monious Hymen shall for thee
Provide a second epithalamy.
_She who keeps chastely to her husband's side
Is not for one, but every night his bride;
And stealing still with love and fear to bed,
Brings him not one, but many a maidenhead._

_Candid_, white.
_Decurted_, curtailed.

899. TO HIS BOOK.

Before the press scarce one could see
A little-peeping-part of thee;
But since thou'rt printed, thou dost call
To show thy nakedness to all.
My care for thee is now the less,
Having resign'd thy shamefac'dness.
Go with thy faults and fates; yet stay
And take this sentence, then away:
Whom one belov'd will not suffice,
She'll run to all adulteries.

900. TEARS.

Tears most prevail; with tears, too, thou may'st move
Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.

901. TO HIS FRIEND TO AVOID CONTENTION OF WORDS.

Words beget anger; anger brings forth blows;
Blows make of dearest friends immortal foes.
For which prevention, sociate, let there be
Betwixt us two no more logomachy.
Far better 'twere for either to be mute,
Than for to murder friendship by dispute.

_Logomachy_, contention of words.

902. TRUTH.

Truth is best found out by the time and eyes;
_Falsehood wins credit by uncertainties_.

904. THE EYES BEFORE THE EARS.

We credit most our sight; one eye doth please
Our trust far more than ten ear-witnesses.

905. WANT.

Want is a softer wax, that takes thereon
This, that, and every base impression.

906. TO A FRIEND.

Look in my book, and herein see
Life endless signed to thee and me.
We o'er the tombs and fates shall fly;
While other generations die.

907. UPON M. WILLIAM LAWES, THE RARE MUSICIAN.

Should I not put on blacks, when each one here
Comes with his cypress and devotes a tear?
Should I not grieve, my Lawes, when every lute,
Viol, and voice is by thy loss struck mute?
Thy loss, brave man! whose numbers have been hurl'd,
And no less prais'd than spread throughout the world.
Some have thee call'd Amphion; some of us
Nam'd thee Terpander, or sweet Orpheus:
Some this, some that, but all in this agree,
Music had both her birth and death with thee.

_Blacks_, mourning garments.

908. A SONG UPON SILVIA.

From me my Silvia ran away,
And running therewithal
A primrose bank did