Ah no; nor I my selfe: though my pure loue (Sweete _Ganymede_) to thee hath still beene pure, And euen till my last gaspe shall aie endure, Could euer thy obdurate beuty moue: Then cease oh Goddesse sonne (for sure thou art, A Goddesse sonne that canst resist desire) Cease thy hard heart, and entertaine loues fire, Within thy sacred breast: by Natures art. And as I loue thee more then any Creature, (Loue thee, because thy beautie is diuine; Loue thee, because my selfe, my soule is thine: Wholie deuoted to thy louelie feature), Euen so of all the vowels, I and V, Are dearest vnto me, as doth ensue. _SONNET. XX._ But now my Muse toyld with continuall care, Begins to faint, and slacke her former pace, Expecting fauour from that heauenly grace, That maie (in time) her feeble strength repaire. Till when (sweete youth) th'essence of my soule, (Thou that dost sit and sing at my hearts griefe. Thou that dost send thy shepheard no reliefe) Beholde, these lines; the sonnes of Teares and Dole. Ah had great _Colin_ chiefe of sheepheards all, Or gentle _Rowland_, my professed friend, Had they thy beautie, or my pennance pend, Greater had beene thy fame, and lesse my fall: But since that euerie one cannot be wittie, Pardon I craue of them, and of thee, pitty. FINIS. [Illustration] [Illustration] _AN ODE._ [Illustration] Nights were short, and daies were long; Blossoms on the Hauthorn's hung: _Philomœle_ (Night-Musiques-King) Tolde the comming of the spring. Whose sweete siluer-sounding voice Made the little birds reioice: Skipping light from spray to spray, Till _Aurora_ shew'd the day. Scarce might one see, when I might see (For such chaunces sudden bee) By a well of Marble-stone A Shepheard lying all alone. Weepe he did; and his weeping Made the fading flowers spring. _Daphnis_ was his name (I weene) Youngest Swaine of Summers Queene. When _Aurora_ saw 'twas he. Weepe she did for companie: Weepe she did for her sweete sonne That (when antique _Troy_ was wonne) Suffer'd death by lucklesse fate, Whom she now laments too late: And each morning (by Cocks crew) Showers downe her siluer dew. Whose teares (falling from their spring) Giue moysture to each liuing thing, That on earth increase and grow, Through power of their friendlie foe. Whose effect when _Flora_ felt, Teares, that did her bosome melt, (For who can resist teares often, But Shee whom no teares can soften?) Peering straite aboue the banks, Shew'd herselfe to giue her thanks. Wondring thus at Natures worke, (Wherein many maruailes lurke) Me thought I heard a dolefull noise, Consorted with a mournfull voice, Drawing nie to heare more plaine, Heare I did, vnto my paine,