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Son of the famous secretary of state, published a poetical miscellany, in 1602, under the title of “ Davison's Poems,

or a Poetical Rhapsody,” containing small pieces by the author himself, by his brother Walter, by a friend whom he calls Anomos, by Sir John Davis, the Countess of Pem. broke, Sir P. Sidney, Dr. Campion, &c. A second edition appeared in 1608, a third in 1611, and a fourth in 1621.

When I to you of all my woes complain,

Which you make me endure without release, With scornful smiles you answer me again, That lovers true must bear, and hold their

peace, Dear, I will bear, and hold my peace, if you Will hold your peace, and bear what I shall do.



Where wit is over-ruled by will,

And will is led by fond desire, There reason were as good be still,

As speaking, kindle greater fire. For where desire doth bear the sway, The heart must rule, the head obey.

What boots the cunning pilot's skill,

To tell which way to shape the course, When he that steers will have his will,

And drive them where he list perforce? So reason shews the truth in vain Where fond desire as king doth reign

An Altar and Sacrifice to Disdain, for freeing

him from love,

My muse by thee restor’d to life,
To thee, Disdain, this altar rears;
Whereon she offers causeless strife,
Self-spending sighs, and bootless tears,

Long suits in vain,
Hate for good will,
Still-dying pain,
Yet living still :
Self-loving pride,
Looks coyly strange,
Will, reason's guide,
Desire of change,
And last of all
Blind fancy's fire,
False beauty's thrall,

That binds desire :
All these I offer to Disdain,
By whom I live from fancy free;

that if I love again,
My life the sacrifice shall be.


Sweet, I do not pardon crave,

Till I have
By deserts this fault amended;
This, I only this desire,


your May with penance be suspended.


Not my will, but fate did fetch

Me, poor wretch,
Into this unhappy error:
Which to plague, no tyrant's mind.

Pain can find
Like my heart's self-guilty terror.

Then, O then! let that suffice,

Your dear eyes
Need not, need not more afflict me:
Nor your sweet tongue, dipt in gall,

Need at all
From your presence interdict me.

By my love, long, firm, and true,

Borne to you,

By these tears my grief expressing,
By this pipe, which nights and days

Sounds your praise,
Pity me my fault confessing.

Or, ,

may not desire

if I

That your ire
May with penance be suspended,
Yet, let me full pardon crave,

When I have
With soon death my fault amended.


It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,

That went to seek a strayed sheep, Within a thicket, on the plain,

Espied a dainty nymph asleep.

Her.golden hair o'erspread her face,

Her careless arms abroad were cast, Her quiver had her pillow's place,

Her breast lay bare to every blast,

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