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THE PARTING.

AS men in Greenland left beheld the sun
From their horizon run,
And thought upon the sad half-year

Of cold and darkness they must suffer there:

So on my parting mistress did I look;
With such swoln eyes my farewell took ;
Ah, my fair star! said I;

Ah, those blest lands to which bright Thou dost fly!

In vain the men of learning comfort me,
And say I’m in a warm degree;
Say what they please, I say and swear

T is beyond eighty' at least, if you're not here.

It is, it is; I tremble with the frost,
And know that I the day have lost;
And those wild things which men they call,

I find to be but bears or foxes all.

Return, return, gay planet of mine East,
Of all that shines thou much the best ?
And, as thou now descend'st to sea,

More fair and fresh rise up from thence to me!

Thou, who in many a propriety,
So truly art the sun to me,

Add one more likeness (which I’m sure you can) And let me and my sun beget a man

MY PICTURE.

HERE, take my likeness with you, whilst 'tis so;
For, when from hence you go,
The next sun's rising will behold
Me pale, and lean, and old:
The man who did this picture draw,

Will swear next day my face he never saw.

I really believe, within a while,
If you upon this shadow smile,
Your presence will such vigour give
(Your presence, which makes all things
live!)
And absence so much alter me,
This will the substance, I the shadow, be.

When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,
And your bright looks awake it,
Ah! be not frighted if you see
The new-soul’d picture gaze on thee,
And hear it breathe a sigh or two ;

For those are the first things that it will do.

My rival-image will be then thought blest,
And laugh at me as dispossest;
But thou, who (if I know thee right)
I' th' substance dost not much delight,
Wilt rather send again for me,

Who then shall but my picture's picture be.

THE CONCEALMENT.

NO; to what purpose should I speak No, wretched heart! swell till you break. She cannot love me if she would ; And, to say truth, 't were pity that she should. No; to the grave thy sorrows bear; As silent as they will be there: Since that lov'd hand this mortal wound does give, So handsomely the thing contrive, That she may guiltless of it live; So perish, that her killing thee May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.

'T is nobler much for me, that I
By’ her beauty, not her anger, die:
This will look justly, and become
An execution; that, a martyrdom.
The censuring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder slain.

She must be angry, sure, if I should be
So bold to ask her to make me,
By being hers, happier than shel
I will not; *t is a milder fate

To fall by her not loving, than her hate,

And yet this death of mine, I fear, Will ominous to her appear; When, sound in every other part, Her sacrifice is found without an heart; For the last tempest of my death Shall sigh out that too with my breath. Then shall the world my noble ruin see, Some pity and some envy me; Then she herself, the mighty she, Shall grace my funerals with this truth; “"Twas only Love destroy'd the gentle youth

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THE MONOPOLY.

WHAT mines of sulphur in my breast do lie,
That feed th’ eternal burnings of my heart!
Not Ætna flames more fierce or constantly,
The sounding shop of Vulcan's smoky art:
Vulcan his shop has placed there,
And Cupid's forge is set-up here.

Here all those arrows' mortal heads are made,
That fly so thick unseen through yielding air ;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade,
Are Jealousy, Fear, Sadness, and Despair.
Ah, cruel God! and why to me
Gave you this curst monopoly

I have the trouble, not the gains, of it:—
Give me but the disposal of one dart,
And then (I'll ask no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my heart:
So sweet's revenge to me, that I,
Upon my foe would gladly die.

Deep into her bosom would I strike the dart,
Deeper than woman e're was struck by thee;
Thou giv'st them small wounds, and so far from.
th' heart, -
They flutter still about, inconstantly:
Curse on thy goodness, whom we find
Civil to none but woman-kind

Wain God! who woman dost thyself adore
Their wounded hearts do still retain the powers
To travel and to wander, as before:
Thy broken arrows 'twixt that sex and ours
So' unjustly are distributed,
They take the feathers, we the head.

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