tning from above,
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire.
'Tis a grave
Gapes to have
Those poor fools that long to prove.

Tell me more, are women true?
Yes, some are, and some as you;
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change.
And till truth
Be in both
All shall love to love anew.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
Yes, and sicken sore, but live:
And be wise and delay,
When you men are as wise as they.
Then I see
Faith will be
Never till they both believe.

Francis Beaumont.

PINING FOR LOVE.

How long shall I pine for love?
How long shall I sue in vain?
How long like the turtle-dove,
Shall I heartily thus complain?
Shall the sails of my heart stand still?
Shall the grists of my hope be unground?
Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
Let the mill, let the mill go round.

Francis Beaumont.

FIE ON LOVE.

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
Or man or woman know it.
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly show it
Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
If simple love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.

Francis Beaumont.

DAMOETAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.

Tune on my pipe the praises of my love,
Love fair and bright;
Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above,
Heavens Jove's delight,
With Daphnis' praise.

Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold,
Gold bright and sheen;
Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd,
Scyll o'erseen
Through Minos' love.

Her eyes like shining lamps in midst of night,
Night dark and dead:
Or as the stars that give the seamen light,
Light for to lead
Their wandering ships.

Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive,
Lily snow-white:
When their contest doth make their colour thrive,
Colour too bright
For shepherds' eyes.

Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye,
Scarlet blood-red:
Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie,
Hills overspread
By winter's force.

Her skin as soft as is the finest silk,
Silk soft and fine:
Of colour like