Gaze not on thy beauties pride,
Tender Maid, in the false tide
That from Lovers eyes doth slide.

Let thy faithful Chrystall show,
How thy colours come, and goe,
Beautie takes a foyle from woe.

Love, that in those smooth streames lyes,
Under pities faire disguise,
Will thy melting heart surprize.

Nets, of passions finest thred,
Snaring Poems, will be spred,
All, to catch thy maiden-head.

Then beware, for those that cure
Loves disease, themselves endure
For reward a Calenture.

Rather let the Lover pine,

The sacred body of my love,
Equal mate of an equal mate in perfect union blended,
So long so scorned by every trifling scoffer,
Beaten by whips of cords and whips of tongues,
The outcast wanderer banned by monkish gods and puritan men,
Givers so damned, so blushed about yet so hungered for,
At last sets up for itself the claim of noblest origin,
And calls upon the doubting world to hear.

O sacred body of my love!
Let me avow you in words that will be understood:
Do not let me stand back and say nothing while the revilers persecute you

Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate
Upon the braes of Kirtle,
Was lovely as a Grecian maid
Adorned with wreaths of myrtle;
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay,
And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,
Beneath the budding beeches.
From many knights and many squires
The Bruce had been selected;
And Gordon, fairest of them all,
By Ellen was rejected.
Sad tidings to that noble Youth!
For it may be proclaimed with truth,
If Bruce hath loved sincerely,
That Gordon loves as dearly.

But what are Gordon's form and face,

I loved thee beautiful and kind,
And plighted an eternal vow;
So altered are thy face and mind,
'Twere perjury to love thee now.

G ALLA , say no'—Tease love and you renew it.
But prithee, Galla, do not overdo it.

P UDENS to-day his Claudia doth claim
In love united,
A blessing, Hymen, on the twofold flame
Thy torch hath lighted.
These are as honey poured in rarest wine;
Could aught be meeter?
Not cinnamon with spikenard could combine
In fragrance sweeter.
Beside this tender vine her elm doth tower
His might to give her.
She is the myrtle sweet, the lotus flower,
And he her river.
Fair Concord ever o'er their lives preside
Unviolated;
Dear Venus bless the bridegroom and the bride
So fitly mated;
And may the coming years so far and dim

So sang I in the springtime of my years—
“There's nothing we can call our own but love;”
So let me murmur now that winter nears,
And even in death the deathless truth approve.
Oft have I seen the slow, the broadening river
Roll its glad waters to the parent sea;
Death is the call of love to love; the giver
Claims his own gift for some new mystery.
In boundless love divine the heavens are spread,
In wedded love is earth's divinest store,
And he that liveth to himself is dead,
And he that lives for love lives evermore;

Keen to the danger,
constantly I shun
the eyes of others,
treading like one on a plank trail
rigged across the face of the cliff

When my dear Love is absent,
And in lonely grief I stand,
My bosom is an Egypt
With a famine in the land.

But when she cometh to me
With a tender, trusting smile,
My bosom is an Egypt
With an overflowing Nile.

If yet I have not all thy love,
Deare, I shall never have it all,
I cannot breath one other sigh, to move,
Nor can intreat one other teare to fall,
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,
Sighs, teares, and oathes, and letters I have spent.
Yet no more can be due to mee,
Then at the bargaine made was ment,
If then thy gift of love were partiall,
That some to mee, some should to others fall,
Deare, I shall never have Thee All.

Or if then thou gavest mee all,
All was but All, which thou hadst then;