Lie down in a bed of dust;
Earthly honours flow and waste :
Time alone doth change and last.
Sorrows mingled with contents prepare
Rest for care;

Love only reigns in death, though art
Can find no comfort for a broken heart.

NO MORE.

O, no more, no more! too late
Sighs are spent: the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as Fate,

Pure as are unwritten papers,

Are burn'd out: no heat, no light
Now remains; 'tis ever night.
Love is dead let lovers' eyes
Lock'd in endless dreams,
The extreme of all extremes,

Ope no more! for now Love dies :
Now Love dies, implying

Love's martyrs must be ever ever dying.

SHADOWS.

Fly hence, Shadows! that do keep
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep.
Though the eyes be overtaken,
Yet the heart doth ever waken
Thoughts chain'd up in busy snares
Of continual woes and cares :
Love and griefs are so express'd
As they rather sigh than rest.
Fly hence, Shadows! that do keep
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep!

COMFORTS LASTING.

Comforts lasting, loves increasing,
Like soft hours, never ceasing;
Plenty's pleasure, peace complying,
Without jars or tongues envỳing;
Hearts by holy union wedded,
More than theirs by custom bedded;
Fruitful issues; life so graced
Not by age to be defaced,
Budding as the year ensu’th,
Every Spring another youth:
All that thought can add beside,
Crown this bridegroom and this bride!

NATHANIEL FIELD.

15**-1632.

MATIN SONG.

Rise, Lady Mistress! rise!

The night hath tedious been ;
No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes,
Nor slumbers made me sin.

Is not She a saint then, say!
Thought of whom keeps sin away?

Rise Madam! rise, and give me light,
Whom darkness still will cover
And ignorance, more dark than night,
Till thou smile on thy lover.

All want day till thy beauty rise:

For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes.

UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.

TO NIGHT.

O Night! O jealous Night! repugnant to my measures;
O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content!
There's none but only thou that can perform my pleasures,
Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent.

Thy beams, thy spiteful beams, thy lamps that burn too brightly,
Discover all my trains and naked lay my drifts :

That night by night I hope, yet fails my purpose nightly,
Thy envious glaring gleam defeateth so my shifts.

Sweet Night! withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow,
Whose joys in lack so long a hell of torment breeds;
Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night! do not prolong my sorrow!
Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs.

Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining;
Let them that miss the way be guided by the light :

I know my Lady's bower, there needs no more divining,
Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night.

Dame Cynthia! couch awhile, hold in thy horns from shining,
And glad not louring Night with thy too glorious rays;
But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining,
That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise.

And when thy will is wrought, then Cynthia! shine, good lady!
All other nights and days, in honour of that night,-
That happy heavenly night, that night so dark and shady,
Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight.

HIS LADY'S GRIEF.

I saw my Lady weep,

And Sorrow proud to be advanced so
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
Her face was full of woe :

But such a woe, believe! as wins more hearts
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

Sorrow was there made fair,

And passion wise, tears a delightful thing,
Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare ;
She made her sighs to sing,

And all things with so sweet a sadness move
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O, Fairer than aught else

The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! Enough! enough! your joyful look excels :

Tears kill the heart, believe!

O strive not to be excellent in woe,
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow!

LOVE ME NOT FOR COMELY GRACE!

Love me not for comely grace,

For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part;

No! nor for my constant heart!
For these may fail, or turn to ill :
So thou and I shall sever.

Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me well, yet know not why!
So hast thou the same reason still

I.-10

To doat upon me ever.

THE TOMB OF DESIRE.

When Venus saw Desire must die-
Whom high Disdain

Had justly slain

For killing Truth with scornful eye,—

The earth she leaves, and gets her to the sky : Her golden hair she tears;

Black weeds of woe she wears; For help unto her Father doth she cry: Who bids her stay a space,

And hope for better grace.

To save his life she hath no skill:
Whom should she pray?
What do, or say,

But weep for wanting of her will?
Meantime Desire hath ta'en his last farewell,
And in a meadow fair,

To which the Nymphs repair,

His breathless corse is laid with worms to dwell. So glory doth decay

When death takes life away.

When morning's star had chased the night,
The Queen of Love

Look'd from above,

To see the grave of her delight;

And as with heedful eye she view'd the place, She spied a flower unknown,

That on his grave was grown

Instead of learned verse, his tomb to grace.
If you the name require,-

Heart's-ease, from dead desire.