Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Tereu, Tereu, by and by;

That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lovely shown,
Made me think upon my own.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain.
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee.
Ruthless bears, they will not chear thee?
King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd:
Every one that flatters thee,
Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind,

Faithful friends are hard to find:

Every man will be thy friend,

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend :

But if store of crowns be scant,

No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such like flattering
Pity but he was a king.


If he be addict to vice,

Quickly him they will entice.
If to women he be bent,

They have him at commandment,
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewel his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need :
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou 'wake, he cannot sleep.
Thus of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.


WHEN thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against thyself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, tho' thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story

Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted :
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:


And I by this will be a gainer too.

For bending all my loving thoughts on thee;
The injuries that to myself I do,

Doing thee 'vantage, double 'vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,

That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I strait will halt;
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks, and on my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.

For thee, against myself I'll vow debate;
For I must ne'er love him, whom thou dost hate.

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,

And do not drop in for an after loss:

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Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,
Come in the rereward of a conquer'd woe!
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite;
But in the onset come, so shall I taste

At first the very worst of fortune's might.

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies force,

Some in their garments, tho' new fangl'd ill;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse :
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest.
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better, in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments cost;
Of more delight than hawks or horses be:
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast.
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take
All this away, and me most wretched make.




BUT do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
And life no longer than my love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.

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Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end;
I see a better state to me belongs,

Than that which on my humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie;
Oh! what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessed, fair, that fears no blot?
Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem to love me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's look the false heart's history

Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange :

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