I had the vow That thou hast now, And glances to discover Her love to me; And She to thee, Reads but old lessons over. She hath no smile That can beguile; But, as my thought, I know it: Yea to a hair, Both when, and where, And how, she will bestow it. What now is thine Was only mine, And first to me was given; Thou laugh'st at me! I laugh at thee! And thus we two are even. But I'll not mourn, But stay my turn; The wind may come about, Sir! And once again May bring me in; And help to bear you out, Sir! _The Crier._ [Illustration] Good folk, for gold or hire, But help me to a Crier! For my poor Heart is run astray After two Eyes, that passed this way. Oh yes! O yes! O yes! If there be any man, In town or country, can Bring me my Heart again; I'll please him for his pain. And by these marks, I will you show That only I this Heart do owe [_own_]: It is a wounded Heart, Wherein yet sticks the dart. Every piece sore hurt throughout it: Faith and Troth writ round about it. It was a tame Heart, and a dear; And never used to roam: But having got this haunt, I fear 'Twill hardly stay at home For God's sake, walking by the way, If you my Heart do see; Either impound it for a Stray. Or send it back to me! _To his coy Love._ A Canzonet. [Illustration] I pray thee leave! Love me no more! Call home the heart you gave me! I but in vain that Saint adore That can, but will not, save me. These poor half kisses kill me quite! Was ever man thus servèd? Amidst an ocean of delight, For pleasure to be starvèd. Show me no more those snowy breasts With azure riverets branchèd! Where whilst mine Eye with plenty feeds, Yet is my thirst not staunchèd. O TANTALUS, thy pains ne'er tell! By me thou art prevented: 'Tis _nothing_ to be plagued in Hell; But, _thus_, in Heaven, tormented! Clip me no more in those dear arms; Nor thy "Life's Comfort" call me: O these are but too powerful charms; And do but more enthrall me. But see how patient I am grown, In all this coil about thee! Come, nice Thing, let thy heart alone! I cannot live without thee! _A Hymn to his Lady's Birth-place._ [Sidenote: Coventry finely walled.] [Illustration] Coventry, that dost adorn The country [_County_] wherein I was born: Yet therein lies not thy praise; Why I should crown thy Towers with bays? 'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds; Thy Ports; nor thy proud Pyramids; Nor thy trophies of the Boar: But that She which I adore, (Which scarce Goodness's self can pair) First there breathing, blest thy air.