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BOOK I.

THE FIRST SONG.

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS,

My Muse for lofty pitches shall not rome,
But homely pipen of her native home:
And to the swaynes, love rural minstralsie,
Thus, deare Britannia, will I sing of thee.

High on the plaines of that renowned ile,
Which all men Beautie's Garden-plot enstyle,

A shepheard dwelt, whom fortune had made rich THE ARGUMENT.

With all the gifts that seely men bewitch. Marina's love, yeleep'd the faire,

Neere him a shepheardesse, for beautie's store Celand's disdaine, and her despaire,

Unparalell’d of any age before. Are the first wings my Musé puts on

Within those brests her face a fame did move,

Which never knew before what 'twas to love,
To reach the sacred Helicon.

Dazeling each shepheard's sight that view'd her
And, as the Persians, did idolatrise

[eyes, I THAT whileare, neere Tavie's' stragling spring, Unto the Sunne: they thought that Cinthia's light Unto my seely sheepe did use to sing,

Might well be spar'd, where she appeard in night. And plai'd to please myselfe, on rusticke reede, And as when many to the goale doe runne, Nor sought for baye, (the learned shepheard's The prize is given never but to one : meede)

So first, and onely Celandine was led, Bat as a swayne unkent fed on the plaines, Of destinies and Heaven much favoured, And made the Eccho umpire of my straines : To gaine this beautie, which I here do offer And drawne by time (altho' the weak’st of many) To memorie: his paynes (who would not proffer To sing those layes as yet unsung of any.

Paynes for such pleasures ?) were not great nor What neede I tune the swaines of Thessaly?

much, Or, bootelesse, adde to them of Arcadie ?

But that his labour's recompence was such No: faire Arcadia cannot be compleater,

As countervayled all: for she whose passion, My prayse may lesson, but not make thee greater. (And passion oft is love) whose inclination

Bent all her course to him-wards, let him know Tavie is a river, having his head in Dertmore, He was the elme whereby her vine did grow: in Devon, some few miles from Marie-Tayy, and Yea, told him, when his tongue began this taske, falls southward into 'Tamar: out of the same moore She knew not to deny when he would aske. riseth, running northward, another, called Tau: Finding his suite as quickly got as mord, which by the way the rather I speake of, because Celandine, in his thoughts, not well approv'd in the printed Malmesburie de Gest, Pontific. What none could disallow, his love grew fained, lib. 2. fol. 146. you reade, Fst in Donnonia And what he once affected, now disdained. cænobium Monachorum juxta Tau fluvium, quod But faire Marina (for so was she call’d) Tavistock vocatur: whereas upon Tau stands Having in Celanline her love installd, (neere the north-side of the shire) Taustocke, Affected so this faithlesse shepheard's boy, being no remnants of a monasterie: so that you That she was rapt beyond degree of joy. must there reade, juxta Tavi Fluvium, as in a Briefely, she could not live one houre without him, manuscript copie of Malmesburie, (the forme of And thought no joy like theirs that liv'd about him. the hand assuring Malmesburie's time) belonging This variable shepheard for a while to the abbey of S. Augustine, in Canterburie, i Did Nature's jewell, by his craft, beguile : have seen, in the hands of my very learned friend And still the perfecter her love did grow, M. Selden.

His did appeare more counterfeit in show.

Which she perceiving that his flame did slake, And knowing this, aye me! unhappy wight !
And lov'd her onely for bis trophie's sake : What meanes is left to helpe me in this plight
“ For he that's stuffed with a faithlesse tumour, And from that peevish, shooting, hood-winckt elfe,
Loves onely for his lust and for his humour:” To repossesse my love, my heart, myselfe?
And that he often, in his merry fit,

Onely this helpe I finde, which I elect,
Would say, his good came, ere he hop'd for it: Since what my life, nor can por will effect,
His thoughts for other subjects being prest, My ruine shall : and by it, I shall finde,
Esteeming that as nought, which he possest : • Death cures (when all belps faile) the grieved
“ For, what is gotten but with little paine,

minde, As little griefe we take to lose againe :"

And welcome here, (than love, a better guest) Well-minded Marine, grieving, thought it strange, That of all labours art the onely rest : That her iogratefull swaine did seeke for change. Whilst thus I live, all things discomfort give, Still by degrees her cares grew to the full,

The life is sure a death wherein I live : Joyes to the wane: heart-rending griefe did pull Save life and death do differ in this one, Her from herselfe, and she abandon'd all

That life hath ever cares, and death hath none. To cryes and teares, fruits of a funerall:

But if that he (disdainfull swaine) should know Running, the mountaines, fields, by wat'ry springs, That for his love I wrought my overthrow; Filling each cave with wofull ecchoings;

Will he not glory in't' and from my death Making in thousand places her complaint, Draw more delights, and give new joyes their And uttering to the trees what her tears meant. Admit he doe, yet better 'tis that I [breath? “For griefes conceal'd (proceeding from desire) Render myselfe to death than misery. Consame the more, as doth a close-pent fire.” I cannot live, thus barred from his sight, Whilst that the daye's sole eye doth guide the seas, Nor yet endure, in presence, any wight In his daye's journey to th’Antipodes :

Should love him but myselfe. O reason's eye, And all the time the jetty chariotere

How art thou blinded with wilde jealousie !
Hurles her black mantle through our hemisphere, and is it thus ? 'Then which shall bave my blood,
Under the covert of a sprouding pyne

Or certaine ruine, or uncertaine good ?
She sits and grieves for faithlesse Celandine. Why do I doubt? Are we not still adviz'd,
Beginping tbus : “ Alas! and must it be

That certaintie in all things best is priz'd?' That love, which thus torments and trouble me Then, if a certaine end can helpe my mone, In settling it, so small advice hath lent

Know death bath certaintie, but life hath none.' To make me captive, where enfranchisement “ Here is a mount, whose toppe seemes to despise Cannot be gotten? Nor where, like a slave, The farre inferiour vale that under lies : The office due to faithfull prisoners, have?

Who, like a great man rais'd aloft by Fate, Oh, cruel Celandine! why shouldst thou hate Measures his height by others' meane estate: Her, who to love thee was ordaind by Pate! Neere to whose foote there glides a silver flood, Should I not follow thee, and sacrifice

Falling from hence, I'll climbe unto my good : My wretched life to thy betraying eyes?

And by it finish love and reason's strife, Aye me! of all, my most unhappy lot,

And end my misery as well as life. What others would, thou mai'st, and yet wilt not. But as a coward's hartener in warre, [farre, Have I rejected those that me ador'd,

The stirring drumme, keepes lesser noyse from To be of biu, whom I adore, abhor'd ?

So seeme toe inurinuring wares tell io mine eare, And pass'd by others' teares, to make election l'hat guiltlesse bloud was never spilled there. Of one,, that should so pass by my affection? Then stay awhile; the beasts that haunt those I have: and see, the heav'nly powers intend

springs, . To punish sinners in what they offend !'

Of whom I heare the fearefull bellowings, May be he takes delight to see in me

May doe that deede, (as moved by my cry) The burning rage of hellish jealousie ;

Whereby my soule, as spotlesse ivory, [hepce, Tries if in fury any love appeares;

May turne from whence it came, and, freed from And bathes his joy within my floud of tea res. Be unpolluted of that foule offence. But if he lor'd to soile my spotlesse soule,

But why protract I time? Death is no stranger, And me amongst deceived majdcs enroule, And generous spirits never feare for danger : To publish to the world my open shame :

Death is a thing most naturall to us, Then, heart, take freedome; hence, accursed flame! And feare doth onely make it odious.”” And, as queene regent, in my heart shall move As when to seeke her foode abroad doth rove • Disdaine, that onely over-ruleth love :'

The nuncius of peace, the seely dove, By this infranchiz'd sure my thoughts shall be, Two sharpe set hawkes doe her on each side hen, And in the same sort love, as thou lov'st me. And she knowes not which way to flye from them: But what ! or can I cancell or unbinde [sign'd? Or like a shippe, that tossed to and fro That which my heart hath seal'd and love hath With winde and tyde, the winde doth sternely blow, No, no! griefe doth deceive me more each houre; And drives her to the maine, the tyde comes sore • Por, whoso truely loves, hath not that power.'

And hurles her backe againe towards the shore ; I wrong to say so, since of all 'tis knownc, And since her balast and her sailes do lacke,

Who yeelds to love doth leave to be her owne.' One brings her out, the other beates her backe; But what availes my living thus apart?

Till one of them encreasig more his shockes, Can I forget him? or out of my heart

Hurles her to shore, and rends her on the rockes : Can tears expulse his image? Surely no.

So stood she long, 'twixt love and reason tost, • We well may Nye the place, but not the woe: lintill despaire (who, were it comes, rules most) Love's fire is of a nature which by turnes

Wonne her to throw herselfe, to meete with death, Consumes in presence, and in absence burnes.' From off the rocke into the floud beneath.

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The waves that were above, when as she fell, And knew how she escaped had the food
For feare few backe againe into their well ; By meanes of this young swaine that neere her
Doubting ensuing times on them would frowne,

stood.
That they so rare a beauty help'd to drowne, Whereat, for griefe, she gan againe to faint,
Her fall, in griefe, did make the streame so rore, Redoubling thus ber cryes and sad complaint :
That sallen inurmurings filled all the shore. “ Alas! and is that likewise barr'd from me,

A shepheard (neere this tloud that fed his sheepe, Which for all persons else lies ever free? Who at this chance left grazing, and did weepe) Will life, nor death, nor aught abridge my paine ? Jlaving so 'sad an object for his eyes,

But live still dying, dye to live againe ? Left pipe and flocke, and in the water Ayes, The most unhappy 1! which finde most sure, To save a jewell, wbich was never sent

The wound of love, neglected, is past cure. 'To be possest by one sole element :

Most cruell god of love! (if such there be) But such a worke Nature dispos’d and gave,

That still to my desires art contrary ! Where all the elements concordance have.

Why should I not in reason this obtaine, He tooke her in his armes, for pittie cride, That as I love, I may be lov'd againe? And brought her to the river's further side : Alas! with thee, too, Nature playes her parts, Yea, and he sougbt by all his arte and paine, That fraın'd so great a discord 'tweene two harts : To bring her likewise to herselfe againe:

One flyes, and alwaies doth in hate persever ; While she that by her fall was senselesse left, The other followes, and in love growes ever. And almost in the waves had life bereft,

Why dost thou not extinguish cleane this name, lay long, as if her sweet immortall spirit

And plac't on him that best deserves the same? Was ied, soine other palace to inherit.

Why had not I affected some kinde youth, But as cleere Phæhus, when some foggy cloud Whose everie word had bene the word of truth? His brightnesse from the world a while doth shrowd, Who might have had to love, and lov'd to have Doth by degrees begiune to shew his light

So true a heart as I to Celand gave. Unto the view: or, as the queene of night, For Psyche's love 3! if beautie gave thee birth, Ia her increasing hornes, doth rounder grow, Or if thou hast attractive power on Earth, Till full and perfect she appeare in show:

Dame Venus' sweetest childe, require this love ; Such order in this mayde the shepheard spyes, Or Fate yeeld meanes my soule may hence reWhen she beganne tu shew the world her eyes.

move !" Who (thiokiog now that she had past death's Once se ing in a spring her drowned eyes, dreame,

“ () cruell beautie, cause of this !” she cryes; Occasion'd by her fall into the streame, " Mother of love, (my joye's most fatall knife) And that Hell's ferriman did then deliver

That work'st her death, by whom thyselfe hast Her to the other side th' infernall river)

life !"

(saint Said to the swaine : “ () Charon ! I am bound The youthfull swaine, that heard this loring More to thy kindnesse, than all else, that round So oftentimes to poure forth such complaint, Come thronging to thy buate: thou hast past over Within bis heart such true affection prais'd, The woful'st maide that ere these shades did cover: And did perceive kinde love and pittie rais a But pritbee, ferriman, direct my spright

His eninde to sighes; yea, beautie forced tliis, Where that blacke river runnes that Lethe hight, That all her griefe he thought was likewise his. That I of it (as other ghosts) may drinke, And having brought her what his ludge atfords, And never of the world, or love, more thinke." Sometime he wept with her, sometime with words The swaine perceiving by her words ill sorted, Would seeke to comfort ; when, alas, poor elfe! That she was wholy from herselfe transported; He needed then a comforter binselfe. And feariog lest those often idle fits

Daily whole troupes of griefe unto him came, Nlight cleane expel her oncollected wits :

For her who languish'd of another fame. “ Faire nymph,” said be, “the powers above deny If that she sigh'd, he thought him lov'd of her, So faire a beautie should so quickly dy:

When 'twas another saile her winde did stirre : The Heavens unto the world have made a loane, But had her sighes and teares bceve for this boy, And inust for you bare interest, three for one : Her sorrow bad beene lesse, and more her joy. Call Laeke your thoughts, o'er-cast with dolour's Long time in griefe he hid his love-made paines, night;

And did attend her walkes in woods and plaines; Do you not see the day, the heavens, the light? Bearing a fuell, wliich her sun-like eyes w you not know, in Pluto's darkesome place Infiam'd, and made his heart the sacritice. The light of Heaven did never shew his face? You bé, sad swaine! to slew it did not dare ; Do not your pulses beat, y' are warme, have breath, And she, least he should love, nye dy'd for finire, Your sense is rapt with feare, but not with death? She, ever-wailing, blam'd the powers above, I am not Charo nor of Pluto's hoast;

That night nor day give any rest to love. Nor is there Desh and bloud found in a ghost : He prais'd the Heavens in silence, oft was mute, Pat, as you see, a séely, shepheard's swaine, And thought with tears and sighs to winne his suite. Who, though my mecre revenas be the traine Once in the shade, when she by sleepe repos'd, Of milk-white sheepe, yet am I joy'd as much, And her cleare eyes 'twixt her faire lids enclos'd; In saving you, (0, who would not save such !) The shepheard-swaine beganne to batt and curse As ever was the wand'ring youth of Greece ?, That day unfortunate, which was the nurse That brought froni Colchos home the golden fleece.” Of all his sorrowes. He had given breath

The never-too-much-praised faire Marine, And life to her, which was his cause of death, Hearing those words, beleevid her cares and eyne:

· See Apuleius' Golden Ass, 4th, 5th, and 2 Jason.

6th v.

O Æsop's snake, that thirstest for his bloud, Yet, sweetest, grant me love to quench that dame, From whom thyselfe receiv'd'st a certayne good. Which burnes you now. Expel his worthlesse Thus ofteutimes unto himselfe alone

name, Would he recount his griefe, utter his mone ; Cleane roote him out by me, and in his place And after much debating did resolve

Let him inhabit, that will runne a race Rather his grandame Earth should cleane involve More true in love. It may be for your rest. His pining body, ere he would make knowne And when he sees her, who did love him best, To her, what tares love in his breast had sowne. Possessed by another, he will rate Yea, he would say, when griefe for speech hath The much of good he lost, when 'tis too late : “ 'Tis better never aske than be denide.” (cride; ). For what is in our powers, we little deeme,

But as the queene of rivers, fairest Thames, And things possest by others, best esteeme.' 'That for her buildings other fouds enflames If all this gaine you not a shepheard's wife, With greatest envie ; or the nymph of Kent, Yet give not death to him which gave you life.” That statelyest ships to sea hath ever sent;

Marine the faire, hearing his woing tale, Some baser groome, for lucre's hellish course, Perceived well what wall his thoughts did scale, Her channell having stopt, kept backe her source, and answer'd thus : “ I pray, sir swaine, what (Fill’d with disdaine) doth swell above her mounds, Is it to me to placke up by the roote [boote And overfloweth all the neighb'ring grounds, My former love, and in his place to sow Angry she teares up all that stops her way, As ill a seede, for any thing I know? And with more violence runnes to the sea : Rather 'gainst thee I mortall hate retaine, So the kind shepheard's griefe (which, long uppent, That seek'st to plant in me new cares, new paine : Grew more in powre, and longer in extent) Alas! th' hast kept my soule from death's sweet Forth of his heart inore violently thrust,

To give me over to a tyrant's hands; (bands, And all bis vow'd intentions quickly burst. Who on his racks will torture by his powre, Marina hearing sighes, to bim drew neere, This weakned, harmlesse body, every howre. And did entreate his cause of griefe to heare : Be you the judge, and see if reason's lawes But had she knowne her beauty was the sting, Give recoinpence of favour for this cause : That caused all that instant sorrowing ;

You from the streames of death brought life on Silence in bands her tongue had stronger kept,

shore ; And sh'ad not ask'd for what the shepheard wept. Releas'd one paine, to give me ten times more.

The swaine first, of all times, this best did thinke, For love's sake, let my thoughts in this be free; To show his love, whilst on the river's brinke Object no more your haplesse saving me: They sate alone, then thought, he next would That obligation which you thinke should binde, move her

Doth still encrease more hatred in my minde; With sighes and teares (true tokens of a lover): Yea, I doe think, more thankes to him were due And siuce she know what helpe from him she found, That would bereave my life, than unto you." When in the river she had else beene drown'd, The thunder-stroken swaine lean'd to a tree, He thinketh sure she cannot but grant this, As voyd of sense as weeping Niobe : To give reliefe to him, by whom she is :

Making his teares the instruments to wooe her, By this incited, said : “ Whom I adore,

The sea wherein his love should swimme unto her: Sole mistresse of my heart, I thee implore, And, could there flow from his two-headed fount, Doe not in bondage hold my freedome long; As great a floud as is the Hellespont, And since I life or death hold from your tongue, Within that deepe he would as willing wander, Suffer my heart to love, yea, dare to hope To meet bis Hero, as did ere Leander ! To get that good of love's intended scope. Mean while the nymph withdrew herselfe aside, Grant I may praise that light in you I see, And to a grove at hand her steps applide. And dying to myselfe, may live in thee.

With that sad sight (O! nad he never seene, Faire nymph, sarcease this death-alluring languish, His heart in better case had ever beene) So rare a beautie was not borne for anguish. Against his heart, against the streame he went, Why shouldst thou care for him that cares not for With this resolve, and with a full intent, thee?

When of that streame he had discovered Yea, most unworthy wight, seemes to abhorre'thee: The fount, the well-spring, or the bubbling head, And if he be as you doe here paint forth him, He there would sit, and with the well-drop vie, He thinkes you, best of beauties, are not worth him; That it before his eyes would first runne drie: That all the joyes of love will not quit cost But then he thought the god that haunts that For all lov'd freedome which by it is lost.

Jake, Within his heart such selfe-opinion dwels, The spoyling of his spring would not well take. That his conceit in this he thinkes excels;

And therefore leaving soone the christall flood, Accounting women beautie's sugred baites, Did take his way unto the neerest wood: That never catch, but fooles, with their deceits : • Who of himself barbours so vaine a thought, Trucly to love could never yet be brougir.'

See Museus and Ovid's Epistles; likewise the Then love that heart, where lies no faithlesse seed,

Testyad, a poem, in six books, begun by ChristoThat never wore dissimulation's weed :

pher Marlow, and finished by George Chapunan; Who duth account all beauties of the spring,

highly esteemed by Ben Jonson. Tbat jocund suinter-daies are ushering,

6 Deæ sanè et pimphæ, plerànque fontibus & As foiles to yours. But if this cannot inove fluviis præsunt apud poetas, quæ Ephydriades & Your minde to pittie, nor your heart to love; Naiades dictæ : verum & nobis tamen deum præ

ficere (sic Alpheum Tyberinum, & Rbenum, & id genus alios divos legimus) haud illicitum.

* Medway:

Seating himselfe within a darkesome cave,

At noone-time come, and are the first, I thinke, (Such places heavy Saturpists doe crave)

That (running thro' that cave) my waters drinke: Where yet the gladsome day was never seene, Within this rocke their sits a wofull wight, Nor Phoebus' piercing beams had ever beene, As voide of comfort as that cave of light; Fit for the synode house of those fell legions, And as I wot, occasion'd by the frownes That walke the mountains, and Silvanus' regions, Of some coy shepheardesse that haunts these Where Tragedie might have her full scope given,

dow.cs. From inen's aspects, and from the view to Heaven. This I doe know, (whos'ever wrought his care) Within the same some crannies did deliver

He is a man nye trealing to despaire. Into the midst thereof a pretty river;

Then hie thee thither, since 'tis charitie The nymph whereof came by out of the veynes To save a man; leave here thy Hocke with me: Of our first mother, having late tane paines For whilst thou sav'st him from the Stygian bay, In scouring of her channell all the way,

I'le keepe thy lambkins from all beasts of prey." From where it first beganne to leave the sea. The neernesse of the danger, (in his thougbt) And in her labour thus farre now had gone, As it doth ever, more compassion wrought : When comming thro' the cave, she heard that one So that, with reverence to the nymph, he went Spake thus: “ If I doe in my death persever, With winged speel, and hast'ocd to prerent Pittie may that effect, wbich love could never.” Th' untimely seisure of the greedy grave: By this she can conjecture 'twas some swaine, Breathlesse, at last, he came into the cave; Who, overladen by a maide's disdaine,

Where, by a sign directed to the man, Had here (as fittest) chosen out a place,

To comfort him be in this sort began : Where he might give a period to the race

Shepheard, all haile ! what mean these plaints? Of his loath'd life: which she (for pittie's sake)

This care Minding to hinder, div'd into her lake,

(Th’ image of death, true portrait of the grave) And hast'oed where the ever-teeming earth Why dost frequent? and waile thee under ground, Cnto her current gives a wished birth ;

From whence there never yet was pittie found? And by her new-delivered river's side,

Come fortle, and show thyselfe unto the light, Upon a banke of Now'rs, l.ad soone espide

Thy griefe to me. If there be ought that might Remond, young Remond, that full well could sing, Give any ease unto thy troubled minde, Ani tune his pipe at Pan's birth carolling : We joy as much to give, as thou to finde." Who for his nimble leaping, sweetest layes, The love-sicke swaine replide : “Remond, thou art A lawrell garland wore on holidayes;

The man alone to whom I would impart In framing of whose hand dame Nature swore My woes, more willing than to any swaine, There never was his like, nor should be more: That lives and feeds his sheepe upon the plaine. Whose locks (insnaring nets) were like the rayes, But vaine it is, and 'twonld increase my woes Wherewith the Sunne doth diaper the seas : By their relation, or to thee or those Which if they had beene cut, and hung upon That cannot remedie. Let it suffise, The snow-white cliffes of fertile Albion,

No fond distrust of thee makes me precise Would have allured more, to be their winner, To show my gricfe. Leave me then, and forgo Than all the diamonds' that are hidden in ber. This cave more sad, since I have made it so.' Him she accosted thus: “Swaine of the wreathe, Here teares broke forth. And Remond gan anew: Thou art not placed, only here to breathe; With such intreaties carncst to pursue Bat Nature, in thy framing, showes to me, His former suite, that he (thongh hardly) wan Doe good; and surely I myselle perswade, The slicpheard to disclose; aud thus began : Thou never wert for evill action made.

“ Know brivily, Remord, then, a heavenly face, In Hearen's consistory 'tras decree!),

Nature's idea, and perieccion's grace, Thatchoisest fruit should come froin choisest seede ; | Within my breast hath kindled such a fire, In baser vessels we doe ever put

That doth consume all things, except desire ; Basest materials, doe never shut

Wbieh daily doth increase, tho' alwaies burning, Those jewels most in estimation sct,

And I want teares, but lacke no cause of mourning: But in some curious costly cabinet.

· For he whom Love under his colours drawes, If I may judge by th' outward shape alone, May often want th' effect, but ne're the cause.'Withio, all vertues have convention :

Quoth th other, “ Have thy starres maligne bene * For't gives most lustre unto Vertue's feature, That their predominations sway so much (such, When she appeares cloth'd in a goodly creature.' Over the rest, that with a mikie aspect Halfe way the hill, neere to those aged trecs, The lives ard loves of shepheards doe affect? Whose insides are as hives for lab'ring bees, Then doe I thinke there is some greater hand, (As who should say, before their roote's were dead, which thy endeavours still doth countermand: For good workes' sake and almes, they harboured Wherefore I wish thee quench the flame, thus Those whom nought else did cover but the skies :)

mov'd, A path (uatrodden but of beasts) there lies, ' And never love, except thou be belov'd : Dirceting to a cave in yonder glade,

For such an humour every woman seiseth, Where all this forest's citizens, for shade,

She loves not him that plaineth, but that pleaseth. When much thou lovest, most disdaine comes on thee,

(thee; ? Julium Cæsarem, spe Margaritaram, Britan

And when thou thinkst to hold her, she flyes from diam petisse, scribit Sueton. in Jul. cap. 17. & ex

She follow'd, flyes; she fled from, followes poste, ji boracem factum Veneri genetrici dicâsse. Plin.

And loveth best where she is hated most. Llist. Nat. 9. cap. 35. De Margaritis verò nostris

'Tis ever notrd, both in maides and wives, consulas Cainden. iu Cornub. & Sorverset.

Their hearts and tongues are never relatives. VOL VI.

R

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