Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/390

 SIR JOHN SUCKLING

The sweet Philoclea, since she died, Lies by her Pirocles his side, Not by Amphialus.

Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough For difference crowns the brow Of those kind bouls that were The noble martyrs here. And if that be the only odds (As who can tell?), yc kinder gods, Give me the woman here!

��555 The Constant Lover

UT upon it, I have loved

Three whole days together' And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings

Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again

Such a constant lover.

But the spite on 't is, no praise

Is due at all to me. Love with me had made no stays,

Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,

And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.

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