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Hide, O, hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are of those that April wears.
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee."

1 The collection entitled The Passionate Pilgrim, &c., ends with

the Sonnet to Sundry Notes of Music which we have numbered

xix. Malone adds to the collection this exquisite song, of which we find the first verse in Measure for Measure. (See Illustrations.)

W E R S E S

AMONG THE

ADDITIONAL POEMS TO CHESTER'S LOVE'S MARTYR, 1601.

LET the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,"
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou, shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near

1 There is a curious coincidence in a passage in The Tempest : — “Now I will believe

That there are unicorns; that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix throne.”

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And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence :
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled

In a mutual flame from hence.

So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one ;
Two distincts, division none ;
Number there in love was slain.

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
"Twixt the turtle and his queen;
But in them it were a wonder.

So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix' sight:
Either was the other's mine.

1 Can, knows.

Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same ;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was called.

Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either-neither,
Simple were so well compounded:

That it cried how true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one !
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.

Whereupon it made this threne’
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love;
As chorus to their tragic scene.

THRENos.

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie

Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To etermity doth rest,

Leaving no posterity: —

'Twas not their infirmity
It was married chastity.

* Threne, funereal song.

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