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My muse, which nought doth challenge worthy fame,
Save from MONTGOMERY she her birth doth claim
(Although his Phoenix' ashes have sent forth,

Pan for Apollo, if compared in worth),
Pretendeth title to supply his place,

By right hereditar to serve thy grace:
Though the puny issues of my weak engine,
Can add small lustre to thy glories shine,
Which like the boundless ocean swells no more,
Though springs and founts infuse their liquid store.
And though the gift be mean I may bestow,
Yet, gracious prince, my mite to thee I owe,
Which I with zeal present. Oh deign to view
These artless measures, to thee only due.

When thy ancestors' passions I have shown,
If but1 offence, great Charles, I'll sing thine own.

The most unworthy of your Highnesses vassals-S. W. M.

SIX LINES UPON THE FALL OF SOMERSET.

EACH man with silence stops his mouth, and hears
Sad news with wonder; but my barren muse
Fain would burst forth, but yet to write forbears:
Fear to offend must be my best excuse.

Since malice thirsts for brave Ephestion's blood,
I'll write no ill, nor dare I write no good.

1616.

1 i. e. without: we have invariably retained the word, where it occurs in this sense.

ROWALLAN'S POEMS.

117

SIX LINES SENT TO ME BY MY COUSIN,

MR. W. MUIR.

ARE lofty Parnassus' sacred shades disdain'd,
Though Hymen, Sir, hath clipp'd your wanton wings?
Ah! hearken how your proud Apollo plain'd—
That now no Orpheus strains his golden strings.
Shall saffron shirt, for his most glorious bay,
In willow boughs, make you, so cease your lay?

A REPROACH TO THE PRATTLER.

ENVIOUS wretch! on earth the most ingrate,
In Venus' court thy liberty is losed,
Deserving punishment as Momus' mait,
Misconstruing ladies merrily disposed!

If proud Ixion, in the hells inclosed,

Doth suffer torture on the restless wheel

Justly from all felicity deposed,

Juno's discredit who did not conceal.

And if Acteon Cynthia's ire did feel,

Turn'd in a hart-thus for a view revenged-
Much more thou, then, who ladies did reveal,
In worse than he demerits to be changed:
Form'd in a dog, to bark at such most meet,
As chamber-talk divulges on the street!

Finis-1614.

"CHAUNSOUNE."

CALLING to mind the heavenly feature,
The bashful blinks and comely grace,
The form of her angelic face,
Deck'd with the quintessence of nature;
To none inferior in place:

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Although she, ruthless she, doth know
The secret burden of my woes,
The tears which from mine eyes
Regretting Fortune, now my foe,

down

In whom much once I did repose:

Yet she, alace!

Cares not my case;

No spates of tears her heart can move:
She knows my pain,

Yet doth disdain;

But, woe's me, I must still her love.

Though by mine eyes I should distil

And quite dissolve in tears my heart,
To satisfy her causeless smart;
Yet, rather she delights to kill,

Than any joy to me impart.

goes

ROWALLAN'S POEMS.

119

But since the Fates,

Who rules all states,

Such tragic luck to me doth threat,

Do what she can,

Resolv'd I am,

To love her more than she can hate.

Although she frown, shall I despair;
Or, if it please her, prove unkind,
Shall I abstract my loyal mind?
Oh no! it's she must hale my sair;
For her, I loath not to be pined.
She, I suppose,

Like to the rose,

The prick before the smell imparts:

Heart breaking woes

Oft times foregoes

The mirth of mourning, martyr'd hearts.

Finis-WILLIAM MUIR-1611.

A REPLY TO "I CARE NO WHETHER I GET HER Or no.

To plead but where mutual kindness is gain'd,
And fancy only where favour hath place;
Such frozen affection I ever disdain'd,

Can ought be impair'd by distance or space.
My love shall be endless where once I affect—
Even though it should please her my service reject:
Still shall I determine, till breath and life go,

To love her whether she love me or no.

If she, by whose favour I live, should disdain,
Shall I match her unkindness by proving ingrate?
Oh no! in her keeping my heart must remain—

To honour and love her more than she can hate.
Her pleasure can no ways return to my smart,
Whose life in her power, must stay or depart:
Though fortune delight in my overthrow,
I'll love her whether she love me or no.

To lose both travel and time for a frown,
And change for a secret surmise of disdain;
Love's force, and true virtue, to such is unknown,
Whose faintness of courage is constancy's stain.
My loyal affection no time shall diminish;
Where once I affect, my favour shall finish:
So shall I determine, till breath and life go,
To love her whether she love me or no.

Finis-October 10, 1614.

FAIR GODDESS, LOADSTAR OF DELIGHT.
To the Tune of "PERT JEAN.”

FAIR goddess! loadstar of delight,
Nature's triumph, and beauty's life,
Earth's ornament, my hope's full height;
My only peace, and pleasing strife!
Let mercy mollify thy mind-

A Saturn's heart, should Venus have?
Or, should thou prove to him unkind,
Who humbly life of thee doth crave?

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