Page:Virgin's choice, or, Youth preferred to old age.pdf/7

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Like plants that kindly heat require,
To be maintain'd by constant fire.

That, without hope, 'twould die as soon,
A little hope—but I have none:
On air the poor Camelions thrive:
Deny'd even that, my love can live.

As toughest trees in storms are bred,
And grow in spite of winds, and spread;
The more the tempest tears and shakes,
My love, the deeper root it takes.

Despair, that Aconite does prove,
And certain death to other's love,
That poison never yet withstood,
Does nourish mine, and turn to food.

O! for what crime is my torn heart,
Condemn'd to suffer deathless smart?
Like sad Prometheus, thus to lie,
In endless pain, and never die.

The Queen of Frances's Lamentation.

Good people all both great and small,
that hear my strange relation,
A shocking shame, a wretched Queen,
in this sad situation.

Although in prison I'm confin'd,
my eyes are dim with weeping,
The Lord till release my troubled mind,
who hath my soul a keeping.