; said Love,“ These be,

Fond man, resemblances of thee.

And, as these flow'rs, thy joys shall die, “ Evin in the twinkling of an eye: " And all thy hopes of her shall wither "Like those short sweets thus knit together."

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