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I wish thee friends, and one at court
Not to build on, but support;
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.

Bp. Corbet's Poems.


My once

Y once dear love, hapless that I no more
Must call thee so; the rich affection's store
That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent,
Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent.
We that did nothing study but the way
To love each other, with which thoughts the day
Rose with delight to us, and with them set,
Must learn the hateful art how to forget*.
We that did nothing wish that heav'n could give
Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live
Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must
As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.
Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make,
Witness the chaste desires that never break
Into unruly hearts; witness that brcast
Which in thy bosom anchor'd his whole rest,

* Must learn the hateful art how to forget.] Thus Pope:

Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget. Eloisa to Abelard.
'Tis no default in us, I dare acquit
Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white
As thy pure self: cross planets did envy
Us to each other, and heaven did untie
Faster than vows could bind. O that the stars,
When lovers meet, should stand oppos’d in wars!
Since then some higher destinies command,
Let us not strive nor labour to withstand
What is past help; the longest date of grief
Can never yield a hope of our relief;
And though we waste ourselves in moist laments,

us, but not our discontents,
Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves
That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves
Dislodged from their haunts, we must in tears
Unwind a love knit


many years,
In this last kiss I here surrender thee
Back to thyself, so thou again art free.
Thou in another, sad as that, resend
The truest heart that lover ere did lend.
Now turn from each, so fare our sever'd hearts
As the divorc'd soul froin her body parts.

Dr. King's Poems, p. 24.

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My dearest love! when thou and I must part, And th' icy hand of Death shall seize that heart Which is all thine; within some spacious will I'll leave no blanks for legacies to fill: 'Tis my

ambition to die one of those Who but himself hath nothing to dispose. And since that is already thine, what need I to regive it by some newer deed? Yet take it once again, free circumstance Does oft the value of mean things advance: Who thus repeats what he bequeath'd before, Proclaims his bounty richer than his store. But let me not upon my

love bestow What is not worth the giving. I do owe Somewhat to dust: my body's pamper'd care Hungry corruption and the worm will share. That mould'ring relic which in earth must lie Would prove a gift of horror to thine eye. With this cast rag of my mortality Let all


faults and errors buried be. And as my cere-cloth rots, so may kind fate Those worst acts of


life incinerate. He shall in story fill a glorious room Whose ashes and whose sins sleep in one tomb. If now to my cold hearse thou deign to bring Some melting sighs as thy last offering, My peaceful exequies are crown'd, nor shall I ask more honour at my funeral. Thou wilt more richly 'balm me with thy tears Than all the 'nard fragrant Arabia bears.

And as the Paphian queen by her grief's show'r
Brought up her dead love's spirit in a flow'r:
So by those precious drops rain'd from thine eyes,
Out of my dust, О may some virtue rise!
And like thy better genius thee attend,
Till thou in my. dark period shalt end.
Lastly, my constant truth let me commend
To him thou choosest next to be thy friend.
For (witness all things good) I would not have
Thy youth and beauty married to my grave,
"Twould show thou didst repent the style of wife
Should'st thou relapse into a single life.
They with preposterous grief the world delude
Who mourn for their lost mates in solitude;
Since widowhood more strongly doth enforce
The much-lamented lot of their divorce.
Themselves then of their losses guilty are,
Who may, yet will not, suffer a repair.
Those were barbarian wives that did invent
Weeping to death at th' husband's monument,
But in more civil rites she doth approve
Her first, who ventures on a second love;
For else it may be thought if she refrain,
She sped so ill she durst not try again.
Up then, my love, and choose some worthier one
Who may supply my room when I am gone;
So will the stock of our affection thrive
No less in death, than were I still alive.
And in my urn I shall rejoice, that I
Am both testator thus and legacy *

Dr. King's Poems, p. 28.

* This little piece is worth all the unmanly snivelling Elegies that Hammond ever wrote.

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Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearld with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are wash'd with tears.

Ask me why this flower doth shew
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending yet it doth not break;
I must tell


these discover, What doubts and fears are in a lover.

T. Carew's Poems.


Beware, fair maid, of mighty courtiers' oaths,
Take heed what gifts or favours you receive;
Let not the fading gloss of silken clothes

your virtues, or your fame bereave:
For once but leave the hold


have of grace, Who will regard your fortune or your face?

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