So I wand’ring but erewhile Through the garden of this Isle, Saw rich beauties, I confess, And in number numberless. Yea, so differing lovely too, That I had a world to do Ere I could set up my rest, Where to choose and choose the best. Thus I fondly fear’d, till Fate (Which I must confess in that Did a greater favour to me Than the world can malice do me) Show’d to me that matchless flower. Subject for this song of our; Whose perfection having eyed, Reason instantly espied That Desire, which ranged abroad, There would find a period: And no marvel if it might, For it there hath all delight, And in her hath nature placed What each several fair one graced. Let who list, for me, advance The admirèd flowers of France, Let who will praise and behold The reservèd Marigold; Let the sweet-breath’d Violet now Unto whom she pleaseth bow; And the fairest Lily spread Where she will her golden head; I have such a flower to wear That for those I do not care. Let the young and happy swains Playing on the Britain plains Court unblamed their shepherdesses, And with their gold curlèd tresses Toy uncensured, until I Grudge at their prosperity. Let all times, both present, past, And the age that shall be last, Vaunt the beauties they bring forth. I have found in one such worth, That content I neither care What the best before me were; Nor desire to live and see Who shall fair hereafter be; For I know the hand of Nature Will not make a fairer creature. _239._ _A Widow’s Hymn_ How near me came the hand of Death, When at my side he struck my dear, And took away the precious breath Which quicken’d my belovèd peer! How helpless am I thereby made! By day how grieved, by night how sad! And now my life’s delight is gone, --Alas! how am I left alone! The voice which I did more esteem Than music in her sweetest key, Those eyes which unto me did seem More comfortable than the day; Those now by me, as they have been, Shall never more be heard or seen; But what I once enjoy’d in them Shall seem hereafter as a dream. _239._ peer] companion. Lord! keep me faithful to the trust Which my dear spouse reposed in me: To him now dead preserve me just In all that should performèd be! For though our being man and wife Extendeth only to this life, Yet neither life nor death should end The being of a faithful friend. WILLIAM BROWNE, OF TAVISTOCK 1588-1643 _240._ _A Welcome_ _Welcome, welcome! do I sing,_ _Far more welcome than the spring;_ _He that parteth from you never_ _Shall enjoy a spring for ever._