XXIII

LOVE, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn, Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary;

And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, Yet craved the alms of such as passed by.

I, like a man devout and charitable,

Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest;
With sighs and tears still furnishing his table
With what might make the miserable blest.
But this ungrateful for my good desert,
Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire,
Who gave consent to steal away my heart,

And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire.

Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus

bold,

No marvel then though charity grow cold.

XXIV

I HEAR Some say, "This man is not in love!"
"Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say.
"Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!"
O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray!
Because I loosely trifle in this sort,
As one that fain his sorrows would beguile,
You now suppose me all this time in sport,
And please yourself with this conceit the while.
Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not,
In greatest perils some men pleasant be,
Where fame by death is only to be got,
They resolute ! So stands the case with me.
Where other men in depth of passion cry,
I laugh at fortune, as in jest to die.

C

XXV

O, WHY should nature niggardly restrain
That foreign nations relish not our tongue ?
Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,
And crown the Pyren's with my living song.

But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!
Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!
There let my verse get glory in the north,
Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas.

And let the bards within that Irish isle,
To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,
Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile,
And mollify the slaughtering gallowglass;

And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,
Let wolves and bears be charmed with my

verse.

TO DESPAIR

XXVI

I EVER love where never hope appears,
Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,
And my life's hope would die but for despair;
My never certain joy breeds ever certain fears.
Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope;

Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear
As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere,
Though fear gives them more than a heavenly

scope.

Yet this large room is bounded with despair,

So my

love is still fettered with vain hope,

And liberty deprives him of his scope,

And thus am I imprisoned in the air.

Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head, my hope for sorrow will be dead.

Or all

XXVII

Is not love here as 'tis in other climes,
And differeth it as do the several nations?
Or hath it lost the virtue with the times,
Or in this island alt'reth with the fashions?

Or have our passions lesser power than theirs,
Who had less art them lively to express?
Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs,
Or in our fathers did she more transgress?

As

I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true any man's that memory can boast,

And my respects and services to you,

Equal with his that loves his mistress most.
Or nature must be partial in my cause,

Or only you do violate her laws.