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,

2

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

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.

Shall then in earnest truth

My careful eyes observe her?

Shall I consume my youth

And short my time to serve her?

Shall I beyond my strength

Let passion's torments prove me,—

To hear her say at length,
"Away-I cannot love thee?".

O, rather let me die

Whilst I thus gentle find her;
"Twere worse than death, if I
Should find she proves unkinder!
One frown, though but in jest,

Or one unkindness, feigned,

Would rob me of more rest
Than e'er could be regained.

But in her eyes I find

Such signs of pity moving, She cannot be unkind,

Nor err, nor fail in loving.

And on her forehead this

Seems written to relieve me;

My heart no joy shall miss,

That Love or she can give me.

And this shall be the worst

Of all that can betide me,

If I, like some, accurs'd,

Should find my hopes deride me; My cares will not be long;

I know which way to mend them; I'll think who did the wrong,

Sigh, break my heart, and end them.

SONNET.

[From 10 stanzas.]

1

HENCE, away, thou Syren, leave me!

2

Pish! unclasp these 3 wanton arms! Sugar'd words can 4 ne'er deceive me, Though thou prove a thousand charins. Fie, fie, forbear!

No common snare

Can 5 ever my affection chain:

6

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such as you be,

Nor shall that soft 7 snowy breast,

8

Rolling eye, and 9 lip of ruby,

Ever rob me of my rest.

Go, go, display

Thy beauty's ray

10

To some more-soon-enamour'd 1° swain:

Those forced wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;

Turn away thy tempting eye:

Shew not me thy painted 2 beauty;
These 3 impostures I defy.+
My spirit loaths

Where gaudy clothes

And feigned oaths may love obtain:

I love her so

Whose looks swears no

That all thy labour will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies
Which on other's 5 breast are worn,
That

6
may pluck the virgin roses.
From the 7 never-touched thorn?
I can go rest

On her sweet breast

That is the pride of Cynthia's train;

Then stay thy tongue, ४

Thy 9 mermaid song