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P a g e   1


S a m u e l   D A N I E L



Why should I sing in verse, why should I frame
These sad neglected notes for her deere sake?
Why should I offer up unto her name
The sweetest sacrifice my youth can make?
Why should I strive to make her live for ever,
That never deignes to give me joy to live?
Why should m' afflicted Muse so much endevour
Such honour unto cruelie to give?
If her defects have purchast her this fame,
What should her vertues doe, her smiles, her love?
If this her worst, how should her best inflame?
What passions would her milder favours move?
Favours (I thinke) would sense quite over-come,
And that makes happy Lovers ever dombe.


M i c h a e l   D R A Y T O N



Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part.
Nay, I have done; you get no more of me,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
When Faith is keeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes,
Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.


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