No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
Altho' Sc.

No man doubts, whom beauty killeth,
Fair death feeleth,

And in whom fair death proceedeth,
Glory breedeth :

So that I, in her beams dying,

Glory trying,

Tho' in pain, cannot complain. No, no, no, no.

To the Tune of a Neapolitan Villanel.

ALL my fenfe thy fweetness gained;

Thy fair hair my heart inchained;

My poor reason thy words moved,
So that thee, like heav'n, I loved.

Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan:
Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:
While to my mind the outfide ftood,
For meffenger of inward good.

Now thy sweetness fowre is deemed;
Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed ;
Reason hath thy words removed,
Finding that but words they proved.

Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan,
Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:

For no fair fign can credit win,
If that the fubftance fail within,

No more in thy sweetness glory,
For thy knitting hair be forry;
Ufe thy Words but to bewail thee,
That no more thy beams avail thee;
Dan, dan,

Dan, dan,

Lay not thy colours more to view,
Without the picture be found true.

Woe to me, alas! fhe weepeth!
Fool! in me what folly creepeth?
Was I to blafpheme enraged,
Where my foul I have engaged?
Dan, dan,

Dan, dan,

And, wretched I, muft yield to this;
The fault I blame, her chaftness is.

Sweetness!, fweetly pardon folly;
Tie me, hair, your captive wholly
Words! O words of heav'nly knowledge!
Know, my words their faults acknowledge

And all

Dan, dan,

Dan, dan,

my life I will confefs,

The lefs I love, I live the lefs.

Tranflated

Tranflated out of La DIANA de MONTEMAYOR, in Spanish: Where Sireno, a Shepherd, pulling out a little of his Mistress Diana's Hair, wrapped about with Green Silk, who now had utterly forsaken him; To the Hair he thus bewailed himself.

WHAT changes here, O Hair!

I fee, fince I faw you?

How ill fits you this green to wear,
For hope, the colour due?
Indeed, I well did hope,

Tho' hope were mix'd with fear,
No other shepherd fhould have fcope
Once to approach this Hair.

Ah, Hair! how many days

My Diana made me fhow,

With thousand pretty childish plays,

If I were you or no :

Alas! how oft with tears,

O tears of guileful breast!

She feemed full of jealous fears,

Whereat I do but jest?

Tell me, O Hair of gold, If I then faulty be,

That truft thofe killing eyes I would,
Since they did warrant me ?

Have you not feen her mood,
What ftreams of tears fhe spent,
Till that I fware my faith so stood,
As her words had it bent?

Who hath fuch beauty feen In one that changeth fo?

Or where one's love fo conftant been,

Who ever faw fuch woe?

Ah, Hair! are you not griev'd

To come from whence you be,

Seeing, how once you faw I liv'd, To fee me as you fee?

On fandy bank of late,

I faw this woman fit ;

Where, Sooner die than change my fate,

She with her finger writ:

Thus my belief was ftaid,

Behold Love's mighty hand

On things were by a woman faid,

And written in the fand.

The

The fame Sireno in MONTE-MAYOR, holding. his Miftrefs's Glafs before her, looking upon her while she viewed herself, thus fang:

Ο

F this high grace, with blifs conjoyn'd,
No further debt on me is laid,
Since that in felf-fame metal coin'd,

Sweet Lady, you remain well paid;
For if my place give me great pleasure,
Having before my nature's treasure,

In face and eyes unmatched being,
You have the fame in my hands, feeing
What in your face mine eyes do measure.

Nor think the match unev'nly made,
That of those beams in you do tarry,

The glass to you but gives a shade,
To me mine eyes the true fhape carry;

For fuch a thought, most highly prized,
Which ever hath Love's yoke defpifed,
Better than one captiv'd perceiveth,
Though he the lively form receiveth,
The other fees it but difguifed.