Ah were she pitiful as she is fair,
Or but as mild as she is seeming so,
Then were my hopes greater than my despair;
Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.
Ah were her heart relenting as her hand,
That seems to melt even with the mildest touch,
Then knew I where to seat me in a land,
Under wide heavens, but yet [there is] not such.
So as she shows, so seems the budding rose,
Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower;
Sovereign of beauty like the spray she grows,
Compass'd she is with thorns and canker's flower;

Twenty years on the road of love
but the road is still unmapped.
Sometimes I was the victor.
More often the vanquished.
Twenty years, O book of love
and still on the first page.

ACT . IV. S CEN. VI.

Lucasia, Eumela, Charistus, Olyndus. Luc .

I must confess, had not this Action been
Tainted with private Interest, but born
From zeal unto the Publique, then it might
Have been read Valour, as it is, it will
Be stil'd but Fury. Eum .
Madam it had then
Been only Valour, now 'tis Love and Valour. Luc .
Where those Religious Names, King, Country, Father,
Are trampled over, can you call it Valour? Cha .
If trampled o'r for you. To hazard all
These holy Names, of Subject unto King,

A pomegranate opened its mouth, mad love

When as the rye reach to the chin,
And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And school-boys playing in the stream;
Then O, then O, then O my true love said,
Till that time come again,
She could not live a maid.

All ye that lovely lovers be,
Pray you for me;
Lo, here we come a-sowing, a-sowing,
And sow sweet fruits of love;
In your sweet hearts well may it prove!

Lo, here we come a-reaping, a-reaping,
To reap our harvest-fruit!
And thus we pass the year so long,
And never be we mute.

You read it in these spell-bound eyes,
And there alone should love be read;
You hear me say it all in sighs,
And thus alone should love be said.

Then dread no more; I will not speak;
Although my heart to anguish thrill,
I'll spare the burning of your cheek,
And look it all in silence still.

Heard you the wish I dared to name,
To murmur on that luckless night.
When passion broke the bonds of shame,

II

Years have flown since I knew thee first,
And I know thee as water is known of thirst;
Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight,
And thou art strange to me, Love, tonight.

Spring all the Graces of the age,
—And all the Loves of time;
Bring all the pleasures of the stage,
—And relishes of rhyme;
Add all the softnesses of courts,
The looks, the laughters, and the sports:
And mingle all their sweets and salts
That none may say, the Triumph halts.

Spring all the Graces of the age,
—And all the Loves of time;
Bring all the pleasures of the stage,
—And relishes of rhyme;
Add all the softnesses of courts,
The looks, the laughters, and the sports:
And mingle all their sweets and salts

Facing you, on the wall, across from your bed:
mountains like skinny bones,
rising loftily above table and desk.
Half the wall covered with craggy peaks and valleys;
seriously ill, you still loved the mountains