Thy hands are bloody, though[1] contrived of whiteness,
Both black and bloody, if they murder men;
Thy brows whereon my good hap doth depend,
Fairer than snow or lily in the spring;
Thy tongue which saves (?) at every sweet word's end,
That hard as marble, this a mortal sting:
I will not soothe thy follies, thou shalt prove
That Beauty is no Beauty without Love."
Page 34. "Though Amaryllis dance in green."—These lines are also in England's Helicon, 1600.
Page 36. "What poor astronomers are they."—This poem has been ascribed, without evidence, to Nicholas Breton.
Page 39. "Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet," &c.—Horace's ode to Pyrrha must have been in Campion's mind when he wrote this delightful lyric.
Page 40. "Since first I saw your face I resolved," &c.—Found in the Golden Garland of Princely Delights, and other collections.
Page 45. "Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air."—This poem was included in the 1633 edition of Joshua Sylvester's works, among the "Remains never till now imprinted." Sylvester has not a shadow of claim to it. There is a MS. copy of it in Harleian MS, 6910, fol. 150, where it is correctly assigned to Campion. The MS. gives it in the form of a sonnet:—
"Thrice toss those oaken ashes in the air.
And thrice three times tie up this true love's knot;
Thrice sit you down in this enchanted chair.
And murmur soft "She will or she will not."
Go, burn those poisoned weeds in that blue fire,
This cypress gathered out a dead man's grave,
- ↑ MS. "thoughts."
