You have honours, you have wealth,
I have peace, and I have health;
All the day I merry make,

And at night no care I take.

Bound to none my fortunes be;

This or that man's fall I fear not;

Him I love that loveth me;

For the rest a pin I care not.

You are sad when others chafe,

And grow merry as they laugh;
I, that hate it, and am free,
Laugh and weep as pleaseth me.

WANTONS! 'tis not your sweet eyings,
Forced passions, feigned dyings,

Gesture's temptings, tear's beguilings,
Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings,

Nor those painted sweets, with which
You unwary men bewitch,

(All united, nor asunder)

That can compass such a wonder,

Or to win you love prevail,

Where her moving virtues fail.

Beauties! 'tis not all those features
Placed in the fairest creatures,

Though their best they should discover,
That can tempt, from her, a lover.
"Tis not those soft snowy breasts,
Where love, rock'd in pleasure, rests;
Nor the nectar that we sip
From a honey-dropping lip;

Nor those eyes whence beauty's lances
Wound the heart with wanton glances;
Nor those sought delights, that lie

In love's hidden treasury,

That can liking gain, where she

Will the best-beloved be.

For, should those who think they may

Draw my love from her away,

Bring forth all their female graces,
Wrap me in their close embraces;

Practise all the art they may,

Weep, or sing, or kiss, or pray ;—
One poor thought of her would arm me
So as Circe could not harm me.
Since, beside those excellencies,
Wherewith others please the senses,
She, whom I have praised so,
Yields delights for reason too.

Who could doat on thing so common,

As mere outward-handsome woman? Those half-beauties only win

Fools to let affection in.

Vulgar wits, from reason shaken,
Are with such impostures taken;
And, with all their art in love,
Wantons can but wantons move.

[Abridged from 18 stanzas.]

HAIL! thou fairest of all creatures
Upon whom the sun doth shine;
Model of all rarest features,

And perfections most divine:
Thrice, all hail! and blessed be
Those that love and honour thee.

Though a stranger to the Muses,
Young, obscured, and despis'd,
Yet, such art thy love infuses,
That I thus have poetiz'd.
Read, and be content to see

On this glass of thy perfection

If that any women pry,

Let them thereby take direction

To adorn themselves thereby:
And if ought amiss they view,
Let them dress themselves anew.-

This thy picture, therefore show I,
Naked, unto every eye;
Yet no fear of rival know I,

Neither touch of jealousy;

For, the more make love to thee,
I the more shall pleased be.

I am no Italian lover,

That will mew thee in a jail;
But thy beauty I discover,
English-like, without a veil.

If thou may'st be won away,
Win and wear thee he that may.

Yet in this thou may'st believe me,

(So indifferent though I seem) Death with tortures would not grieve me More, than loss of thy esteem. For, if VIRTUE me forsake,

All a scorn of me will make.

Then, as I, on thee relying,

Do no changing fear in thee, So, by my defects supplying,

From all changing keep thou me: That unmatched we may prove, Thou, for beauty; I, for love.

[Abridged from 12 stanzas.]

SAD eyes, what do you ail,

To be thus ill-disposed?

Why doth your sleeping fail,

Now all men's else are closed?

Was't I, that ne'er did bow

In any servile duty,

And will you make me now

A slave to love and beauty?—

What hopes have I, that she

Will hold her favours ever,

When so few women be

That constant can persever?

Whate'er she do protest,

When fortunes do deceive me,

Then she, with all the rest,

I fear, alas! will leave me.