MICHAEL DRAYTON.

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part;

Nay, I have done; you get no more of me ;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free:
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain.

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,

When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,

When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And Innocence is closing up his eyes,

Now, if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.

Ꭰ

HENRY CONSTABLE.

MUCH sorrow in itself my love doth move,
More my despair, to love a hopeless bliss;
My folly most, to love whom sure to miss :
Oh, help me but this last grief to remove!
All pain, if you command, it joy shall prove,
And wisdom to seek joy: then say but this;
Because my pleasure in thy torment is,

I do command thee without hope to love.
So, when this thought my sorrow shall augment,
That my own folly did procure my pain,
Then shall I say, to give myself content,
Obedience only made me love in vain :
It was your will, and not my want of wit;
I have the pain, bear you the blame of it.

HENRY CONSTABLE.

If ever sorrow spoke from soul that loves,
As speaks a spirit in a man possest,

In me her spirit speaks, my soul it moves,

Whose sigh-swoln words breed whirlwinds in my breast: Or, like the echo of a passing bell,

Which sounding on the water seems to howl,

So rings my heart a fearful heavy knell,
And keeps all night in consort with the owl.

My cheek with a thin ice of tears is clad;
Mine eyes like morning stars are blear'd and red:
What resteth then but I be raging mad,

To see that she, my care's chief conduit-head,

When all streams else help quench my burning heart,

Shuts up her springs, and will no grace impart?

HENRY CONSTABLE.

To live in hell, and heaven to behold;

To welcome life, and die a living death;
To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold;
To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath;
To tread a maze, that never shall have end;
To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears;
To climb a hill, and never to descend;
Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears;
To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree;
To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw;

To live accurst, whom men hold blest to be,
And weep those wrongs which never creature saw;

If this be love, if love in these be founded,

My heart is love, for these in it are grounded.

BARNABY BARNES.

UNTO my spirit lend an angel's wing,

By which it might mount to that place of rest,
Where Paradise may me relieve, opprest!

Lend to my tongue an angel's voice to sing!
Thy praise my comfort; and for ever bring
My notes thereof from the bright east to west!
Thy mercy lend unto my soul distrest!
Thy grace unto my wits! then shall the sling
Of righteousness that monster Sathan kill,
Who with despair my dear salvation dar'd,

And, like the Philistine, stood breathing still

Proud threats against my soul, for heaven prepar'd:

At length, I like an angel shall appear,

In spotless white, an angel's crown to wear!