WHO, THIS DARK NIGHT

What if you new beauties see!
Will not they stir new affection?
I will think they pictures be
(Image-like, of saints' perfection)
Poorly counterfeiting thee.

But your reason's purest light
Bids you leave such minds to nourish!
Dear, do reason no such spite;
Never doth thy beauty flourish
More than in my reason's sight.

But the wrongs love bears will make
Love at length leave undertaking.
No, the more fools it do shake,
In a ground of so firm making
Deeper still they drive the stake.

Peace, I think that some give ear;
Come no more, lest I get anger.
Bliss, I will my bliss forbear;
Fearing, sweet, you to endanger;
But my soul shall harbour there.

Well, be gone; be gone, I say,
Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you.
O unjust Fortune's sway,

Which can make me thus to leave you,
And from louts to run away.

Your Bells

Ring out your belis, let mourning shows

be spread;

For Love is dead.

All love is dead, infected

With plague of deep disdain;
Worth, as not worth, rejected,
And Faith, fair scorn doth gain.
From so ungrateful fancy,
From such a female frenzy,

From them that use men thus,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Weep, neighbours, weep, dc you not hear

it said

That Love is dead?

His deathbed, peacock's folly;
His winding-sheet is shame;
His will, false-seeming holy;
His sole executor, blame.
From so ungrateful fancy,
From such a female frenzy,
From them that use men thus,
Good Lord, deliver us!

RING OUT YOUR BELLS

Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly

read,

For Love is dead.

Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth,
My mistress' marble heart;
Which epitaph containeth,
"Her eyes were once his dart".
From so ungrateful fancy,
From such a female frenzy,
From them that use men thus,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Alas! I lie; rage hath this error bred,
Love is not dead.

Love is not dead, but sleepeth
In her unmatched mind,
Where she his counsel keepeth,
Till due desert she find.

Therefore from so vile fancy,
To call such wit a frenzy,
Who love can temper thus,
Good Lord, deliver us!

I

Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's selfchosen snare,

Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought;

Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care, Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought;

Desire, Desire, I have too dearly bought, With prize of mangled mind, thy worthless

ware;

Too long, too long asleep thou hast me brought,

Who should my mind to higher things

In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire; For virtue hath this better lesson taught: Within myself to seek my only hire, Desiring nought, but how to kill Desire.

THE EPILOGUE

II

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;

And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;

Grow rich in that which never taketh

rust;

Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might

To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;

Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,

That doth both shine and give us sight

to see.

O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth brings out to death;

And think how evil becometh him to

slide,

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.

Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I

see:

Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.