Dearest Fair, These dark witnesses we find Silent are; Night is dumb as well as blind. _Chorus._ Then whilst these black shades conceal us, We will scorn Th' envious Morn, And the Sun that would reveal us. Our flames shall thus their mutual light betray, And night, with these joys crown'd, outshine the day. 30 [_The Night._] Entitled in _1647_ 'Amori Notturni. A Dialogue between Philocharis and Chariessa'.] [Line: 2 and] or _1647_.] [Line: 8 who] that _1647_.] [Line: 18 surrounds] conceals _1647_.] The metrical arrangement here is very delightful, and the Chorus-adjustment particularly happy.] _Excuse for wishing her less Fair._ Why thy passion should it move That I wish'd thy beauty less? Fools desire what is above Power of nature to express; And to wish it had been more. Had been to outwish her store! If the flames within thine eye Did not too great heat inspire, Men might languish yet not die, At thy less ungentle fire; 10 And might on thy weaker light Gaze, and yet not lose their sight. Nor wouldst thou less fair appear, For detraction adds to thee; If some parts less beauteous were, Others would much fairer be: Nor can any part we know Best be styl'd, when all are so. Thus this great excess of light, Which now dazzles our weak eyes, 20 Would, eclips'd, appear more bright; And the only way to rise, Or to be more fair, for thee, Celia, is less fair to be. [_Excuse for wishing her less Fair._] _1647_ prefixes 'To Celia'.] [Line: 7 the] thy _1647_.] [Line: 9 yet] and _1647_.] [Line: 10 less ungentle] then less scorching _1647_.] [Line: 23 for] _1656_ 'than', which, like much else in this edition, is pure nonsense. Brydges thought that 'one cannot avoid admiring the ingenuity exercised in this continual play upon words'. But surely In things like this the play of words became A play of thought, and therefore shames all shame. ] _Chang'd, yet Constant._ Wrong me no more In thy complaint, Blam'd for inconstancy; I vow'd t' adore The fairest Saint, Nor chang'd whilst thou wert she: But if another thee outshine, Th' inconstancy is only thine. To be by such Blind fools admir'd, 10 Gives thee but small esteem, By whom as much Thou'dst be desir'd, Didst thou less beauteous seem: Sure why they love they know not well, Who why they should not cannot tell.