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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,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion,

Tell love it is but lust, Tell time it is but motion,

Tell flesh it is but dust :

And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth,

Tell honour how it alters,
Tell beauty how she blasteth,
Tell favour how it falters :

And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness :
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness :

And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness,

Tell skill it is pretension, Tell charity of coldness,

Tell law it is contention :

And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness,

Tell nature of decay,
Tell friendship of unkindness,
Tell justice of delay :

And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming ;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming :

If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;

Tell how the country erreth ;
Tell, manhood shakes off pity;
Tell, virtue least preferreth :

And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing : Although to give the lie Deserves no less than stabbing ;

Stab at thee he that will,

No stab the soul can kill.




[SAMUEL DANIEL was born near Taunton in Somersetshire, in 1562 ; and was educated at Oxford, at the charge of the Countess of Pembroke, the sister of Sir Philip Sidney. He became Poet Laureate at the death of Spenser, but was soon superseded by Ben Jonson. In the reign of James I. he was made groom of the Privy Chamber to the Queen. Some years before his death he retired to a farm in Somersetshire, where he died in 1619.

Daniel was a good and amiable man: his diction is admirable, and his poems abound in beautiful passages.)

I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read
Lines must delight, whereon her youth might smile ;
Flowers have time before they come to seed,
And she is young, and now must sport the while.
And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years,
And learn to gather flowers before they wither;
And where the sweetest blossom first appears,
Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither,
Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air,
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise :
Pity and smiles do best become the fair ;
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that sighed for such a one.




Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair ;
Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny;
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair;
And her disdains are gall, her favours honey.
A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love ;
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her :
Sacred on earth ; design'd a saint above;
Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow;
And had she Pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
For had she not been fair, and thus unkind,
My muse had slept, and none had known my mind.

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