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"At court I'm tolde is beauty's throne,
"Where everye lady's paffing rare;
"That eaftern flow'rs, that fhame the fun,
"Are not fo glowing, not foe fayre.

"Then, earle, why didft thou leave the bedds.
"Where rofes and were lillys vie,
"To feek a primrose, whofe pale fhades
"Muft ficken-when thofe gaudes are bye?

“Mong rural beauties I was one,

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Among the fields wild flow'rs are faire; "Some countrye fwayne might mee have won, "And thought my beautie paffing rare.

"But, Leicester, (or I much am wronge) "Ortis not beautye lures thy vowes; "Rather ambition's gilded crowne

"Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.

“Then, Leicester, why, again I pleade, "(The injur'd furelye may repyne,) “ Why didft thou wed a countrye mayde, "When fome fayre princeffe might be thyne?

"Why didst thou praise my humble charmes, And, oh! then leave them to decaye?

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"Why didft thou win me to thy armes,

"Then leave me to mourne the live-long daye?

"The village maidens of the plaine
"Salute me lowly as they goe;
"Envious they marke my silken trayne,
"Nor thinke a counteffe can have woe.

"The fimple nymphs! they little knowe, "How farre more happy's their eftate"To fmile for joye--than sigh for woe"To be contente--than to be greate.

"Howe farre leffe blefle am I than them?
"Dailye to pyne and wafte with care!
"Like the poore plante, that from its flem
"Divided-feeles the chilling ayre.

"Nor (cruel earl!) can I enjoye "The humble charmes of folitude; "Your minions proude my peace destroye, "By fullen frownes or pratings rude.

"Lafle nyghte, as fad I chanc'd to flraye, "The village deathe-bell fmote my care; "They wink'dafyde, and seem'd to faye, "Counteffe, prepare-thy end is neare.

"And nowe, while happye peasantes fleepe, "Here I fet lonelye and forlorne; "No one to foothe mee as I weepe,

"Save phylomel on yonder thorne,

"My fpirits flag-my hopes decaye

"Still that dreade deathe-bell fmites my eare; "And many a boding feemes to faye,

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Countefs, prepare-thy end is neare."

Thus fore and fad that ladie griev'd,
In Cumnor Halle fo lone and dreare;
And manye a heartefelte fighe shee heav'd,
And let falle manye a bitter teare.

And ere the dawne of daye appear'd,
In Cumnor Hall fo lone and dreare,
Fulle manye a piercing screame was hearde,
And manye a crye of mortal feare.

The death-belle thrice was hearde to ring,
An aerial voyce was hearde to call,
And thrice the raven flapp'd it's wyng
Arounde the tow'rs of Cumnor Hall.

The mafliffe howl'd at village doore,
The oaks were fhatter'd on the greene;
Woe was the houre-for never more
That hapleffe counteffe e'er was feene.

And in that manor now no more

Is chearful feafte and fprightly balle;
For ever fince that drearye houre
Have fpirits haunted Cumnor Hall.

The village maides, with fearful glance,
Avoid the antient moffgrowne walle;
Nor ever leade the merrye dance,

Among the groves of Cumnor Halle.

Full manye a travellor oft hath figh'd,
And penfive wepte the countefs' falle,
As wand'ring onwards they've efpied

The haunted tow'rs of Cumnor Halle.

THE BITTER FRUITES OF JEALOUSIE.

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OE, shutte the doore, my Edwarde deere, "Shutte clofe the doore, I praye;

"Lette nae keene fearche my treadinge trace, "Ne liftene what I faie;

"Lette nane my fubtle entraunce knowe,

"My troubled motion fpie,

"Ne fmalleft funne-beame penetrate

"The tell-tale of mine eye."

So Alleyne fpake, as guilt-beftain'd
Some nooke he did explore,

When instincte ledde his pathlesse foote
To Edwarde's frendlie doore.

'Tween horrid dreede, and confcious fhame,

Fu' mighte was the ftrife,

While from his now-enfeebled hands

Downe dropp'd a reekinge knife.

What means that steele? What means that glow, Wherewith thy visage burnes?

Now ghafllie pale, alack, fucceeds,

And now the redde returnes.

"Saye, will yee plighte your promise deere,

"And wille yee plighte your faye,

"That what I now entrufte to yee
"Your tongue fhall ne'er betraye?"

Yea, I wille plight my promise deere,
And I will plight my faye,
That what yee fhall entrust to mee
My tongue shall ne'er betraye.

"Ah! was fhee not the faireft faire,

"More deare than life to mee? "Yet ne'er fhall I againe beholde "My Lucie fweete to fee."

Yea, fhee was faireft of the faire,
Deere as thy life to thee-

And haft thou scath'd with deadlie ftroke

Thy Lucie fweete to fee?

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