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A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
In spite of physick, painting, pain, and co

XI.

Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my She bade good night, that kept my rest awa And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care To descant on the doubts of my decay.

Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-m
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whe "T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 'T may be, again to make me wander thit Wander, a word for shadows like mysel As take the pain, but cannot pluck the

XII.

Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the e My heart doth charge the watch; the morn Doth cite each moving sensem idle res

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ks all sleeping, nphs back peeping

Fearfully.

!l our pleasure known to us poor swains,

All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,8

Thy like ne'er was

For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan:" Poor Coridon

Must live alone,

Other help for him I see that there is none.

XVI.

Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,

And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,

As well as partial fancy 10 like: 11

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,

8 lass] The reading in Weelkes's Madrigals: old copy, "love."

9 moan] The reading in England's Helicon: old copy, "woe."

10 fancy] i e. love.

11 Corrected by a manuscript of the time.

[graphic]

In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me,
Living in thrall:

Heart is bleeding,

All help needing,

(O cruel speeding!) Fraughted with gall.

My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
My wether's bell rings doleful knell ;

My curtail dog that wont to have play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
With sighs so deep,

Procures to weep,

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. How sighs resound

Through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquish❜d men in bloody

fight!

Clear wells spring not,

Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not

Forth; they die :
Herds stand weeping,

6 no deal] i. e. in no degree. 7 With sighs so deep,

Procures, &c.] "The dog procures (i. e. manages matters) so as to weep." STEEVENS. The whole passage is probably corrupt. Shakespeare certainly wrote none of this wretched piece. Malone in his last edition printed it as given in Weelkes's Madrigals.

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