FAINT Amorist! what, dost think A world of sweets and taste no sour? Th' Elysian fields, that dar'st not venture He that loves, and fears to try, Doth she chide thee? 't is to shew it Is she sick? why then be sure Doth she cross thy suit with "No!" Tush! she loves to hear thee woo. Doth she call the faith of men In question? nay, she loves thee then And if e'er she makes a blot, She's lost if that thou hitt'st her not. He that, after ten denials, Dares attempt no farther trials, Hath no warrant to acquire The dainties of his chaste desire. ; SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. THE DIFFIDENCE OF LOVE. WHY should I blush to own I love? Why should I seek the thickest shade, Is it a weakness thus to dwell H. K. WHITE. THE SIREN'S SONG. STEERE hither, steere, your winged pines, All beaten mariners, Here lie Love's undiscovered mines, A prey to passengers; Perfumes far sweeter than the best Which make the phoenix' urn and nest, Nor any to oppose you, save our lips; Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. For swelling waves, our panting breasts, Exchange; and be awhile our guests: The compass, love shall hourly sing, To tell each point he nameth with a kisse. BROWNE. VENUS AND ADONIS. Venus by Adonis' side Crying kist and kissing cryde, Wrung her hands and tore her hayre "Stay," (quoth she) "O stay and live! Nature surely doth not give To the earth her sweetest flowers To be seene but some few houres." On his face, still as he bled, Н "Fair Proserpina" (quoth she) While my lips can keepe it in." Here she clos'd again. And some SONNET. BROWNE. FAYRE is my love, when her fayre golden haires With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke; Fayre when the rose in her red cheekes appeares ; Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke. Fayre, when her breast, like a rich laden barke, |