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That having ease me given,
With full delight,

I leave this light;

And take my flight

For heaven.

LXXVIII.

TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING.

ID me to live, and I will live

BID

Thy Protestant to be:

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,

A heart as sound and free,

As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,
To honour thy decree :

Or bid it languish quite away,

And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
While I have eyes to see:
And having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair,
Under that cypress tree :

Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;

And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.

LXXIX.

TO DAFFODILS.

AIR daffodils, we weep to see

FAL

You haste away so soon:

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not attained his noon.

Stay, stay,

Until the hasting day

Has run

But to the even-song ;

And, having prayed together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you or any thing.
We die,

As your hours do, and dry
Away,

Like to the summer's rain;

Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

LXXX.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

G

OOD morrow to the day so fair;

Good morning, sir, to you :

Good morrow to mine own torn hair

Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too;

Good morrow to each maid;

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew,
Wherein my love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me;

Alack and well-a-day!

For pity, sir, find out that bee,
Which bore my love away.

.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave;

I'll seek him in your eyes;

Nay, now I think they have made his grave I' the bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this,
The cold, cold earth doth shake him ;

But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green-turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed,
With bands of cowslips bind him ;
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed,
That I shall never find him.

LXXXI.

FAI

TO BLOSSOMS.

AIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight;

And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have

Their end, though ne'er so brave :
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you awhile: They glide

Into the grave.

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