Page:Hesperides Vol 1.djvu/98



I burn, I burn; and beg of you To quench or cool me with your dew. I fry in fire, and so consume, Although the pile be all perfume. Alas! the heat and death's the same, Whether by choice or common flame, To be in oil of roses drowned, Or water; where's the comfort found? Both bring one death; and I die here Unless you cool me with a tear: Alas! I call; but ah! I see Ye cool and comfort all but me.

To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall By the hand of him who is the general.

Sitting alone, as one forsook, Close by a silver-shedding brook, With hands held up to love, I wept; And after sorrows spent I slept: Then in a vision I did see A glorious form appear to me: A virgin's face she had; her dress Was like a sprightly Spartaness. A silver bow, with green silk strung, Down from her comely shoulders hung: And as she stood, the wanton air Dangled the ringlets of her hair.