s abusing.

Would a rival then I were
Or[20] else a secret friend,
So much lesser should I fear
And not so much attend.
They enjoy you, every one,
Yet must I seem your friend alone.
Is this fair excusing?
O no, all is abusing.

[20] Old ed. "Some."

From GILES FARNABY's _Canzonets_, 1598.

Thrice blessed be the giver
That gave sweet love that golden quiver,
And live he long among the gods anointed
That made the arrow-heads sharp-pointed:
If either of them both had quailed,
She of my love and I of hers had failed.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
Thrice sit thou mute in the enchanted chair,
Then thrice-three times tie up this true love's knot,
And murmur soft "She will or she will not."

Go, burn these poisonous weeds in yon blue fire,
These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,
This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
That all my fears and cares an end may have.

Then come, you Fairies! dance with me a round!
Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!
--In vain are all the charms I can devise:
She hath an art to break them with her eyes.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Thus I resolve and Time hath taught me so:
Since she is fair and ever kind to me,
Though she be wild and wanton-like in show,
Those little stains in youth I will not see.
That she be constant, heaven I oft implore;
If prayers prevail not, I can do no more.

Palm-tree the more you press, the more it grows;
Leave it alone, it will not much exceed:
Free beauty, if you strive to yoke, you lose,
And for affection strange distaste you breed.
What nature hath not taught no art can frame;
Wild-born be wild still, though by force you tame.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.

Thus saith my Chloris bright
When we of love sit down and talk together:--
"Beware of Love, dear; Love is a walking sprite,
And Love is this and that
And, O, I know not what,
And comes and goes again I wot not whether."[21]
No, no, these are but bugs to breed amazing,
For in her eyes I saw his torch-light blazing.

[21] Old form of "whither."

From THOMAS MORLEY's _First Book of Ballets to Five Voices_, 1595.

Thus