Or the feature, or the youth :
But the language, and the truth,
With the ardour, and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then will read the story,
First, prepare you to be sorry,
That you never knew till now,
Either whom to love, or how:
But be glad, as soon with me,
When you know that this is she,
Of whose beauty it was sung,
She shall make the old man young,
Keep the middle age at stay,
And let nothing high decay;
Till she be the reason, why,
All the world for love may die.

II.

HOW HE SAW HER.

BEHELD her on a day,

When her look out-flourish'd May:
And her dressing did out-brave
All the pride the fields then have :

Far I was from being stupid,

For I ran and call'd on Cupid ;

Love, if thou wilt ever see

Mark of glory, come with me;

Where's thy quiver? bend thy bow;

Here's a shaft,-thou art too slow!

And, withal, I did untie

Every cloud about his eye;

But he had not gain'd his sight

Sooner than he lost his might,
Or his courage; for away

Straight he ran, and durst not stay,

Letting bow and arrow fall:
Not for any threat, or call,

Could be brought once back to look.
I fool-hardy, there up took
Both the arrow he had quit,
And the bow, with thought to hit
This my object; but she threw
Such a lightning, as I drew,
At my face, that took my sight,
And my motion from me quite;
So that there I stood a stone,
Mock'd of all, and call'd of one,
(Which with grief and wrath I heard,)
Cupid's statue with a beard;
Or else one that play'd his ape,
In a Hercules his shape.

III.

WHAT HE SUFFERED.

FTER many scorns like these,
Which the prouder beauties please;
She content was to restore

Eyes and limbs, to hurt me more,
And would, on conditions, be
Reconciled to Love and me.
First, that I must kneeling yield
Both the bow and shaft I held
Unto her; which Love might take
At her hand, with oaths, to make
Me the scope of his next draft,
Aimed, with that self-same shaft.
He no sooner heard the law,
But the arrow home did draw,
And, to gain her by his art,
Left it sticking in my heart:

Which when she beheld to bleed,
She repented of the deed,

And would fain have chang'd the fate,
But the pity comes too late.
Loser-like, now, all my wreak
Is, that I have leave to speak;
And in either prose, or song,
To revenge me with my tongue;
Which how dexterously I do,
Hear, and make example too.

IV.

HER TRIUMPH.

EE the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my Lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd, do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would

ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!

Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that sooth her :

And from her arched brows, such a grace

Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall o' the snow
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the bever?
Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar?
Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!"

V.

HIS DISCOURSE WITH CUPID.

GOBLEST Charis, you that are
Both my fortune and my star,
And do govern more my blood,
Than the various moon the flood,
Hear, what late discourse of you,
Love and I have had; and true.
Mongst my Muses finding me,
Where he chanced your name to see
Set, and to this softer strain;
Sure, said he, if I have brain,
This, here sung, can be no other,
By description, but my mother!
So hath Homer praised her hair;
So Anacreon drawn the air
Of her face, and made to rise
Just about her sparkling eyes,
Both her brows bent like my bow.
By her looks I do her know,

2 The last two stanzas of the "Triumph" are given in the Devil's an Ass, so that the opening one alone can bear the stamp of "fifty years."

Which you call my shafts. And see!
Such my mother's blushes be,

As the bath your verse discloses
In her cheeks, of milk and roses;
Such as oft I wanton in :

And, above her even chin,

Have you placed the bank of kisses,
Where, you say, men gather blisses,
Ripen'd with a breath more sweet,
Than when flowers and west-winds meet.
Nay, her white and polish'd neck,
With the lace that doth it deck,
Is my mother's hearts of slain
Lovers, made into a chain!
And between each rising breast,
Lies the valley call'd my nest,
Where I sit and proyne my wings
After flight; and put new stings
To my shafts her very name
With my mother's is the same.
I confess all, I replied,

And the glass hangs by her side,
And the girdle 'bout her waist,
All is Venus, save unchaste.
But alas, thou seest the least
Of her good, who is the best

Of her sex but couldst thou, Love,
Call to mind the forms that strove
For the apple, and those three
Make in one, the same were she.
For this beauty yet doth hide
Something more than thou hast spied.
Outward grace weak love beguiles :
She is Venus when she smiles ;3
But she's Juno, when she walks,
And Minerva when she talks.

3 She is Venus when she smiles, &c.] From Angerianus: