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Why thus, my love, fo kynde befpeake,

Sweet lyppe, sweet eye, sweet blushynge cheeke,
Yet not a hearte to fave my paine,
O Venus, take thy giftes again:
Make not fo faire to cause our moane,

Or make a hearte that's lyke our owne.

HENRY AND CATHERINE.

I'

N antiente times in Britain's ifle

Lord Henrie was well knowne;

No knight was in his day more fam'd
Nor more deferv'd renowne;

His thoughts on honoure always ranne;

He never bow'd to love;

No ladie in the lande had charmes,

His frozen heart to move.

Midft all the nymphs where Catherine wente,

The fairest face fhe showes;

She was as brighte as morning funne;

And fweet as any rofe.

Altho' fhe was of lowe degree,

She fill did conquestes gaine;

For fcarce a youth who her behelde,
Efcap'd her pow'rfulle chaine:

But foone her eys their luftre lost,
Her cheekes grew pale and wan;
For pininge feiz'd her beauteous face,
And every grace was gone:
This fickneffe was to all unknowne;
Thus did the fair one wafte

Her time in fighs, and floodes of tears,
Or broken flumbers pafte.

Once in a dreame fhe called aloude, "O! Henry! I'me undone! "O cruel fate! O helpleffe maide! "My love can ne'er be knowne. "But 'tis the fate of woman kinde "The truth we must conceale; "I'll die ten thousande thousande deathes, "Ere I my love reveale."

A tender friend who watch'd the fair,

To Henrie hied away:

My lorde, fhe cries, we've found the caufe "Of Catherine's quick decay.

N

"She in a dreame the fecret tolde,

"Till now no mortal knew; "Alas! fhe now expiring lies, "And dies for love of you."

The gentle Henrie's foul was ftrucke,
His hearte began to flame:

"O! poor unhappy maid," he cried!
"Yet am I not to blame.

"O! Catherine! too, too modeft maid;

66

Thy love I never knewe,

"I'll eafe thy paine.”—As swifte as winde, To her bedfide he flewe.

86

Awake, he cried, thou lovely maid,

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Awake, awake, my dear!

"If I had only gueft thy love,

"Thou hadft not shedde a tear. "Tis Henrie calls; defpair no more; "Renew thy wonted charmes : "I'm come to call thee back from deathe, "And take thee to my arms."

That word reviv'd the lifeleffe maide,
She rais'd her drooping head,
And fmiling on her long-lov'd lorde,
She started from the bed;

Her armes about his neck fhe flung,

In extacy fhe cried,

"Will you be kind? Will you indeede? "O! love!"--And fo fhe died.

THE MAD SHEPHERDESS.

Y lodging it is on the cold ground,
and very hard is my fare;

ΜΥ

But that which troubles me moft is
the unkindefs of my dear;

Yet ftill I cry, O turn love,

and I prethee love turn to me,

For thou art the man that I long for,
and alack what remedy.

I'll crown thee with a garland of straw then,
and I'll marry thee with a rufhiring,

My frozen hopes fhall thaw then,
and merrily we will fing:

O turn to me my dear love,

And I prethee love turn to me, For thou art the man that alone canft procure my liberty.

But if thou wilt harden thy heart ftill,

and be deaf to my pittyful moan, Then I must endure the fmart flill, and tumble in ftraw all alone; Yet fill I cry, O turn love,

and I prethee love turn to me, For thou art the man that alone art the caufe of my mifery.

HUME AND MURRAY, OR FAIR ROSA

LINE'S ESCAPE.

OUT Hume, he dwelt in fair Scotland,

STOL

A worthy wight was he;

Whene'er he rais'd his burnish'd brand,

He caus'd his foes to flee.

And yet he was in prime of youth,

Of years fcant twenty-five; In deeds of war, to say the truth, He fear'd no man alive.

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