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Might silence shew my mind,
Sighs tell how I were pin'd ;

Or looks my woes relate,
Then any pregnant wit,
That well remarked it,

Would soon discern my state. Oft those that do deserve disdain,

For forging fancies get the best reward ;
When I, who feel what they do feign,
For too much love am had in no regard.

Behold, by proof we see,
The gallant living free,

His fancies doth extend ;
Where he that is o'ercome,
Rein'd with respects, stands dumb,

Still fearing to offend.
Then since in vain I plaints impart

To scornful ears, in a contemned scroll,
And since my tongue betrays my heart,
And cannot tell the anguish of my soul,

Henceforth I'll hide my losses,
And not recount the crosses

That do my joys o'erthrow;
At least, to senseless things,
Mounts, vales, woods, floods, and springs,

I shall them only show.
Ah ! unaffected lines,

True models of my heart;
The world may see that in you shines

The power of passion, more than art.


Prefised to the Anatomy of Melancholy.
WHEN I go musing all alone,

Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow, and void of care,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet;

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy, When I go walking

all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannize, Fear and sorrow me surprise ;

Whether Search

still, or go,

Methinks the time moves very slow.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so sad as melancholy.
When to myself I act, and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile;
By a brook-side, or 'wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, and unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.

All my joys besides are folly,

None so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan,
In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and furies, then,
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and foul ensconces

All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so sour as melancholy,

Methinks I hear, methinks I see,
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities fine,
Here now, then there, the world is mine ;
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine,
Whate'er is lovely or divine.

All other joys to this are folly,

None so sweet as melancholy.
Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghosts, goblins, fiends, my phantasie
Presents a thousand ugly shapes,
Headless bears, black men, and apes,
Doleful outcries, fearful sights,
My sad and dismal soul affrights.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

None so damn'd as melancholy. Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my miss ; O blessed days, O sweet content, In paradise my time is spent ! Such thought may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love!

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy.
When I recount love's many frights,
My sighs and tears, my waking nights,
My jealous fits; O mine hard fate
I now repent, but 'tis too late.
No torment is so had as love,
So bitter to my soul can prove.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone : 'Tis my desire to be alone. Ne'er well, but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy.

No gem, no 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, O 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 :
Lepd me a halter or a kpife.

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 I'om 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.

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