509. UPON LOVE.
I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanc'd to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.
Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill'd
For being too-too kind?
510. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MRS. PENELOPE
WHEELER.
Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one,
Here, in my book's canonisation:
Late you come in; but you a saint shall be,
In chief, in this poetic liturgy.
511. ANOTHER UPON HER.
First, for your shape, the curious cannot show
Any one part that's dissonant in you:
And 'gainst your chaste behaviour there's no plea,
Since you are known to be Penelope.
Thus fair and clean you are, although there be
A mighty strife 'twixt form and chastity.
Form, beauty.
513. CROSS AND PILE.
Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair
Far less in number than our foul days are.