Who doth presume my Mistress's name to scan,
Goes about more then any way he can,
Since all men think that it is Susan . Echo Ann .

What say'st? Then tell who is as white as Swan,
While others set by her are pale and wan,
Then, Echo , speak, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Tell, Echo , yet, whose middle's but a span,
Some being gross as bucket, round as pan;
Say, Echo , then, Is it not Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Say, is she not soft as meal without bran,
Though yet in great hast once from me she ran,
Must I not however love Susan ? Ec. Ann .

Deep Sighs, Records of my unpitied Grief,
Memorials of my true, though hopeless Love,
Keep time with my sad thoughts, till wish'd Relief
My long despairs for vain and causless prove.

Yet if such hap never to you befall,
I give you leave, break time, break heart and all.

Those eyes, deare eyes, bee spheares,
Where two bright sunnes are roll'd;
That faire hand to behold,
Of whitest snowe appeares:
Then while yee coylie stand,
To hide from mee those eyes,
Sweet, I would you aduise
To choose some other fanne than that white hand;
For if yee doe, for trueth most true this know,
That sunnes ere long must needes consume warme snow.

Sweet, bide with me and let my love
Be an enduring tether;
Oh, wanton not from spot to spot,
But let us dwell together.

You 've come each morn to sip the sweets
With which you found me dripping,
Yet never knew it was not dew
But tears that you were sipping.

You gambol over honey meads
Where siren bees are humming;
But mine the fate to watch and wait
For my beloved's coming.

The sunshine that delights you now
Shall fade to darkness gloomy;
You should not fear if, biding here,
You nestled closer to me.

There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
" And where is thy daughter? We would she were here, —
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer! "

" I 'll fetch thee thy goblets full foaming, " she said,
" But in yon darkened chamber the maiden lies dead. "
And lo! as they stood in the doorway, the white
Of a shroud and a dead shrunken face met their sight.

Then the first cavalier breathed a pitiful sigh,
And the throb of his heart seemed to melt in his eye,

How much I love thee girl would'st know,
Better than rosin loves the bow,
Than treble shrill the growling bass,
Or spruce guitars a tawdry case.

No more then let us solo play,
To Hymen's temple jig away,
There when we get,
In a duet,
Of pleasure will we take our swing,
Joy's fiddle shall play,
Love's bells shall ring:
And while we celebrate the day,
We'll frisk away,
And laugh and play,
And dance and sing,
And frisk away like any thing.

II.

I love thee more, I really think,

I.

Why, cruel Creature! why so bent
To vex a tender heart?
To gold and title you relent,
Love throws in vain his dart.

II.

Let glitt'ring fools in courts be great,
For pay let armies move,
Beauty should have no other bait
But gentle vows and love.

III.

If on those endless charms you lay
The value that 's their due,
Kings are themselves too poor to pay,
A thousand worlds to few.

IV.

But if a passion without vice,
Without disguise or art,
Ah, Mira! if true love 's your price,

Love thy God, and love Him only:
And thy breast will ne'er be lonely.
In that one great Spirit meet
All things mighty, grave and sweet.
Vainly strives the soul to mingle
With a creature of our kind:
Vainly hearts with hearts are twined;
For the deepest still is single.
An impalpable resistance
Holds like natures still at distance.
Mortal! love that Holy One!
Or dwell for aye alone.

I send this ring of braided hair,
Asimple gift, to thee,
One more fond pledge of perfect trust,
And perfect peace, from me.

Thou 'lt wear it for our dear love's sake,
So fresh and pure and strong,
Far sweeter than the dreams of fame,
Of romance, or of song.

And when snows fall, or spring-flowers wave,
My cold, still breast above,
Dear, faithful heart, thou 'lt wear it then

Thou darest not love me!—thou canst only see
The great gulf set between us. Hadst thou love ,
'T would bear thee o'er it on a wing of fire!
Wilt put from thy faint lip the mantling cup,
The draught thou 'st prayed for with divinest thirst,
For fear a poison in the chalice lurks?
Wilt thou be barred from thy soul's heritage,
The power, the rapture, and the crown of life,
By the poor guard of danger set about it?
I tell thee that the richest flowers of heaven
Bloom on the brink of darkness. Thou hast marked
How sweetly o'er the beetling precipice