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It is not that I love you less
Than when before your feet I lay,
But to prevent the sad increase
Of hopeless love I keep away.
In vain, alas! for everything

Which I have known belongs to you;
Your form does to my fancy cling,

And make my old wounds bleed anew.
But vowed I have, and never must

Your banished servant trouble you;
For if I break you may mistrust

The vow I made to love you, too.

COME, LET US KISS AND PART. Since there's no hope, 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 heartThat thus so clearly I myself can free. Shake hands forever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen on 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 wouldst, when all have given him over,

From death to life thou mightst him yet recover. MICHAEL DRAYTON.


My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee,
Be governed by no other sway
Than purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.

But I will reign and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe;

But 'gainst my batteries if I find
Thou storm or vex me sore,
As if thou set me as a blind,

I'll never love thee more.

And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part,

Or dare to share with me,-
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
As ne'er were known before,
I'll deck and crown thy head with bays
And love thee more and more.


Ah, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire:


Pains of love are sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart,
E'en the tears they shed alone

Cure, like trickling balm, their smart.
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.


Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend.
Nor the golden gifts refuse

Which in youth sincere they send;
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.


I dare not ask a kiss;

I dare not beg a smile;

Lest having that or this,

I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share
Of my desires shall be,
Only to kiss that air

That lately kisséd thee.



Out upon it, I have loved
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover

In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on't is no praise
Is due at all to me;

Love with me had made no stays,
Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen in her place.


To see her is to love her,
And love but her forever;
For Nature made her what she is,

And never made another!


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