ystal, so
Do thou to me appear;
Or damask roses when they grow
To sweet acquaintance there.

825. COUNSEL.

'Twas Caesar's saying: _Kings no less conquerors are
By their wise counsel, than they be by war._

826. BAD PRINCES PILL THE PEOPLE.

Like those infernal deities which eat
The best of all the sacrificed meat;
And leave their servants but the smoke and sweat:
So many kings, and primates too there are,
Who claim the fat and fleshy for their share
And leave their subjects but the starved ware.

827. MOST WORDS, LESS WORKS.

In desp'rate cases all, or most, are known
Commanders, few for execution.

828. TO DIANEME.

I could but see thee yesterday
Stung by a fretful bee;
And I the javelin suck'd away,
And heal'd the wound in thee.

A thousand thorns and briars and stings,
I have in my poor breast;
Yet ne'er can see that salve which brings
My passions any rest.

As love shall help me, I admire
How thou canst sit, and smile
To see me bleed, and not desire
To staunch the blood the while.

If thou, compos'd of gentle mould,
Art so unkind to me;
What dismal stories will be told
Of those that cruel be?

_Admire_, wonder.

830. HIS LOSS.

All has been plundered from me but my wit:
Fortune herself can lay no claim to it.

831. DRAW AND DRINK.

Milk still your fountains and your springs: for why?
The more th'are drawn, the less they will grow dry.

833. TO OENONE.

Thou say'st Love's dart
Hath pricked thy heart;
And thou dost languish too:
If one poor prick
Can make thee sick,
Say, what would many do?

836. TO ELECTRA.

Shall I go to Love and tell,
Thou art all turned icicle?
Shall I say her altars be
Disadorn'd and scorn'd by thee?
O beware! in time submit;
Love has yet no wrathful fit:
If her patience turns to ire,
Love is then consuming fire.

837. TO MISTRESS AMY POTTER.

Ay me! I love; give him your hand to kiss
Who both your wooer and your poet is.
Nature has precompos'd us both to love:
Your part's to grant; my scene must be to move.
Dear, can you like, and liking love your poet?
If you say "Aye," blush-guiltiness will show it.
Mine eyes must woo you, though I sigh the while:
_True love is tongueless as a cro