thou hast cut down in spight And scatter'd on the Ground its Fruit and Flowers Our Love 's extinct that with such Ardour burn'd And all my Hope of future Pleasure dyes Nature's chief Master-piece to Earth's return'd Deaf to my Passion and my grievous Cryes Sylvia the Tears which on thy Sepulchre Hereafter shall be shed or those now are Thô fruitless yet I offer them to thee Until the coming of th' Eternal Night Shall close these Eyes once happy with thy Sight And give me Eyes with which I thee may see To the WINDS A SONG I. YE Winds that in your hasty Flight Just kiss the Leaves and then away The Leaves that tremble with Delight And murmur at so short a stay Stop here and e're you further goe Give audience to a Lover's Woe II. Condoling Air to you I speak Since she is deaf to all my Grief You see my Heart will quickly break If careless She gives no Relief I 'm sure you 're troubled at my Pain For when I sigh you sigh again III. Go gentle Air fly to my Dear That thus with Love inflames my Breast And whisper softly in her Ear 'T is she that robs my Soul of Rest Express if possible such Moans May imitate my dying Groans IV. Or with thy rougher Breath make bold To toss the Treasure of her Hair Till thou dost all those Curls unfold Which cunningly Mens Hearts ensnare Try all thy Skill to break the Net That I like thee may Freedom get V. Then let some thicker Blasts arise And with her Face so sport and play Till the bright Rays of her fair Eyes Be qualify'd or ta'en away Make all those Charms which Men assail Of lesser force and less prevail The Silent Talkers PEACE Peace my Dear Corinna said To her enamour'd Corydon Lest we by Listners be betray'd And this our Happiness undone Our wishes answer ev'ry way And all my Thoughts center in thine If thou hast any thing to say Speak with thy Eyes I 'll speak with mine 'T is dangerous jesting with LOVE A SONG I. VEnture not with Love to jest Though he 's blind and but a Boy Whosoe'er would live at rest Must not dare with him to toy If you play he 'll seem to smile But conspire your Death the while II. â— my self was such a Sot Once to act a Lover's Part â—â—em'd to love but lov'd her not Sigh'd but sigh'd not from my Heart Long I did not this maintain E're my Play was turn'd to Pain III. â—s I gaz'd upon my Fair And of Love shew'd ev'ry Sign â—â—e play'd too the Flatterer With her Glances answering mine Till his Arrows Cupid took Pierc'd me with each Flatt'ring Look IV. Love the Jester will assail And when scorn'd the Mastry get Art I see can ne'e avail Him that plays the Counterfeit For I find now time is past Jest to Earnest turn'd at last V. Cupid drew with more desire Seeing me his Net despise Was more active with his Fire While he â—ound my heart was Ice Now my Sighs no pity â—ind But are scatter'd in the Wind. On WINE From a Fragment of Hesiod Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WINE chears our Hearts and makes us glad When Grief and Cares have left us sad But more than Nature does suffice Will cast a Cloud before our Eyes 'T will bind the Tongue the Feet and Hands E're we perceive with strongest Bands And us its Drunken Slaves will keep Till we our Freedom get by Sleep A DREAM ONE Night with Sleep my Senses being opprest Fixt on that Thought which still o'er rul'd my Brest â— Mourning Dress with Silence did appear â—â—e of her Sex was to my Soul most Dear â—ynthia methought I said and gaz'd awhile Where 's thy accustom'd Look and cheerful Smile What sad Occasion thus disturbs thee now â—nd hangs that gloomy Sadness on thy Brow â—e only sigh'd and off'ring to depart â—natch'd her Hand and laid it to my Heart â—nd whilst I in this trembling Rapture stand â—e took and held me by my other Hand â—hought my Heart 'twixt Joy and Grief would break â—dding with Tears My Dear I prithee speak â—nd grasp'd her fast she struggling to be gone â—ll wak'd but then I found my self alone Oft have I griev'd to think what this might prove And gather'd hence ill Omens to my Love But since I may too soon the Mischief find I 'll strive to chase the Fancy from my Mind The Restless Lover THE Birds to wanton in the Air desire The Salamander sports himself in Fire The Fish in Water plays And of the Earth Man ever takes possession at his Birth Only unhappy I who born to grieve In all these Elements at once do live Grief does with Air of Sighs my Mouth supply My wretched Body on cold Earth does lye The Streams which from mine Eyes flow Night and Day Cannot the Fire which burns my Heart allay The RESOLUTION A Sonnet of Petrarc out of Italian OH Time Oh rowling Heavens that fly so fast And cheat us Mortals ignorant and blind Oh fugitive Day swifter than Bird or Wind Your Frauds I see by all my Suff'rings past But pardon me 't is I my self must blame Nature that spreads your Wings and makes you fly To me gave Eyes that I my Ills might spy Yet I retain'd them to my Grief and Shame Time was I might and Time is still I may Direct my Steps in a securer way And end this sad Infinity of Ill Yet 't is not from thy Yoke O Love I part But the Effects I will reclaim my Heart Vertue 's no Chance but is acquir'd by Skill Invokes DEATH COME Terrour of the Wise and Valiant Come And with a Sigh let my griev'd Soul have room Amongst the Shades then shall my Cares be gone All there drink Waters of Oblivion So went the Heroes of the World and so Or soon or late all that are born must go Thou Death to me art welcome as a Friend For thou with Life putt'st to my Griefs an End Of this Poor Earth and Blast of Breath ally'd How easily by thee the Knot 's unty'd This Spring of Tears which trickles from mine Eyes Is Natural and when I dye it dryes Matter for Sighs I drew with my first Breath And now a Sigh ushers my Soul to Death So Cares and Griefs determine by Consent This Favour owe I to my Monument A Hint from the Beginning of the Third Satyr of Juvenal Laudo tamen vacuis quod sedem figere Cumis Destinet atque unum Civem donare Sibyllae c. A Neighbour now shall Aged Sibyl have For I 'll withdraw to Cuma's Sacred Cave Where I Vesuvius like when Years attire My Head with Snow shall still maintain my Fire In Hatred of the World my Days I 'll spend Till with Despight my wretched Life shall end My haughty Plumes I 've clipp'd I 'll soar no more So the Fates cut what they had spun before I was when Bad of Vertuous Men despis'd And by the Scourge
the Pain To love as you may be belov'd again All things should contribute to the Lover's Assistance An Idyllium of Moschus Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OF Loving Venus O Coelestial Light Hesperus Usher of the sable Night Thô paler than the Moon thou dost as far Transcend in Brightness ev'ry other Star To my Dear Shepherdess my Steps befriend â—â— Luna's stead do thou thy Conduct lend With waining Light not long before the Sun â—he rose and now by this her Course has run No base Intriegue this Night I undertake No Journey I for Common Bus'ness make Love and bear within me Cupid's Fire And all things should to Lovers Aid conspire CUPID turn'd Plowman An Idyllium of MOSCHUS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ONCE for his Pleasure LOVE would go Without his Quiver Toâ—ch or Bow He took with him a Ploughman's Whip And Corn as much as fill'd his Scrip Upon his shoulders hung the Load And thus equipp'd he went abroad With Bulls that often Yoaks had worn He plow'd the Ground and sow'd his Corn Then looking up to Heav'n with pride Thus mighty Iove he vilify'd Now scorch my Field and spoil my Seed Do and you shall repent the deed Europa's Bull I 'll make you bow Your haughty Neck and draw my Plow Love's Subtilty An Idyllium of Moschus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 BY Pisa's Walls does Old Alpheus flow To Sea and thence to 's Arethusa goe With Waters bearing Presents as they move â—eaves Flowers and Olive-Branches to his Love And of the Sacred Dust the Heroes raise When at Olympic Games they strive for Bays â—e sinks and dives with Art beneath the Sea â—nd to Sicilia does his Streams convey â—â—t still will he his Purity retain â—or is his Course obstructed by the Main â—Twas Love whose subtil Tricks will ne'er be done That taught the Am'rous River thus to run Love makes the best Poets An Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DArts Torch or Bow the Muses do not fear They love and follow Cupid ev'ry where And him whose Breast His Arrows cannot reach They all avoid refusing him to teach But if Love's Fire begin to warm a Heart They straight inspire it with their Sacred Art Let none with subtil Logick this deny For I too well the Truth can testify If Men or Gods I strive to celebrate My Musick 's Discord and my Verse is flat For Love or Lyciâ— when my Vein I show My Viol 's tun'd and sweetest Numbers flow The Death of ADONIS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of Theocritus Englished WHEN VENVS her ADONIS found Just slain and weltring on the Ground With Hair disorder'd gastly Look And Cheeks their Roses had forsook She bad the Cupids Fetch with speed The Boar that did this horrid Deed They to revenge Adonis Blood As quick as B0irds search'd all the Wood And straight the murd'rous Creature found Whom they with Chains securely bound And whilst his Net one o'er him flung â—o drag the Captive Boar along Another follow'd with his Bow â—ushing to make him faster go Who most unwillingly obey'd â—or he of VENVS was afraid No sooner she the Boar espy'd â—ut Oh! Thou cruel Beast she cry'd That hadst the Heart to wound this Thigh How couldst thou kill so sweet a Boy Great Goddess said the Boar and stood Trembling I swear by all that 's Good By thy Fair Self by Him I 've slain These pretty Hunters and this Chain I did no Harm this Youth intend Much less had Thought to kill your Friend I gaz'd and with my Passion strove For with his Charms I fell in Love At last that naked Thigh of his With Lovers Heat I ran to kiss Oh Fatal Cause of all my Woe 'T was then I gave the heedless Blow These Tusks with utmost Rigour draw Cut break or tear them from my Jaw 'T is just I should these Teeth remove Teeth that can have a Sense of Love Or this Revenge if yet too small Out off the Kissing Lips and all When Venus heard this humble Tale Pitty did o'er her Rage prevail She bad them straight his Chains unty And set the Boar at Liberty Who ne'er to Wood return'd again But follow'd Venus in her Train And when by Chance to Fire he came His Am'rous Tusks sing'd in the Flame Love a Spirit I Told Iacinta t'other Day As in a pleasant Bow'r we sate Sporting and Chatting Time away Of Love and of I know not what That Love 's a Spirit some maintain From whom say they we 're seldom free He gives us both Delight and Pain Yet him we neither touch nor see But when I view said I your Eyes I can perceive he thither skips He now about them hov'ring flyes And I can feel him on your Lips Commends the SPRING A Paraphrase on an Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 CLEODEMVS and MYRSON CLEO. WHICH Season Myrson does most Pleasure bring The Summer Autumn Winter or the Spring Does not the SUMMER When the Joyful Swain Pays Ceres Rights and fills his Barns with Grain Or is the AUTUMN best in your Esteem That drives no Shepherd to the distant Stream To quench his Thirst Or wanting common Food To range for Nuts and Acorns in the Wood. For then our Vines their Nectar Juice afford And Orchards with Ambrosian Fruits are stor'd Or can you the Cold WINTER more admire When Frost and Snow confine you to the Fire With Wine and Feasting Musick and Delights And pleasant Tales to shorten tedious Nights Or give you for the Flowry SPRING your Voice Pray tell me for I long to hear your Choice MYR SINCE God at first as we from Poets hear Distinguish'd these Four Seasons of the Year â—acred to Deities to whom we bow Our Judgment of them they will scarce allow Yet Cleodemus answ'ring your Request â—'ll tell my Thoughts which I esteem the best â—UMMER offends when Sol with fiercest Ray â—n my tir'd Limbs does Fainting Heats convey â—nd me as little can moist AUTUMN please â—ngendring Fogs That Season's all Disease â—uch less could I delight in WINTER's Snow 〈◊〉 Nipping Frosts or Tempests when they blow â—â—t Oh the SPRING Whose Name delights the Ear. Would a Continual Spring were all the Year 〈◊〉 th'others brought no Damage yet the Spring With purer Air makes Birds in Concert sing â—cloaths our Fields our Gardens and our Bowers Fresh Array adorn'd with various Flowers makes the Fruitful Earth when pregnant long â—ing forth and kindly nurse her Tender Young â—â—ds leave their Fodder and in Pastures keep â—â—d Day is equal to the Time of Sleep When God from Nothing made the Heav'ns and Earth And first gave all his Creatures Life and Birth Sure it was Spring and gentle Winds did blow And all Earth's Products full Perfection show To sweet Meat soure Sauce An Imitation of Theocritus or Anacreon AS Cupid from the Bees their Hony-stole Being stung he in the Anguish of his Soul Fled with his Dear-bought Purchace which he laid On Cynthia's
and thence dispers'd again Seem like a Cloud burst into Showres of Rain As once Enceladus our Architect Great Heaps on Heaps of Marble does erect And like a second Moses when that 's done Commands fresh Springs of Water â—rom the Stone When Heav'ns are clear this Man a second Iove From Earth exhales the Waters up above And thence in Cataracts can make them pour When iâ— the Sky there 's neither Cloud nor Showr Describes the place where Cynthia is sporting her self BEhold you ' Hill how it is swell'd with pride And that aspiring Oak upon its side With how much scorn they overlook the Plain Proud of the lovely Guest they entertain See with what hast those Crystal Springs do flow T' incorporate with the Silver Brook below There does my wanton Cynthia sporting stand Printing her Footsteps on the yielding sand Look Thyrsis how she fills with Joy the place She Baths her Feet and views her Angels Face Sure I've a Rival of that amorous Hill And those are streams of tears which thence distill His RETIREMENT A Purling Brook glides by this place away It 's Tribute to the Royal Thames to pay Nature makes Arbours here and ev'ry Tree Disposes all it's Boughs to favour me The Birds sweet Notes here Echo's do repeat Here gentle Winds do moderate Summers heat Clear is the Air and verdant is the Grass My Couch of Flowers the Stream's my Looking-glass Ah Cynthia All the Birds that hear and see Seem in their Language to condole with mee And as I mourn they pretty Songs do sing T' express thy Rigour and my Suffering Whilst to the list'ning Air I make my moan And sigh and murmur sitting here alone The very Air sighs at my misery The Waters murmur too in Sympathy A Character of his Friend W. B. Esq TO raise up Vertue when 't is sinking down Toyâ— less for Wealth than to acquire Renown T' inrich the Mind and crown the Head with Bays Subdue the Passions and the Soul to raise T' increase in Glory as in years he grows To bear ripe Fruit e'en e're his Blossom blows Faster than Honours Merits to repeat Keep the Sense cold but â—ill the Soul with heat Not Arts neglect nor slight Apollo's Lute Whilst of Astrea he 's in hot pursute In antient Tongues new Eloquence rehearse To master both the Greek and Latine Verse 'Gainst Sloth perpetual Hatred to maintain But with the Muses Friendship still retain Here upon Earth all others to transcend 〈◊〉 still the labour of my Noble Friend A Sonnet Of LOVE IF Love it be not what is this I feel If it be Love what Love is fain I 'd know If good why the effects severe and ill If bad why do its torments please me so If willingly I burn should I complain If 'gainst my will what helps it to lament Oh living Death oh most delightful Pain How comes all this if I do not consent If I consent 't is madness then to grieve Amidst these storms in a weak Boat I 'm tost Upon a dangerous Sea without relief No help from Reason but in Error lost Which way in this distraction shall I turn That freeze in Summer and in Winter burn On the Picture of Lucretia stabbing her self LVcrece inflam'd with Anger Grief and Shame Despising Life yet careful of her Fame Wounds her fair Breast thô arm'd with Innocence Could suffer Death but could not the Offence Her Steel was sharp her End with Glory Crown'd She sought Revenge and valu'd not the Wound This so appeas'd her rage that being Dead She look'd like one reveng'd not injured 'T was Beauty sinn'd said she then let it dye That forc'd me to this last extremity Were 't not for Beauty I had guiltless been For it was that made lustful Tarquin sin So I to Violence a Prey was made No Tears avail'd when Vertue was betray'd Haughty he was my Beauty proud as he They made me Slave but thus my self I free Complains being hindred the sight of his Nymph TO view these Walls each night I come alone And pay my Adoration to the Stone Whence Joy and Peace are influenc'd on me For 't is the Temple of my Deity As Nights and Days an anxious Wretch by stealth Creeps out to view the place which hoards his Wealth So to this House that keeps from me my Heart I come look traverse weep and then depart She 's fenc'd so strongly in on ev'ry side Thought enters but my Footsteps are deny'd Then sighs in vain I breathe and Tears let fall Kiss a cold Stone sometimes or hugg the Wall For like a Merchant that rough Seas has crost Near home is shipwrack'd and his Treasure lost So toss'd in storms of sorrow on firm ground I in a Sea of mine own Tears am drown'd The Pleas'd Captive A SONG A Glorious Angel coming on the Wing From Heav'n descended near a River side Where me alone my Destiny did bring To view the pleasant Fields without a Guide A Net she 'd laid drawn by a silken String So hid in Grass it could not be espy'd There was I captive taken in her Snare But Cynthia's chains who would not chuse to wear The Incurable A SONG ONE amongst Flowers green Leaves and the cool Grass Takes his delight and pleasant hours does pass This in a Cave can rest or quiet Grove And that in Wars forgets the Thoughts of Love Some vent their Sighs to th' Air and ease do find A Spring may quench the fever of the Mind But to my Grief no Remedy can bring Flowers Leaves Grass Cave Grove Wars the Air nor Spring On a Fair Beggar BArefoot and ragged with neglected Hair She whom the Heavens at once made poor and fair With humble voice and moving words did stay To beg an Alms of all who pass'd that way But thousands viewing her became her Prize Willingly yielding to her conquering Eyes And caught by her bright Hairs whilst careless she Makes them pay Homage to her Poverty So mean a Boon said I what can extort From that fair Mouth where wanton Love to sport Amidst the Pearls and Rubies we behold Nature on thee has all her Treasures spread Do but incline thy rich and pretious Head And those fair Locks shall pour down showres oâ— Gold A Sonnet Out of Italian from Claudio Achillini Written by a Nymph in her own Blood SINCE Cruel Thyrsis you my Torments slight And take no notice of my Amorous Flame â—n these Vermilion Letters thus I write My bloody Reasons to confirm the same These of my Passion are the lively Marks Which from my Veins you here in Blood see writ Touch them your Breast will kindle with the Sparks The ardent Characters are reâ—king yet Nor can my Pen alone my Heart explain My very Soul o're-charg'd with grief I fain Would send enclos'd herein the truth to prove And if I 've been too sparing of my Blood This is the Reason why I stopp'd the Flood I would not spoil the Face I 'd have you
and blow the Fire 'Gainst their Assaults let us our Forces join Dissolve the Weather by the strength of VVine A COMPLAINT WHEN first I here to Cynthia spake my Mind Near these sweet Streams which to our thoughts were kind â—h then in perfect Harmony we met â—nd to our Concert joyn'd the Rivulet â—he Flowers Plants Echo's Craggy Rocks and Dales â—he pleasant Meads proud Hills and humble Vales â—em'd then o're-joy'd at my Felicity Which now condole with me in Misery â—t still the wing'd Inhab'tants of the Wood â—g as my Change they had not understood â—ô sure the Melancholy Tunes they vent â—e rather Notes of Grief than Merriment â— Nymphs that in these Crystal Streams do dwell â—d after Sport rest quiet in your Cell â—ce clear as yours a Happy Life I led â—ô now o'erwhelm'd with Grief and live as dead Thus we through various Turns of Fortune run And sind no certain Rest till Life be done Love's Garden Translated from Girolamo Preti I To Love's Garden came with my Attire Was wove with Herbs of Hope and of Desire Branches of Trouble too by me were worn VVhose Flowers and Fruit were Prejudice and Scort 'T was wall'd with Pain and Anguish round about And from a thousand places issu'd out VVater of Grief and Air of Sighs beside Deceit and Cruelty did there reside Pride was the Keeper and to cultivate VVas Jealousie who still with mortal Hate Tare up my Happiness e're it could grow VVhilst like a Madman thus I strive to sow Under the Shadow of a Thought that 's kind I plow in Stone dig VVater stop the VVind Seeing his own Picture discourses of his Studies and Fortune â—HIS which the Shadow of my Face does give VVhose Counterfeit seems true and Art alive â—ows but the part of Man's Infirmity â—hich to Age subject must decay and dye â—t the Internal Nature's Excellence â—hich does this Earthly Shadow influence 〈◊〉 haps some Image may on Paper draw 〈◊〉 ose Essence ne'er of Time shall stand in awe 〈◊〉 by my Muses Help I hope to build 〈◊〉 Monuments as ne'er to Time shall yield 〈◊〉 er than from these Colours can be had 〈◊〉 to my Years shall greater Numbers add â— when some Noble VVork I enterprize â—t might advance my Honour to the Skies â—envious Fortune strikes a thousand ways 〈◊〉 royes my Labours and so blasts my Bays A Sonnet of Petrarc On the Death of Laura I Fill with Sighs the Air when e're I stand On yon' high Hill and thence survey the Plain Where Laura she who could my Heart command Did in her Earthly Paradise remain For now she 's dead and left me here alone Griev'd for her loss that I could gladly dye Drowning my Eyes in making of my Moan My Tears have left no space about me dry There is no Stone upon that craggy Hill Nor these sweet Fields an Herb or Plant do bring Nor Flower 'mongst all that do the Valleys â—ill Nor any drop of Water from the Spring Nor Beasts so wild that in the Woods do dwell But of my Grief for Laura's Death can tell Another of Petrarc On Laura's Death OH Death How has thy utmost Malice sped Thou hast Love's Kingdom quite impov'rished â—ropt Beauty's Flower put out our chiefest Light â—nd one small Stone deprives us of her sight â—ur Joy's extinct we 're left in Discontent â—ript of our Honour and our Ornament â—ut to her Fame thou ne're canst put an end â—hy Power but o're her Body did extend â—â—r her pure Soul above is glorify'd â—s brightest Star she 's there the Heaven's Pride â—nd here her Vertuous Deeds shall never dye â—t be admir'd by all Posterity 〈◊〉 w Glorious Angel thou that dwell'st above 〈◊〉 d with more powerful Charms attractest Love 〈◊〉 y'st thou be vanquish'd by my Piety 〈◊〉 here thy Beauty triumph'd over me Complains of the Court. IN a Great Court near a Fam'd River's side With Hopes of Greatness sed I still reside But where to fix I ne'er shall understand Foll'wing what flies and shunning what 's at hand Others from me the Gifts of Heav'n retain The lucky Fool does still the Purchace gain At Air I grasp and after Shadows strive Live for my Foes if this be said to live I slight my self love him that injures me And in soft Words find greatest Treachery I Mortal Hatred under Smiles behold And starve for want amidst great heaps of Gold Now Envy's Stroaks then Fortune's I sustain And want a Friend to whom I might complain I see th' ensuing Storm and no Help nigh Grieve for one Loss and straight another spy Being retired complains against the Court. REmote from Court where after Toil we get More Hopes than Fruit I now have chang'd my Seat And here retir'd with calmer Thoughts abide As Lea more smooth than troubled Thames does glide I need not Great Men here with Flatt'ry please No Pride nor Envy shall disturb my Ease If Love ensnares my Heart I from its Net Or servile Chain at least my Freedom get Since my new Flame brake out my old is death With Falshood kindled and with Scorn 't was fed And here the greatest Rigour pleases more Than all dissembled Favours could before There Love 's all Counterfeit and Friendship too And nothing else but Hate and Malice true If here my Nymph be cross or prove unkind Vanquish'd I triumph fighting Peace I find To Cynthia HARK how the little Birds do vie their Skill Saluting with their Tunes the welcome Day Spring does the Air with fragâ—ant Odours fill And the pleas'd Fields put on their best Array With great Serenity the Heavens move The Amorous Planet rules in fullest power All things their Cruelty away remove And seem to know of Joy the Time and Hower Only my Cynthia still this Glorious Morn Retains the frozen Temper of her Heart Of Birds and Flowers does imitation scorn Nor from her wonted Rigour will depart Ah change my Fair that harsh and cruel Mind Why should your Looks and Humour disagree Let not my Love such Opposition find You 're wo'd by Heav'n and Earth to favour me The Withered Rose GO Fading Rose a Present to my Fair To whose ungrateful Breast I gave my Heart And thô my Grief could ne'er affect her Care To her do thou my dying Mind impart I late have seen thee Lovely Sweet and Gay Perchance the influence of her Looks on thee Now pale as Death thy Beauty 's gone away Thou art the Emblem of my Misery Say if to cast an Eye on thee she deign Since no Relief from her my Life receives My Body soon as Bloodless will remain As thy once fresh but now decaying Leaves And thou perchance the Benefit may'st find For thy pale Looks and Message understood To cure thy dying Spoils she may be kind With Water of my Tears or with my Blood A Sonnet On the Death of Sylvia OH Death without regard to wrong or right All things at will thy boundless Rage devours This tender Plant