CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the found that said 'I hate,'
To me that languish'd for her fake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
'I hate' fhe alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away;

'I hate' from hate away fhe threw,
And faved my life, faying-Not you.'

CXLVI.

Poor foul, the centre of my finful earth,
[Preff'd by] these rebel powers that thee array,
Why doft thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls fo coftly gay?
Why fo large coft, having fo fhort a lease,
Doft thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, foul, live thou upon thy fervant's lofs,
And let that pine to aggravate thy ftore;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So fhalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.