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Sudden within a wood,

He struck his uncle down,

And beat his brains out of his head;
So fore he crackt his crown.

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To the constable she fent,

To have him apprehended;

And fhewed how far, in each degree,

He had the laws offended.

When Barnwell faw her drift,
To fea he got straightway;

Where fear and fting of confcience
Continually on him lay.

Unto the lord mayor then,

He did a letter write;

In which his own and Sarah's fault

He did at large recite.

Whereby the feized was,

And then to Ludlow fent;

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Where he was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd,

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VII.

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

Thefe beautiful Stanzas were written by GEORGE WITHER, of whom some account was given in the former part of this Volume; fee the fong intitled, THE SHEPHERDS RESOLUTION, Book II. Song XXI. In the firft Edition of this work only a small fragment of this Sonnet was inferted. It was afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's paftoral poem, intitled, "The Miftress of "Philarete," of which this Song makes a part. It is now given ftill more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8v0.

ENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,

HR

Pifh! unclafpe these wanton armes;
Sugred wounds can ne'er deceive me,

(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;

No common fnare

Can ever my affection chaine :

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Thy painted baits,

And poore deceits,

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

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I'me no flave to fuch, as you be;

Neither fhall that snowy breft, Rowling eye, and lip of ruby

Ever robb me of my rest:

Goe, go difplay

Thy beautie's ray

To fome more-foone enamour'd fwaine;

Thofe common wiles

Of fighs and fmiles

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Are all bestowed on me in vaine,

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I have elsewhere vowed a dutie ;

Turne away thy tempting eye;
Shew not me a painted beautie;
These impostures I defie:
My spirit lothes

Where gawdy clothes

And fained othes may love obtaine:

I love her fo,

Whofe looke fweares No;

That all your labours will be vaine.

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That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then stay thy tongue;

Thy mermaid fong

Is all bestowed on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that bafely dallies,

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Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;

Set ke no more to worke my harmes :

Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,

Who am proofe against your charmes :

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