WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE
O, IF thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm,
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest,
Then thou would'st melt the ice out of thy breast,
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
O if thy pride did not our joys control,
What world of loving wonders should'st thou see
For if I saw thee once transformed in me
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;
Then all thy thoughts should in my visage shine,
And if that aught mischanced, thou should'st not
Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone; No, I would have my share in what were thine.
And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,
This happy harmony would make them none. ↓
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE
I DREAMT the nymph that o'er my fancy reigns
Came to a part whereas I paused alone;
Then said, 'What needs you in such sort to moan?
Have I not power to recompense your pains?
Lo, I conjure you by that loyal love
Which you profess, to cast those griefs apart;
It's long, dear love, since that you had
my heart,
Yet I was coy, your constancy to prove;
But having had a proof, I'll now be free:
I am the echo that your sighs resounds,
Your woes are mine, I suffer in your wounds,
Your passions all they sympathise in me.'
Thus whilst for kindness both began to weep,
My happiness evanished with the sleep.
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE
LET others of the world's decaying tell,
I envy not those of the golden age,
That did their careless thoughts for nought engage, But cloyed with all delights, lived long and well But as for me, I mind t' applaud my fate;
Though I was long in coming to the light,
Yet I may mount to fortune's highest height;
So great a good could never come too late.
I'm glad that it was not my chance to live
Till as that heavenly creature first was born,
Who as an angel doth the earth adorn
And buried virtue in the tomb revive:
For vice o'erflows the world with such a flood,
That in it all, save she, there is no good.
Look how the pale queen of the silent night
Doth cause the Ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour;
But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The Sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you, that are the sovereign of my heart,
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill:
So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my
1 From Davison's Poetical Rhapsody.
FAIR is my love that feeds among the lilies,
The lilies growing in that pleasant garden
Where Cupid's Mount, that well-beloved hill is,
And where the little god himself is Warden.
See where my love sits in the beds of spices
Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses,
And interlaced with curious devices
Which her from all the world apart incloses.
There doth she tune her lute for her delight,
And with sweet music makes the ground to move;
Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight
Wailing alone my unrespected love;
Not daring rush into so rare a place,
That gives to her, and she to it, a grace.
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