Some few minutes ere I dye,

To her white bosom to commend.

Then whisper by that holy spring!
Where for her sake I would have dyed,
While those water-nymphs did bring
Flowers to cure what she had tryed;
And of my faith and love did sing.

That if my Amoret, if she

In after-times would have it read,
How her beauty murther'd mee,
With all my heart I will agree,
If shee'le but love me, being dead.

TO HIS FRIEND, BEING IN LOVE. SKE Lover, ere thou dyest; let one poor breath

Steale from thy lips, to tell her of thy death;

Doating idolater! can silence bring

Thy saint propitious? or will Cupid fling
One arrow for thy palenes? leave to trye
This silent courtship of a sickly eye;

Witty' to tyranny: she too well knowes

This but the incense of thy private vowes,
That breaks forth at thine eyes, and doth betray
The sacrifice thy wounded heart would pay;
Aske her, foole, aske her; if words cannot move,
The language of thy teares may make her love:
Flow nimbly from me then; and when you fall
On her breasts warmer snow, O may you all,
By some strange fate fixt there, distinctly lye
The much lov'd volume of my tragedy.
Where if you win her not, may this be read,
The cold that freaz'd you so did strike me dead.

A

SONG.

MYNTAS goe, thou art undone,

Thy faithfull heart is crost by

fate;

That love is better not begunne,

Where love is come to love too late ;2

1 Wise. G.

2 Whose pure offering comes too late.'

Early pencil

MS. in British Museum copy. I have given the whole of these Notes. They must have been written by some one intimate with the Poet. G.

Had she professèd1 hidden fires,

Or shew'd one knot that tyed her heart: I could have quench'd my first desires, And we had only met to part; But tyrant, thus to murther men,

And shed a lover's harmles bloud, And burne him in those flames agen, Which he at first might have withstood; Yet, who that saw faire Chloris weep

Such sacred dew, with such pure3 grace; Durst thinke them fainèd teares, or seeke For treason in an angel's face:

This is her art, though this be true,

Men's joyes are kil'd' with griefes and feares,

Yet she like flowers opprest with dew,

Doth thrive and flourish in her teares: This cruell, thou hast done, and thus, That face hath many servants slaine,

Though th' end be not to ruine us,

But to seeke glory by our paine.5

1 Ibid, 'Profess'd her.' G.

Ibid, 'such a.' G.

5 Ibid,

2 Ibid, 'yt.' G.

Ibid, 'by.' G.

Your aime is sure to ruine us

Seeking your glory by our paine.' G.

TO AMORET.

WALKING IN A STARRY EVENING.

F Amoret, that glorious eye,
In the first birth of light,
And death of Night,

Had with those elder fires you spye
Scatter'd so high,

Received forme, and sight;

We might suspect in the vast ring
Amidst those golden glories,

.1

And fierie stories ;1

Whether the sunne had been the king,

And guide of Day,

Or your brighter eye should sway;

But, Amoret, such is my fate,

That if thy face a starre

Had shin'd from farre,
I am perswaded in that state
'Twixt thee, and me,

Of some predestin'd sympathie."

1 MS, as before.

'We ay suspect in the vast ring,

Wh rolls those fiery spheres

Thro' years and years.' G.

2 Ibid 'There wd be perfect sympathie.' G.

For sure such two conspiring minds,

Which no accident, or sight,

Did thus unite;

Whom no distance can confine,
Start, or decline,

One, for another, were design'd.

TO AMORET, GONE FROM HOME.

JANCY and I, last evening walkt,
And Amoret, of thee we talkt;

The West just then had stolne the

sun,

And his last blushes had begun :

We sate, and markt how every thing
Did mourne his absence: how the spring1
That smil'd, and curl'd about his beames,
Whilst he was here, now check'd her
streames:

The wanton eddies of her face

Were taught lesse noise, and smoother grace;
And in a slow, sad channel went,

Whisp'ring the banks their discontent:
The carelesse ranks of flowers that spread
Their perfum❜d bosomes to his head,

1 Fountain or well, as before. G.