SONG. AWAY with these self-loving lads, And forceth none to kifs the rod. Sweet Cupid's fhafts, like destiny, What fools are they that have not known My fongs they be of Cynthia's praise, On I write her name, There miracles are feen of his. The worth that worthiness should move Sweet faint, 'tis true, you worthy be, Yet, without love, nought worth to me! THE DREAM. My fenfes all, like beacon's flame, Gave alarum to defire, To take arms in Cynthia's name, And fet all my thoughts on fire. Up I ftart, believing well To fee if Cynthia were awake; Wonders I faw, who can tell? And thus unto myfelf I spake: Sweet god, Cupid, where am I? As harm our fenfes with delight. Am I borne up to the skies? See where Jove and Venus fhine, Shewing in her heavenly eyes That defire is divine! I ftept forth to touch the sky, Runs away, like filver ftreams Leaving hollow banks behind, Who can neither forward move; Nor, if rivers be unkind, Turn away, or cease to love. There ftand I, like men that preach From the execution-place, At their death content to teach All the world with their difgrace. He that lets his Cynthia lie Let no love-defiring heart M SIR WALTER RALEIGH. THE SOUL's ERRAND. Go, foul, the body's gueft, Upon a thankless errand, Fear not to touch the best, Go, tell the court it glows, Tell potentates, they live Acting by others actions, If potentates reply, Give potentates the lie. Tell men of high condition, i Tell them that brave it most, They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, Seek nothing but commending. And if they make reply, Spare not to give the lie. Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell age it daily wafteth, Tell honour how it alters, Tell beauty how she blasteth, Tell favour how the falters. And as they shall reply Give each of them the lie. Tell wit how much it wrangles And if they do reply, |