I am no Italian lover, That will mew thee in a jail ; Yet in this thou may'st believe me, For, if VIRTUE me forsake, Then, as I, on thee relying, Do no changing fear in thee, So, by my defects supplying, 2 From all changing keep thou me: That unmatched we may prove, Thou, for beauty; I, for love. Why doth your sleeping fail, Now all men's else are closed? And will you make me now A slave to Love and Beauty? What hopes have I that she That constant can persever? When Fortunes do deceive me, Then she, with all the rest, I fear, alas! will leave me. Shall then in earnest truth My careful eyes observe her? Shall I consume my youth And short my time to serve her? Shall I beyond my strength Let passion's torments prove me,— To hear her say at length, O, rather let me die Whilst I thus gentle find her; Or one unkindness, feigned, Would rob me of more rest But in her eyes I find Such signs of pity moving, She cannot be unkind, Nor err, nor fail in loving. And on her forehead this Seems written to relieve me; My heart no joy shall miss, That Love or she can give me. And this shall be the worst Of all that can betide me, If I, like some, accurs'd, Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long; I know which way to mend them; I'll think who did the wrong, Sigh, break my heart, and end them. SONNET. [From 10 stanzas.] 1 HENCE, away, thou Syren, leave me! 2 Pish! unclasp these 3 wanton arms! Sugar'd words can 4 ne'er deceive me, Though thou prove a thousand charins. Fie, fie, forbear! No common snare Can 5 ever my affection chain: 6 Thy painted baits, And poor deceits, Are all bestow'd on me in vain. I'm no slave to such as you be, Nor shall that soft 7 snowy breast, 8 Rolling eye, and 9 lip of ruby, Ever rob me of my rest. Go, go, display Thy beauty's ray 10 To some more-soon-enamour'd 1° swain: Those forced wiles Of sighs and smiles Are all bestow'd on me in vain. I have elsewhere vow'd a duty; Turn away thy tempting eye: Shew not me thy painted 2 beauty; Where gaudy clothes And feigned oaths may love obtain: I love her so Whose looks swears no That all thy labour will be vain. Can he prize the tainted posies 6 On her sweet breast That is the pride of Cynthia's train; Then stay thy tongue, ४ Thy 9 mermaid song |