My death, my death alone can show The pure and lafting love I bore: Accept, O heaven, of woes like ours, And let us, let us weep no more. The difmal fcene was o'er and paft, The lover's mournful hearse retir'd; The maid drew back her languid head, And fighing forth his name, expir'd. Tho' juftice ever muft prevail, The tear my Kitty fheds is due; YOU MEANER BEUTYE S. OU meaner beutyes of the night, Which poorely fatisfy our eyes, More by your number then your light, Like common people of the skyes; What are yee, when the moon doth rise? Yee violets, that firft appeare, By your purple mantles known, Yee wandring chaunters of the wood, By weak accents: What is your praise So when my miftris shall be seen In fweetneffe of her looks, and minde; By vertue firft, then choyce a queen; Tell mee if fhee was not defignde The ecclipfe and glory of her kinde? MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS, Y minde to me a kingdome is, M Such perfect joye therein I find, As farre exceeds all earthly bliffe That world affords, or growes by kind: Content I live, this is my ftay, I feek no more than may fuffice, I fee how plenty furfeits oft, I fee how thofe that fit aloft, Mishap doth threaten most of all; I laugh not at anothers loffe, I grudge not at anothers gaine; Some have too much, yet flill they crave, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; My wealth is health and perfect case, Nor by defert to give offence: No princely pompe, no wealthy ftore, No wily wit to falve a fore, No shape to win a lovers eye: To none of these I yeeld as thrall, For why my mind defpifeth all. I joy not at an earthy blifse, I weigh not Crefus' wealth a ftraw; For care, I care not what it is, I fear not fortunes fatall law; My mind is fuch as may not move For beauty bright or force of love. I wish not what I have at will, I wander not to feek for more, I like the plaine, I clime no hill, In greatest ftorme I fit on fhore, And laugh at those that toile in vaine To get that must be loft again. I kifs not where I wish to kill, The court, ne cart, I'like, ne loath; Extreames are counted worst of all, The golden meane betwixt them both, Doth fureft fit, and fears no fall: This is my choyce, for why I finde, No wealth is like a quiet minde, |