Then LOVE and FOLLY, both adieu! Long have I been misled by you. FOLLY may new adventures try! But REASON says that "LOVE must die!" Yea, die indeed, although grieve him; For my cold heart cannot relieve him! Yet for her sake, whom once I loved, (Though all in vain, as time hath proved) I'll take the pain, if She consent! To write his Will and Testament. _LOVE's last Will and Testament._ My Spirit, I bequeath unto the air! My Body shall unto the earth repair! My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell; T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell! For well I ween, above nor under ground, A greater pain than that, may not be found. My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight, To EREBUS! and to Eternal Night! My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments, Distrust, Despair; all these my hourly rents, With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral: Unto OBLIVION, I bequeath them all! My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to REASON! My Cruelties, my Slights, and forgèd Treason, To Womankind! and to their seed, for aye! To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay. Reserving only for ALCILIA's part, Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart. For She is from the vulgar sort excepted; And had She, PHILOPARTHEN's love respected, Requiting it with like affection, She might have had the praise of all perfection. This done; if I have any Faith and Troth; To PHILOPARTHEN, I assign them both! For unto him, of right, they do belong Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong. TIME shall be sole Executor of my will; Who may these things, in order due fulfil, To warrant this my Testament for good; I have subscribed it, with my dying blood. And so he died, that all this bale had bred. And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead: For, sure, I fear, should I ALCILIA spy; She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye! Such power divine remaineth in her sight; To make him live again, in Death's despite. [Illustration] _The Sonnets following were written by the Author,_ _after he began to decline from his Passionate_ _Affection; and in them, he seemeth to_ _please himself with describing the_ _Vanity of Love, the Frailty_ _of Beauty, and the_ _sour fruits of_ _Repentance._ * * * * * I. Now have I spun the web of my own woes, And laboured long to purchase my own loss. Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows. And that which once seemed gold, now proves but dross. Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved. "He never tried that never was deceived."