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 Thy postures, Aritine. There it was, my deare, you sett. Make mee thy fancye. Farwell my hope and fortune. My hart lookes up. Love, preethee helpe my hart. I suffer and conseale. Is this a mocke. Sr as I had the honour. Rivers are mett. You that grimfaced death. I laugh at those. Forbeare, you grand Platonick hater. He take my oath. Tell me not, deare, I can not love. All sorrowes dry. Your antient augur. 'Tis not superstitious to pay. Lett him that writt.

"All of the Third of May we have but the first yeare.

"These I remember you have: To my Lady Duches of the Blossome Colour. To my Lady Brett on her Marriage. On my Lady St Allbon's Death. If Love be a Pilgrimage, &c. On the Barr betwene. Læta, the above, and the Reliquary."

All these poems of Herbert Aston's seem to have perished; as well as those, which his sister Constance Fowler was so desirous to obtain.

(4.) Catherine Thimelby, wife of Herbert Aston, was a collector, and writer of verses. Some pieces, of hers, in this volume, I have pointed out in the Notes.

(5.) I now come to the daughters of Sir Walter Aston. Of Lady Persall's genius for poetry I have found no traces; but that her