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Oft in a smile: oft in a silent tear:
Himself's a dart, when nothing else can move:
Who then the captive soul can well reprove, When love and virtue's self become the darts of love. SIR JOHN BEAUMONT,
Brother of Francis Beaumont, and author of “ Bosworth
“ Field," and other poems, 1629. According to Wood, he was entered at Oxford, in 1596, at the age of 14, consequently born in 1582.
DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.
Love is a region full of fires,
An object seeks, of which possess'd
The flames in ashes lie oppress'd.
Why then should lovers (most will say)
Love is like youth: he thirsts for age,
But when proceeding times assuage
We know that Hope and Love are twins ;
But what is this ? unconstant, frail,
Which, if we lose it, we bewail ;
When Love thus in his centre ends,
Are shaken off; while Doubt and Grief,
Stand in his council as the chief.
These lines I write not to remove
The best attempts by mortals made
Yet never will I men persuade
(In the Nice Valour.)
HENCE all you vain delights,
Wherein you spend your folly;
But only melancholy,
Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes,
Fountain-heads and pathless groves,
A midnight bell, a parting groan,
These are the sounds we feed upon. Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
[In a Masque.)
Ye should stay longer if we durst-
And not a creature nigh 'em,
And keep him ever by 'em.
[In the Queen of Corinth.]
WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor gruan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone. Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again. Trim thy locks, look cheerfully, Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see. VOL. III.