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THE TARANTULA OF LOVE.
But what shall I again in you review, But rigours, frosts, denials and disdains;And in that face from which doth aye ensue The streaming course of my incessant pains,A farther fairness, with a farther pride,Which till my death, so long with thee must bide.

SONNET.

Far from these eyes, and sundered from that face, Which with alluring looks hath me o'erta'en,I move unmoved, I change unchanged each place, And thereby think to mitigate my pain.And while I thusways from your sight remain, Remembering all the moments that are past,Yea every hour that I have spent in vain, In following you, where ye have fled as fast;Unto this dial horolage, at last, I me compare, where love the needle is;My heart the glass, which shows all grace is past, The thread my thought, the shadow but a kiss:See me, who then would morning know by noon;I am the dial, Sirs, and she the sun.

finis.

Printed by Mundell & Son, Edinburgh.

ERRATUM.-P. 123.1.8. for covenanters, read anti-covenanters.


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