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 forged 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. [Sidenote: _Chi non si fida, non vient ingannato._] [Illustration] 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. II. Once did I love, but more than once repent; When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten. Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent; And all for that, which Time hath made forgotten. O strange effects of time! which, once being lost, Make men secure of that they loved most. III.