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Fulke Greville, Lord
Brooke

Myra

I, with whose colours Myra dressed her head,

I, that wear posies of her own handmaking,

I, that mine own name in the chimneys read

By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking:

Must I look on, in hope time coming

may

With change bring back my turn again to play?

I, that on Sunday at the church - stile found

A garland sweet, with true love-knots in

flowers,
(B 325)

177

N

Which I to wear about mine arms was bound,

That each of us might know that all

was ours:

Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?

I, that did wear the ring her mother left, I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,

I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,

I, who did make her blush when I was named:

Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked,

Watching with sighs, till dead love be awaked?

I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep,
Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire,
Was ever warned modesty to keep,
While her breath speaking kindled
Nature's fire:

Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them?

Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?

MYRA

Was it for this that I might Myra see Washing the water with her beauties white?

Yet would she never write her love to me; Thinks wit of change while thoughts are in delight?

Mad girls must safely love, as they may leave;

can print a kiss; lines may

No man deceive.

You little stars that live in skies
And glory in Apollo's glory,
In whose aspects conjoined lies

The heaven's will and nature's story,
Joy to be likened to those eyes,

Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry; For, when you force thoughts from above, These over-rule your force by Love.

And thou, O Love, which in these eyes Hast married reason with affection, And made them saints of beauty's skies, Where joys are shadows of perfection, Lend me thy wings that I may rise

Up not by worth but by election; For I have vowed, in strangest fashion, To love and never seek compassion.

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