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And when thou com’st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk;
Lest she some subtle practice smell :
A cripple soon can find a halt."
But plainly say thou lov’st her well,
And set her person up to sale.
What though her frowning brows be bent, **
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent
That thus dissembled her delight; 3330
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay; Her feeble force will yield at length, When craft hath taught her thus to say:
“ Had women been as strong as men, “ In faith, you had not had it then.”
And, to her will frame all thy ways,
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear.
The strongest castle, tow'r, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
· Please never thou to choose anew.
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, tho' she put it back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward shew,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know;
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?
But soft; enough, too much (I fear)
Lest that my mistress hear my song:
She will not stick to round me on th’ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long;
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so betray'd.
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles inade;
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn;:
And there sung the mournful’st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Tereu, tereu, by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
· Made me think upon my own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn’st in vain;
None takes pity on thy pain :
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee, * This piece, though attributed to Shakspeare, was printed among poems of Divers Humours, by Rich. Bornefield, 1598.
King Pandion he is dead ;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing;
Whilst as fickle fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled;
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend to misery.
Words are easy, like the wind,
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend :
But, if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering,
“ Pity but he was a king.”
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandment;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more,
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee at thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep,
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus, of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.