3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve The conquest of thy beauty, It comes not from defect of love, But fear t' exceed my duty. 4 For not knowing that I sue to serve A saint of such perfection As all desire, but none deserve A place in her affection, 5 I rather choose to want relief Than venture the revealing; Where glory recommends the grief, Despair disdains the healing. 6 Silence in love betrays more woe Than words, though ne'er so witty; A beggar that is dumb, you know, May challenge double pity. 7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, My love for secret passion; He smarteth most who hides his smart, And sues for no compassion. A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, Within that temple where the vestal flame Was wont to burn: and passing by that way To see that buried dust of living fame, Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, For they this Queen attended; in whose stead Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, And cursed the access of that celestial thief. LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. 1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, On a rock, or in a cell, Calling home the smallest part That is missing of my heart, To bestow it where I may Meet a rival every day? If she undervalue me, What care I how fair she be? 2 Were her tresses angel gold, If a stranger may be bold, Unrebuked, unafraid, To convert them to a braid, And with little more ado Work them into bracelets, too; If the mine be grown so free, What care I how rich it be? 3 Were her hand as rich a prize As her hairs, or precious eyes, If she lay them out to take Kisses, for good manners' sake, And let every lover skip From her hand unto her lip; If she seem not chaste to me, What care I how chaste she be? 4 No; she must be perfect snow, In effect as well as show; Warming but as snow-balls do, Not like fire, by burning too; But when she by change hath got To her heart a second lot, Then if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be! JOSHUA SYLVESTER.