True love begun shall never end;
Love one and love no more.

Then shall thy heart be set by mine,
But in far different case;

For mine was true, so was not thine,
But lookt like Janus' face.

For as the waves with every wind,
So sails thou every shore,

And leaves my constant heart behind.
How can I love thee more?

My heart shall with the sun be fix'd
For constancy most strange,

And thine shall with the moon be mix'd,
Delighting ay in change.

Thy beauty shin'd at first most bright,
And woe is me therefore,

That ever I found thy love so light,
I could love thee no more.

The misty mountains, smoaking lakes, The rocks resounding echo;

The whistling wind that murmur makes,
Shall with me sing hey ho.

The tossing seas, the tumbling boats,
Tears droping from each shore,
Shall tune with me their turtle notes,
I'll never love thee more.

As doth the turtle chaste and true
Her fellow's death regrete,
And daily mourns for his adieu,
And ne'er renews her mate;
So though thy faith was never fast,
Which grieves me wond'rous sore,
Yet I shall live in love so chast,
That I shall love no more.

And when all gallants rides about
These monuments to view,

Whereon is written in and out,
Thou traiterous and untrue;
Then in a passion they shall pause,
And thus say, sighing sore,

Alas! he had too just a cause
Never to love thee more.

And when that tracing goddess fame
From east to west shall flee,
She shall record it to thy shame,
How thou hast loved me;

And how in odds our love was such,
As few has been before;

Thou loved too many, and I too much,
That I can love no more.

THERE's nothing in this world can prove
So true and real pleasure,
As perfect sympathy in love,
Which is a real treasure.

The purest strain of perfect love
In vertue's dye and season,
Is that whose influence doth move,
And doth convince our reason.

Designs attend, desires give place,
Hopes had no more availeth;
The cause remov'd the effect doth cease,
Flames not maintain'd soon faileth.

The conquest then of richest hearts,
Well lodg'd and trim'd by nature,
Is that which true content imparts,
Where worth is join'd with feature.

Fill'd with sweet hope then must I still
Love what's to be admired;
When frowning aspects cross the will,
Desires are more endeared.

6

Unhappy then unhappy I,
To joy in tragick pleasure,
And in so dear and desperate way
T'abound yet have no treasure.

Yet will I not of fate despair,
Time oft in end relieveth,

But hopes my star will change her air,
And joy where now she grieveth.

BURST out my soul in main of tears,
And thou my heart sighs tempest move,
My tongue let never plaints forbear,
But murmure still my crossed love;
Combine together all in one,

And thunder forth my tragick moan.

But, tush, poor drop, cut breath, broke air,
Can you my passions express?

No: rather but augment my care,
In making them appear the less.

Seeing but from small woes words do come,
And great ones they sing always dumb.

My swelling griefs then bend your self
This fatal breast of mine to fill,
The center where all sorrows dwell,
The limbeck where all griefs distil,
That silent thus in plaints I may
Consume and melt my self away.

Yet that I may contented dic,
I only wish, before my death,
Transparent that my breast may be,

E're that I do expire my breath;

Since sighs, tears, plaints, express no smart,
It might be seen into my heart.

CAN little beasts with lions roar,
And little birds with eagles soar?

Can shallow streams command the seas,
And little aunts the humming bees?

No, no, no, no, it is not meet
The head should stoup unto the feet.

On False Friends, a Poem by Montrose..

UNHAPPY is the man

In whose breast is confin'd
The sorrows and distresses all
Of an afflicted mind.
Th' extremity is great,
He dies if he conceal;

The world's so void of secret friends,
Betray'd if he reveal.

Then break afflicted heart!

And live not in these days,

When all prove merchants of their faith,
None trusts what other says.

For when the sun doth shine,

Then shadows do appear;
But when the sun doth hide his face,
They with the sun retire.
Some friends as shadows are,

And fortune as the sun;
They never proffer any help
Till fortune first begin.

But if, in any case,

Fortune shall first decay,

Then they, as shadows of the sun,

With fortune run away.

No. XXVI.

Verses wrote by the Marquis of Montrose, with the point of a diamond, upon the glass window of his prison, after receiving his sentence.

LET them bestow on every airth a limb,
Then open all my veins, that I may swim
To thee, my Maker, in that crimson lake,
Then place my par-boil'd head upon a stake;
Scatter my ashes, strow them in the air.

Lord, since thou knowest where all these atoms are,
I'm hopeful thoul't recover once my dust,
And confident thoul't raise me with the just.

No. XXVII.

Extract from the Mercurius Caledonius.

Edinburgh, Monday, January 7, 1661. This day, in obedience to the order of parliament, this city was alarmed with drums, and nine trumpets, to go in their best equipage and arms for transporting the dismembered bodies of his excellency the Lord Marquesse of Montrose, and that renowned gentleman Sir William Hay of Dalgety, murthered both for their prowes and transcending loyalty to king and country, whose bodies, to their glory and their enemie's shame, had been ignominiously thurst in the earth, under the publike gibbet half a mile from town. That of the Lord Marquesse was indeed intended for ignominy to his high name, but that of the other, ambitiously covet by himself as the greatest honour he could have, when being incapable to serve his majesty longer, to engrave nigh his great patron, which doubtlesse proceeded from a faith typical of a more glorious one. The ceremony was thus performed:-The Lord Marquesse of Montrose, with his friends of the name of Graham, the whole nobility and gentry, with provest, baillies, and councel, together with four companies of the trained bands of the city, went to the place, where having chanced directly