A LONG comes Love,
In the semblance of a boy,
And he rings a little bell,
And he sings a little song:
Lo, the change thereof!
Heaven after hell,
Beauty healing wrong,
And grief turned joy!

At times, when, with an anguish all too keen,
The violin doth tensely tell of grief,
Tugging at heart-strings till the tale, I ween,
Is over-cruel, calls for some relief:
I joy to hear, like cooings of lost doves,
The grave viola plaining of old loves.

Castor and Pollux, tuneful Muse, now sing;
The offspring of the cloud-compelling king,
When on Taygetus' high-rising crest
The son of Saturn lovely Leda press'd.
Hail, ye Tyndaridae, well skill'd to train
The fiery courser for the' embattled plain.

Veritas Odium parit — Horace

Since Truth breeds Hate Thou must not tak't amiss
I love Thee Nol: in whom soe little is
For should I say I hate Thee, that revers't
Might get more Truth than's fit to be reherst
But whither I Thee love or Hate, 'tis true
Thy Cake is Dowe and soe thou mayst goe Brew
For having pleasd all states alike They cry
Thou art a Villain; that's noe flattery
But, what they think, Fayth cousen them and fling
Away thy weapons huisher in the King.

A SONG OF LIFE

A SONG , boys, a song!
Life is young yet,
Love has tongue yet;
Why should Life and Love go wrong?
Come, boys, a song!

A song, boys, a song!
Life's at flush still,
Love's ablush still;
What though cares and curses throng?
Come, boys, a song!

A song, boys, a song!
Death is here soon,
Death will cheer soon,
Death is nigh, and Love is strong;
So, boys, a song!

Welcome , mine own!
Welcome, mine own! Wit and his company :

O lady dear,
Be ye so near
To be known?
My heart you cheer
Your voice to hear;
Welcome, mine own. Science and her Company :

As ye rejoice
To hear my voice
From me thus blown,
So in my choice
I show my voice
To be your own. Wit and his Company :

Then draw we near
To see and hear
My love long grown!
Where is my dear?

Loves Negative

Noe tis not beauty must Confine
Loves Votaries to venus shrine
Nor any specious good
Of flesh and blood
The fairest then would only know
The benefitt of Cupid's bow
And Natures Courser Clay
Is Throne away.

Noe tis not soules divinly joynd
In sweetest hermony of mind
Nor sympathy of hartes
That love imparts
Then equall thoughts would ballance soe

Robin for Poesy to a wedding ring hath Cupio or I desire

Surely the God of love did him inspire
With a Conceipt that must not be said noe
Whilst that but symbol was o'th't'other thing
Wishes as thoughts are free
Let O be Alpha and Omega P.

I MAKE apprizal of the maiden moon
For what she is to me:
Not a great globe of cheerless stone
That hangs in awful space alone,
And ever so to be;
But just the rarest orb,
The very fairest orb,
The star most lovely-wise
In all the dear night-skies!
So thou to me, O jestful girl of June!
I have no will to hear
Cold calculations of thy worth
Summed up in beauty, brain, and birth:
Such coldly strike mine ear.
Thou art the rarest one,
The very fairest one,
The soul most lovely-wise
That ever looked through eyes!

When men inrich thy neck with praise,
And glories which no rose displays,
Thy arms which wax do imitate,
My gall impostum'd swels with hate:
I burn while sots thy skin defile,
And rosebuds in thy lips do spoil:
To leave love-marks, trust me in vain,
They love not, who dare lips prophane.
Ah be not prodigal of blisse!
Venus makes Nectar of a kisse.
Happy thrice, nay more, for ever:
Where loves chain is broken never;
Nor rash complaint, a linck can force,
While death sues forth a long divorce.