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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tudor and Stuart Love Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Tudor and Stuart Love Songs
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. Potter Briscoe
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2008 [EBook #26398]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  +--------------------------------------------------------+
+  | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES                                    |
+  |                                                        |
+  | Small discrepancies in punctuation between the Table   |
+  | of Contents and poem titles have been retained.        |
+  |                                                        |
+  | "Cherry Ripe" and "Julia" are on pages 91 and 90       |
+  | respectively, rather than on pages 90 and 91 as listed |
+  | in the Table of Contents.                              |
+  |                                                        |
+  | John Dowland's poem is titled "True till death" in the |
+  | Table of Contents, but is titled "Love's constancy"    |
+  | on page 95.                                            |
+  +--------------------------------------------------------+
+
+_[Illustration]_
+
+[Illustration: TUDOR
+AND
+STUART
+LOVE
+SONGS
+
+COLLECTED BY
+J. POTTER BRISCOE]
+
+
+
+
+TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS
+
+SELECTED AND EDITED BY
+
+J. POTTER BRISCOE, F.R.S.L.
+Editor of "The Bibelots"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+E. P. DUTTON AND CO.
+31 W. 23^RD STREET
+NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+The spirit of reform which was developed during the early part of the
+sixteenth century brought about a desire on the part of young men of
+means to travel on the continent of Europe. This was for the purpose of
+making themselves acquainted with the politics, social life, literature,
+art, science, and commerce of the various nations of the same,
+especially of France, Spain, and Italy. These young Englishmen on their
+return introduced into the society in which they mixed not only the
+politenesses of these countries, but the wit of Italy, and the character
+of the poetry which was then in vogue in Southern Europe. Among these
+travellers during the reign of Henry the Eighth were Sir Thomas Wyatt
+and the Earl of Surrey. These courtiers possessed the poetical faculty,
+and therefore paid special attention to literary form. As a result they
+introduced the Sonnet of the Petrarchan type into England. The amorous
+verse of the inhabitants of these sunny climes took hold of the young
+Englishmen. Many men of rank and education, who did not regard
+themselves as of the world of letters, penned pleasant verse, much of it
+being of an amatory character based upon that of the Italians. During
+the reign of "Good Queen Bess" England was full of song. Of the writers
+of love verses William Watson occupied a very high, probably the
+highest, position during the time of Elizabeth. A glance at the Table of
+Contents of this volume will show that some of the best poets who were
+born between the years 1503 and 1679 have handed down to us poetical
+contributions of this character.
+
+Of the Elizabethan amatory verses only a small portion has been
+transmitted to us. That which possessed least literary merit did not
+long survive, and, no doubt, some of considerable merit has been lost
+too. The best has been preserved. Selections from these, arranged in
+chronological order, appear in this anthology. Richard Tottel printed
+his "Miscellany" in 1557. It is to this work, and to Richard Edwards'
+"Paradise of Dainty Devices," issued nineteen years later, that much of
+the best poetical literature of the sixteenth century has come down to
+us. The first-named passed through eight editions during thirty years:
+the last issue being dated 1587.
+
+From the amatory verses produced by seventy-one writers during the reign
+of Henry the Eighth and down to those of the early Georges one hundred
+and thirteen appear in this love anthology. The limitation of space
+prevents further biographical particulars being given than the years of
+birth and death, which will be found in the Table of Contents. As
+writers do not always agree in this respect, "The Dictionary of National
+Biography" has been taken as the authority.
+
+Whatever labour has been bestowed on the preparation of this anthology
+has not been in bulking it out to its present dimensions, but rather in
+keeping it within the prescribed limits; and, at the same time,
+furnishing these best examples of the love verses of the numerous
+authors who have been requisitioned for the purpose of this volume of
+"Tudor and Stuart Love Songs."
+
+J. P. B.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                              Page
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542).
+  The lost heart                                 1
+  The lover's appeal                             2
+
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517?-1547).
+  A sonnet--"Love that liveth," etc.             3
+  A vow to love faithfully                       4
+
+
+Anon., _circa_ 1530.
+  My sweet sweeting                              5
+
+
+George Turberville (1540?-1610?).
+  The lover to his lady                          6
+  Master George: his sonnet                      7
+  Turberville's answer and distich               8
+
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford (1550-1604).
+  The shepherd's commendation of his nymph       9
+  A renunciation                                11
+
+
+Barnaby Googe (?) (1535?-1594).
+  The complaint of Harpalus                     12
+
+
+George Gascoigne (1525-1577).
+  A strange passion of a lover                  14
+
+
+Sir Edward Dyer (   -1607).
+  To Phyllis, the fair shepherdess              16
+
+
+George Peele (1558?-1596-1597?).
+  The enamoured shepherd                        17
+
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618).
+  His love admits no rival                      18
+  The shepherd's description of love            20
+  The shepherdess' reply                        22
+
+
+Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke (1554-1628).
+  Love for love                                 24
+
+
+John Lyly (1554?-1606).
+  Cupid and Campaspe: Apelles' song             26
+
+
+Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586).
+  A ditty--"My true love," etc.                 27
+  Love is dead                                  28
+  He that loves                                 30
+
+
+Thomas Lodge (1558?-1625).
+  Love's wantonness                             31
+  Rosaline                                      32
+
+
+Thomas Watson (1557?-1592?).
+  The May Queen                                 34
+
+
+Nicholas Breton (1545?-1626?).
+  Phillida and Corydon                          35
+
+
+Thomas Campion (_circa_ 1619).
+  Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?            37
+  Cherry-ripe                                   38
+
+
+Robert Greene (1560?-1592).
+  Fair Samela                                   39
+  Kinds of love                                 41
+  Love and beauty                               42
+
+
+Robert Southwell (1561?-1595).
+  Love's servile lot                            43
+
+
+Sir John Harrington (1561-1612).
+  The heart of stone                            45
+
+
+Henry Constable (1561-1613).
+  A shepherd's song to his love                 46
+
+
+Samuel Daniel (1562-1619).
+  Love now, for roses fade                      47
+  Early love                                    48
+  Love is a sickness                            49
+
+
+Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593).
+  The passionate shepherd to his love           50
+
+
+Joshua Sylvester (1563-1618).
+  Love's omnipresence                           52
+
+
+Michael Drayton (1563-1631).
+  A parting, or Love's last chance              53
+
+
+William Shakespeare (1564-1616).
+  Who is Silvia?                                54
+  Sigh no more, ladies                          55
+  A morning song for Imogen                     56
+
+
+Anon. (_circa_ 1564).
+  The unfaithful shepherdess                    57
+
+
+Anon.
+  True loveliness                               59
+  A woman's reason                              61
+  Love will find out the way                    62
+  Phillida flouts me                            64
+  In praise of two                              66
+
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun (1570-1638).
+  To his forsaken mistress                      67
+  On women's inconstancy                        69
+
+
+Thomas Middleton (1570?-1627).
+  The three states of women                     71
+  My love and I must part                       72
+
+
+Ben Jonson (1573?-1637).
+  Perfect beauty                                73
+  To Celia                                      74
+
+
+Dr. John Donne (1573-1631).
+  A woman's constancy                           75
+  Sweetest love                                 76
+
+
+William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (1567?-1640).
+  To Aurora                                     77
+
+
+William Drummond (1585-1649).
+  Phillis                                       78
+
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher (1584-1616; 1579-1625).
+  Take those lips away                          79
+
+
+Francis Beaumont (1584-1616).
+  Tell me what is love                          80
+  Pining for love                               81
+  Fie on love                                   82
+
+
+John Wootton (_circa_ 1600).
+  Damoetas' praise of his Daphnis               83
+
+
+George Wither (1588-1667).
+  Shall I, wasting in despair                   85
+
+
+Thomas Carew (1598?-1639?).
+  To one who, when I praised my mistress'
+      beauty, said I was blind                  87
+  He that loves a rosy cheek                    88
+
+
+Nathaniel Field (1587-    ).
+  Matin song                                    89
+
+
+Robert Herrick (1591-1674).
+  Cherry ripe                                   90
+  Julia                                         91
+  To the virgins                                92
+  To Electra                                    93
+
+
+Bp. Henry King (1592-1669).
+  Dry those eyes                                94
+
+
+John Dowland (ed.) (1563?-1626?).
+  True till death                               95
+
+
+Thomas Weelkes (ed.) (1597-    ?).
+  Farewell, my joy                              96
+
+
+Sir William Davenant (1605-1606-1668).
+  The lark now leaves                           97
+
+
+Edmund Waller (1606-1687).
+  Go, lovely rose!                              98
+
+
+Thomas Randolph (1605-1635).
+  His mistress                                  99
+
+
+Henry Vaughan (1622-1695).
+  Chloris                                      100
+
+
+Anon. (_circa_ 1610).
+  Love me little, love me long                 101
+
+
+Capt. Tobias Hume (musical composer).
+  Fain would I change that note                102
+
+
+William Habington.
+  To roses in Castara's breast                 103
+
+
+John Danyel (1604?-1625?).
+  Thou pretty bird                             104
+
+
+Anon. (_temp._ James I.).
+  Once I lov'd a maiden fair                   105
+
+
+Sir John Suckling (1609-1642).
+  I pr'ythee send me back my heart             106
+  Orsame's song--"Why so pale," etc.           107
+
+
+Thomas Ford, composer (1607?-1648).
+  Since first I saw your face                  108
+
+
+Abraham Cowley (1618-1667).
+  The given heart                              110
+
+
+Sir Edward Sherburne (1618-1702).
+  Ice and fire                                 111
+
+
+Richard Lovelace (1618-1658).
+  Amarantha                                    112
+  To Althea, from prison                       113
+
+
+Alexander Brome (1620-1666).
+  A mock song                                  114
+
+
+Thomas Stanley (1625-1678).
+  Speaking and kissing                         115
+
+
+Sir George Etherege (1635?-1691).
+  Ladies' conquering eyes                      116
+
+
+Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset (1638-1706).
+  Dorinda                                      117
+
+
+Robert Gould (    -1709?).
+  Celia and Sylvia                             118
+
+
+Sir Charles Sedley (1639?-1701).
+  True love                                    119
+
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680).
+  Too late!                                    120
+  My mistress' heart                           121
+  Constancy                                    122
+
+
+Peter Anthony Motteux (1660-1718).
+  Man and woman                                123
+
+
+Matthew Prior (1664-1721).
+  Accept my heart                              124
+
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh (1664-1726).
+  An angelic woman                             125
+  I smile at love                              126
+
+
+George Granville (1667-1735).
+  Adieu l'amour                                127
+
+
+William Congreve (1670-1729).
+  Sabina wakes                                 128
+  Inconstancy                                  129
+
+
+Ambrose Philips (1675?-1709).
+  Love and hate                                130
+
+
+John Oldmixon (1673-1742).
+  I lately vowed                               131
+
+
+Dr. Isaac Watts (1674-1748).
+  Few happy matches                            132
+
+
+John Hughes (1677-1720).
+  Dorinda's conquest                           133
+
+
+George Farquhar (1678-1707).
+  Lovers in disguise                           134
+
+
+Thomas Parnell (1679-1718).
+  When thy beauty appears                      135
+
+
+
+
+LOVE VERSES
+  OF THE TUDOR &
+  STUART PERIODS.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST HEART.
+
+
+    Help me to seek! For I lost it there;
+    And, if that ye have found it, ye that be here,
+    And seek to convey it secretly,
+    Handle it soft and treat it tenderly,
+    Or else it will 'plain, and then appair.
+      But pray restore it mannerly,
+    Since that I do ask it thus honestly;
+    For to lose it, it sitteth me near;
+      Help me to seek!
+
+    Alas, and is there no remedy?
+    But have I thus lost it wilfully?
+    I-wis, it was a thing all too dear
+    To be bestowed, and wist not where!
+    It was mine heart! I pray you heartily
+      Help me to seek!
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER'S APPEAL.
+
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay! for shame,
+    To save thee from the blame
+    Of all my grief and grame.
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    That hath loved thee so long
+    In wealth and woe among:
+    And is thy heart so strong
+    As for to leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    That hath given thee my heart
+    Never for to depart
+    Neither for pain nor smart:
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    And have no more pity
+    Of him that loveth thee?
+    Alas! thy cruelty!
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+A SONNET.
+
+
+    Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
+    That built his seat within my captive breast,
+    Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
+    Oft in my face he doth his banner rest:
+    She that me taught to love and suffer pain,
+    My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
+    With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
+    Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire:
+    And coward Love then to the heart apace
+    Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and plains
+    His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
+    For my lord's guilt, thus faultless, bide I pains:
+        Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove;
+        Sweet is his death that takes his end by love!
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.
+
+
+
+
+A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED.
+
+
+    Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,
+    Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
+    In temperate heat where he is felt and seen,
+    In presence pressed of people mad or wise,
+    Set me in high, or yet in low degree,
+    In longest night, or in the shortest day,
+    In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be,
+    In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray,
+    Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,
+    In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood,
+    Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
+    Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good:
+    Hers will I be, and only with this thought
+    Content myself, although my chance be nought.
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.
+
+
+
+
+MY SWEET SWEETING.
+
+
+    Ah, my sweet sweeting!
+      My little pretty sweeting,
+    My sweeting will I love wherever I go:
+      She is so proper and pure,
+    Full steadfast, stable, and demure,
+      There is none such, you may be sure,
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+    In all this world, as thinketh me,
+    Is none so pleasant to my eye,
+    That I am glad so oft to see
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+    When I behold my sweeting sweet,
+    Her face, her hands, her mignon feet,
+    They seem to me there is none so sweet
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+Anon., circa 1530.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER TO HIS LADY.
+
+
+    My girl, thou gazest much
+        Upon the golden skies:
+    Would _I_ were Heaven! I would behold
+        Thee then with all mine eyes!
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+MASTER GEORGE: HIS SONNET OF THE PAINS OF LOVE.
+
+
+    Two lines shall tell the grief
+      That I by love sustain:
+    I burn, I flame, I faint, I freeze,
+      Of Hell I feel the pain.
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+TURBERVILLE'S ANSWER AND DISTICH TO THE SAME.
+
+
+    Two lines shall teach you how
+      To purchase love anew:
+    Let reason rule, where Love did reign,
+      And idle thoughts eschew.
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH.
+
+
+    What shepherd can express
+    The favour of her face
+    To whom, in this distress,
+    I do appeal for grace?
+      A thousand Cupids fly
+      About her gentle eye;
+
+    From which each throws a dart,
+    That kindleth soft sweet fire
+    Within my sighing heart,
+    Possessed by desire:
+      No sweeter life I try
+      Than in her love to die!
+
+    The lily in the field,
+    That glories in his white,
+    For pureness now must yield
+    And render up his right;
+      Heaven pictured in her face
+      Doth promise joy and grace.
+
+    Fair Cynthia's silver light,
+    That beats on running streams,
+    Compares not with her white,
+    Whose hairs are all sunbeams:
+      So bright my Nymph doth shine
+      As day unto my eyne!
+
+    With this, there is a red,
+    Exceeds the damask-rose,
+    Which in her cheeks is spread,
+    Where every favour grows;
+      In sky there is no star,
+      But she surmounts it far.
+
+    When Phoebus from the bed
+    Of Thetis doth arise,
+    The morning, blushing red,
+    In fair carnation-wise,
+      He shows in my Nymph's face,
+      As Queen of every grace.
+
+    This pleasant lily-white,
+    This taint of roseate red,
+    This Cynthia's silver light,
+    This sweet fair Dea spread,
+      These sunbeams in mine eye,
+      These beauties, make me die!
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
+
+
+
+
+A RENUNCIATION.
+
+
+    If women could be fair, and yet not fond,
+    Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
+    I would not marvel that they make men bond
+    By service long to purchase their good will;
+    But when I see how frail those creatures are,
+    I muse that men forget themselves so far.
+
+    To mark the choice they make, and how they change,
+    How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan;
+    Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,
+    These gentle birds that fly from man to man;
+    Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,
+    And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
+
+    Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,
+    To pass the time when nothing else can please,
+    And train them to our lure with subtle oath,
+    Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;
+    And then we say when we their fancy try,
+    To play with fools, O what a fool was I!
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPLAINT OF HARPALUS.
+
+
+    Phylida was a fair maid
+    And fresh as any flower,
+    Whom Harpalus the herdman prayed
+    To be his paramour.
+        Harpalus and eke Corin
+    Were herdmen, both yfere;
+    And Phylida could twist and spin,
+    And thereto sing full clear.
+        But Phylida was all too coy
+    For Harpalus to win;
+    For Corin was her only joy,
+    Who forced her not a pin.
+        How often would she flowers twine,
+    How often garlands make,
+    Of cowslips and of columbine,
+    And all for Corin's sake!
+        But Corin, he had hawks to lure,
+    And forcèd more the field;
+    Of lovers' law he took no cure,
+    For once he was beguiled.
+        Harpalus prevailèd nought;
+    His labour all was lost;
+    For he was farthest from her thoughts,
+    And yet he loved her most.
+        Therefore waxed he both pale and lean,
+    And dry as clot of clay;
+    His flesh it was consumèd clean,
+    His colour gone away....
+        His beasts he kept upon the hill,
+    And he sate in the dale;
+    And thus, with sighs and sorrows shrill,
+    He gan to tell his tale.
+        "O Harpalus,"--thus would he say--
+    "Unhappiest under sun,
+    The cause of thine unhappy day
+    By love was first begun!...
+        O Cupid, grant this my request,
+    And do not stop thine ears,
+    That she may feel within her breast
+    The pains of my despairs!
+        Of Corin that is careless,
+    That she may crave her fee,
+    As I have done in great distress,
+    That loved her faithfully!" ...
+
+Barnaby Googe (?).
+
+
+
+
+A STRANGE PASSION OF A LOVER.
+
+
+    Amid my bale I bathe in bliss,
+    I swim in Heaven, I sink in hell:
+    I find amends for every miss,
+    And yet my moan no tongue can tell.
+    I live and love (what would you more?)
+    As never lover lived before.
+
+    I laugh sometimes with little lust,
+    So jest I oft and feel no joy;
+    Mine eye is builded all on trust,
+    And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.
+    I live and lack, I lack and have;
+    I have and miss the thing I crave.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Then like the lark that passed the night
+    In heavy sleep with cares oppressed;
+    Yet when she spies the pleasant light,
+    She sends sweet notes from out her breast;
+    So sing I now because I think
+    How joys approach when sorrows shrink.
+
+    And as fair Philomene again
+    Can watch and sing when others sleep;
+    And taketh pleasure in her pain,
+    To wray the woe that makes her weep;
+    So sing I now for to bewray
+    The loathsome life I lead alway.
+
+    The which to thee, dear wench, I write,
+    Thou know'st my mirth but not my moan;
+    I pray God grant thee deep delight,
+    To live in joys when I am gone.
+    I cannot live; it will not be:
+    I die to think to part from thee.
+
+George Gascoigne.
+
+
+
+
+TO PHYLLIS, THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS.
+
+
+    My Phyllis hath the morning sun
+      At first to look upon her:
+    And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds
+      Her rising still to honour.
+    My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers
+      That smile when she treads on them:
+    And Phyllis hath a gallant flock
+      That leaps since she doth own them.
+    But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,
+      Alas, that she should have it!
+    It yields no mercy to desert
+      Nor peace to those that crave it.
+    Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,
+      Pray her regard my moan!
+    Sweet birds, when you sing to her,
+      To yield some pity woo her!
+    Sweet flowers, that she treads on,
+      Tell her, her beauty dreads one;
+    And if in life her love she'll not agree me,
+      Pray her before I die, she will come see me.
+
+Sir Edward Dyer.
+
+
+
+
+THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD.
+
+
+    O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed!
+            Thou mak'st my heart
+            A bloody mark,
+    With piercing shot to bleed.
+
+    Shoot soft, sweet Love! for fear thou shoot amiss,
+            For fear too keen
+            Thy arrows been,
+    And hit the heart where my Belovèd is.
+
+    Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
+            Shall be so blest,
+            Among the rest,
+    That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
+
+    Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,
+            This doth remain
+            To cease my pain:
+    I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.
+
+George Peele.
+
+
+
+
+HIS LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.
+
+
+    Shall I like a hermit dwell,
+    On a rock, or in a cell,
+    Calling home the smallest part
+    That is missing of my heart,
+    To bestow it where I may
+    Meet a rival every day?
+    If she undervalue me,
+    What care I how fair she be?
+
+    Were her tresses angel gold,
+    If a stranger may be bold,
+    Unrebuked, unafraid,
+    To convert them to a braid,
+    And with little more ado
+    Work them into bracelets too?
+    If the mine be grown so free,
+    What care I how rich it be?
+
+    Were her hand as rich a prize
+    As her hairs, or precious eyes,
+    If she lay them out to take
+    Kisses, for good manners' sake:
+    And let every lover skip
+    From her hand unto her lip;
+    If she seem not chaste to me,
+    What care I how chaste she be?
+
+    No; she must be perfect snow,
+    In effect as well as show;
+    Warming, but as snowballs do,
+    Not like fire, by burning too;
+    But when she by change hath got
+    To her heart a second lot,
+    Then if others share with me,
+    Farewell her, whate'er she be!
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.
+
+
+    "Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell!"--
+    It is that fountain, and that well,
+    Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
+    It is, perhaps, that passing bell
+    That tolls us all to heaven or hell;
+    And this is love, as I heard tell.
+
+    "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine!"--
+    It is a sunshine mix'd with rain;
+    It is a toothache, or like pain;
+    It is a game where none doth gain:
+    The lass saith No, and would full fain!
+    And this is love, as I hear saine.
+
+    "Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?"--
+    It is a "Yea," it is a "Nay,"
+    A pretty kind of sporting fray;
+    It is a thing will soon away;
+    Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may,
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+
+    "Yet what is love? good shepherd, show!"--
+    A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
+    A prize that passeth to and fro,
+    A thing for one, a thing for moe;
+    And he that proves shall find it so;
+    And, shepherd, this is love, I trow.
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.
+
+
+    If all the world and Love were young,
+    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
+    These pretty pleasures might me move
+    To live with thee and be thy love.
+
+    But time drives flocks from field to fold,
+    When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
+    Then Philomel becometh dumb,
+    The rest complains of cares to come.
+
+    The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
+    To wayward winter reckoning yields;
+    A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
+    Is fancy's spring: but sorrow's fall.
+
+    Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
+    Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
+    Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;--
+    In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
+
+    The belt of straw and ivy-buds,
+    Thy coral clasps and amber studs,--
+    All these in me no means can move,
+    To come to thee, and be thy love.
+
+    What should we talk of dainties, then,
+    Of better meat than's fit for men?
+    These are but vain: that's only good
+    Which God hath bless'd and sent for food.
+
+    But could youth last, and love still breed;
+    Had joys no date, nor age no need;
+    Then those delights my mind might move,
+    To live with thee, and be thy love.
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+[See "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," page 50.]
+
+
+
+
+LOVE FOR LOVE.
+
+
+    Away with these self-loving lads
+    Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
+    Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep,
+    In love of them that lie and sleep!
+      For Cupid is a merry god,
+      And forceth none to kiss the rod.
+
+    Sweet Cupid's shafts, like Destiny,
+    Do causeless good or ill decree;
+    Desert is borne out of his bow,
+    Reward upon his wing doth go:
+      What fools are they that have not known
+      That Love likes no laws but his own!
+
+    My songs, they be of Cynthia's praise:
+    I wear her rings on holy days;
+    On every tree I write her name,
+    And every day I read the same:
+      Where Honour Cupid's rival is,
+      There miracles are seen of his.
+
+    If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
+    I blot her name out of the tree;
+    If doubt do darken things held dear,
+    Then "farewell nothing," once a year:
+      For many run, but one must win;
+      Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
+
+    The worth that worthiness should move
+    Is love, which is the due of love;
+    And love as well the shepherd can
+    As can the mighty nobleman:--
+      Sweet nymph, 'tis true, you worthy be;
+      Yet, without love, nought worth to me.
+
+Fulke-Greville, Lord Brooke.
+
+
+
+
+CUPID AND MY CAMPASPE: APELLES' SONG.
+
+
+    Cupid and my Campaspe played
+    At cards for kisses: Cupid paid.
+    He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,
+    His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
+    Loses them too; then down he throws
+    The coral of his lip, the rose
+    Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how;
+    With these the crystal of his brow,
+    And then the dimple of his chin--
+    All these did my Campaspe win.
+    At last he set her both his eyes.--
+    She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
+    O Love, has she done this to thee?
+    What shall, alas! become of me?
+
+John Lyly.
+
+
+
+
+A DITTY.
+
+
+    My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
+    By just exchange one to the other given:
+    I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
+    There never was a better bargain driven:
+      My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
+
+    His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
+    My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
+    He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
+    I cherish his because in me it bides:
+      My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IS DEAD.
+
+
+    Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread;
+    For Love is dead:
+            All Love is dead, infected
+    With plague of deep disdain:
+            Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
+    And Faith fair scorn doth gain.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said
+    That Love is dead?
+            His death-bed, peacock's folly;
+    His winding-sheet is shame;
+            His will, false-seeming holy;
+    His sole executor, blame.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,
+    For Love is dead;
+            Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth
+    My mistress' marble heart;
+            Which epitaph containeth,
+    _Her eyes were once his dart_.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Alas, I lie; rage hath this error bred;
+    Love is not dead;
+            Love is not dead, but sleepeth
+    In his unmatchèd mind,
+            Where she his counsel keepeth,
+    Till due deserts she find:
+            Therefore from so vile fancy,
+            To call such wit a franzy,
+            Who Love can temper thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+HE THAT LOVES.
+
+
+    He that loves and fears to try,
+    Learns his mistress to deny.
+    Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it
+    That thy coldness makes her do it.
+    Is she silent, is she mute?
+    Silence fully grants thy suit.
+    Doth she pout and leave the room?
+    Then she goes to bid thee come.
+
+    Is she sick? why then be sure
+    She invites thee to the cure.
+    Doth she cross thy suit with "No"?
+    Tush! she loves to hear thee woo.
+    Doth she call the faith of men
+    In question? nay, she loves thee then,
+    And if e'er she makes a blot,
+    She's lost if that thou hit'st her not.
+
+    He that after ten denials
+    Doth attempt no further trials,
+    Hath no warrant to acquire
+    The dainties of his chaste desire.
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S WANTONNESS.
+
+
+    Love guards the roses of thy lips,
+      And flies about them like a bee:
+    If I approach, he forward skips,
+      And if I kiss, he stingeth me.
+    Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
+      And sleeps within their pretty shine;
+    And if I look, the boy will lower,
+      And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
+    Love works thy heart within his fire,
+     And in my tears doth firm the same;
+    And if I tempt, it will retire,
+      And of my plaints doth make a game.
+    Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
+      And pity me, and calm her eye;
+    Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
+      Then will I praise thy deity,
+    But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her
+    In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.
+
+Thomas Lodge.
+
+
+
+
+ROSALINE.
+
+
+    Like to the clear in highest sphere
+    Where all imperial glory shines,
+    Of selfsame colour is her hair
+    Whether unfolded, or in twines:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
+    Resembling heaven by every wink;
+    The Gods do fear whenas they glow,
+    And I do tremble when I think
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
+    That beautifies Aurora's face,
+    Or like the silver crimson shroud
+    That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace;
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Her lips are like two budded roses
+    Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
+    Within which bounds she balm encloses
+    Apt to entice a deity:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Her neck is like a stately tower
+    Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
+    To watch for glances every hour
+    From her divine and sacred eyes:
+      Heigh ho, for Rosaline!
+    Her paps are centres of delight,
+    Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
+    Where Nature moulds the dew of light
+    To feed perfection with the same:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    With orient pearl, with ruby red,
+    With marble white, with sapphire blue
+    Her body every way is fed,
+    Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Nature herself her shape admires;
+    The Gods are wounded in her sight;
+    And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
+    And at her eyes his brand doth light:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
+    The absence of fair Rosaline,
+    Since for a fair there's fairer none,
+    Nor for her virtues so divine:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline;
+    Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!
+
+Thomas Lodge.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAY QUEEN.
+
+
+    With fragrant flowers we strew the way,
+    And make this our chief holiday;
+    For though this clime were blest of yore,
+    Yet was it never proud before.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeignèd joy!
+
+    Now th' air is sweeter than sweet balm,
+    And satyrs dance about the palm;
+    Now earth, with verdure newly dight,
+    Gives perfect signs of her delight.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeignèd joy!
+
+    Now birds recall new harmony,
+    And trees do whistle melody;
+    Now everything that nature breeds,
+    Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeignèd joy!
+
+Thomas Watson.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
+
+
+    In the merry month of May,
+    In a morn by break of day,
+    With a troop of damsels playing,
+    Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,
+    When anon by a woodside,
+    Where as May was in his pride,
+    I espied, all alone,
+    Phillida and Corydon.
+
+    Much ado there was, God wot!
+    He would love, and she would not:
+    She said, never man was true:
+    He said, none was false to you.
+    He said, he had loved her long:
+    She said, love should have no wrong.
+
+    Corydon would kiss her then,
+    She said, maids must kiss no men,
+    Till they do for good and all;
+    Then she made the shepherd call
+    All the heavens to witness truth,
+    Never loved a truer youth.
+
+    Thus with many a pretty oath,
+    Yea, and nay, and faith and troth,
+    Such as silly shepherds use
+    When they will not love abuse;
+    Love, which had been long deluded,
+    Was with kisses sweet concluded:
+    And Phillida with garlands gay,
+    Was made the lady of the May.
+
+Richard Breton.
+
+
+
+
+SHALL I COME, SWEET LOVE?
+
+
+    Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee
+      When the evening beams are set?
+    Shall I not excluded be,
+      Will you find no feigned let?
+    Let me not, for pity, more
+    Tell the long hours at your door.
+
+    Who can tell what thief or foe,
+      In the covert of the night,
+    For his prey will work my woe,
+      Or through wicked foul despite?
+    So may I die unredrest
+    Ere my long love be possest.
+
+    But to let such dangers pass,
+      Which a lover's thoughts disdain,
+    'Tis enough in such a place
+      To attend love's joys in vain:
+    Do not mock me in thy bed,
+    While these cold nights freeze me dead.
+
+Thomas Campion.
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY-RIPE.
+
+
+    There is a garden in her face
+      Where roses and white lilies blow;
+    A heavenly paradise that place,
+      Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
+    There cherries grow that none may buy,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+    Those cherries fairly do enclose
+      Of orient pearl a double row,
+    Which when her lovely laughter shows,
+      They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow.
+    Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+    Her eyes like angels watch them still;
+      Her brows like bended bows do stand,
+    Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
+      All that approach with eye or hand
+    These sacred cherries to come nigh,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+Thomas Campion.
+
+
+
+
+FAIR SAMELA.
+
+
+    Like to Diana in her summer weed,
+    Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
+                              Goes fair Samela;
+
+    Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
+    When wash'd by Arethusa's fount they lie,
+                              Is fair Samela;
+
+    As fair Aurora in her morning gray,
+    Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love,
+                              Is fair Samela;
+
+    Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,
+    Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
+                              Shines fair Samela;
+
+    Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
+    Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
+                              Of fair Samela;
+
+    Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams,
+    Her brows, bright arches fram'd of ebony;
+                              Thus fair Samela
+
+    Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
+    And Juno in the show of majesty,
+                              (For she's Samela!)
+
+    Pallas in wit,--all three, if you well view,
+    For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity
+                              Yield to Samela.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+KINDS OF LOVE.
+
+
+    Foolish love is only folly;
+    Wanton love is too unholy;
+    Greedy love is covetous;
+    Idle love is frivolous;
+    But the gracious love is it
+    That doth prove the work of wit.
+
+    Beauty but deceives the eye;
+    Flattery leads the ear awry;
+    Wealth doth but enchant the wit;
+    Want, the overthrow of it;
+    While in Wisdom's worthy grace,
+    Virtue sees the sweetest face.
+
+    There hath Love found out his life,
+    Peace without all thought of strife;
+    Kindness in Discretion's care;
+    Truth, that clearly doth declare
+    Faith doth in true fancy prove,
+    Lust the excrements of Love.
+
+    Then in faith may fancy see
+    How my love may construèd be;
+    How it grows and what it seeks;
+    How it lives and what it likes;
+    So in highest grace regard it,
+    Or in lowest scorn discard it.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE AND BEAUTY.
+
+
+    Pretty twinkling starry eyes,
+    How did Nature first devise
+    Such a sparkling in your sight
+    As to give Love such delight,
+    As to make him like a fly,
+    Play with looks until he die?
+
+    Sure ye were not made at first
+    For such mischief to be curst;
+    As to kill Affection's care
+    That doth only truth declare;
+    Where worth's wonders never wither,
+    Love and Beauty live together.
+
+    Blessed eyes, then give your blessing,
+    That in passion's best expressing;
+    Love that only lives to grace ye,
+    May not suffer pride deface ye;
+    But in gentle thought's directions
+    Show the power of your perfections.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S SERVILE LOT.
+
+
+    Love mistress is of many minds,
+    Yet few know whom they serve;
+    They reckon least how little hope
+    Their service doth deserve.
+
+    The will she robbeth from the wit,
+    The sense from reason's lore;
+    She is delightful in the rind,
+    Corrupted in the core.
+
+    May never was the month of love,
+    For May is full of flowers;
+    But rather April, wet by kind;
+    For love is full of showers.
+
+    With soothing words inthrallèd souls
+    She chains in servile bands!
+    Her eye in silence hath a speech
+    Which eye best understands.
+
+    Her little sweet hath many sours,
+    Short hap, immortal harms;
+    Her loving looks are murdering darts,
+    Her songs bewitching charms.
+
+    Like winter rose, and summer ice,
+    Her joys are still untimely;
+    Before her hope, behind remorse,
+    Fair first, in fine unseemly.
+
+    Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,
+    Leave off your idle pain;
+    Seek other mistress for your minds,
+    Love's service is in vain.
+
+Robert Southwell.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF STONE.
+
+
+    Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose!
+    It was from cheeks that shame the rose,
+    From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
+    From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:
+    Whence comes my woe? as freely own;
+    Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
+
+    The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
+    The lips befitting words most kind,
+    The eye does tempt to love's desire,
+    And seems to say, "'Tis Cupid's fire;"
+    Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
+    Since nought doth say the heart of stone.
+
+    Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
+    Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek,--
+    Yet not a heart to save my pain?
+    O Venus, take thy gifts again!
+    Make not so fair to cause our moan,
+    Or make a heart that's like your own.
+
+John Harrington.
+
+
+
+
+A SHEPHERD'S SONG TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+    Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly,
+    White as the sun, fair as the lily,
+      Heigh-ho, how I do love thee!
+    I do love thee as my lambs
+    Are belovèd of their dams:
+      How blest I were if thou would'st prove me!
+
+    Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,
+    That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
+      Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
+    I do love thee as each flower
+    Loves the sun's life-giving power;
+      For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.
+
+    Diaphenia, like to all things blessèd,
+    When all thy praises are expressèd,
+      Dear joy, how I do love thee!
+    As the birds do love the spring,
+    Or the bees their careful king:
+      Then, in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
+
+Henry Constable.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE NOW, FOR ROSES FADE.
+
+
+    Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose,
+    The image of thy blush, and summer's honour!
+    Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose
+    That full of beauty Time bestows upon her:
+    No sooner spreads her glory in the air,
+    But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;
+    She then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd the fair.
+    So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine!
+
+    No April can revive thy withered flowers,
+    Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:
+    Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours,
+    Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
+      Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,
+      But love now, whilst thou may'st be loved again.
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+EARLY LOVE.
+
+
+    Ah! I remember well (and how can I
+    But evermore remember well) when first
+    Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was
+    The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd
+    And look'd upon each other, and conceived
+    Not what we ail'd--yet something we did ail;
+    And yet were well, and yet we were not well,
+    And what was our disease we could not tell.
+    Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look; and thus
+    In that first garden of our simpleness
+    We spent our childhood. But when years began
+    To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then
+    Would she with graver looks, with sweet, stern brow,
+    Check my presumption and my forwardness;
+      Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show
+      What she would have me, yet not have me know.
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IS A SICKNESS.
+
+
+    Love is a sickness full of woes,
+      All remedies refusing;
+    A plant that most with cutting grows,
+      Most barren with best using.
+                Why so?
+    More we enjoy it, more it dies,
+      If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
+                Heigh-ho!
+
+    Love is a torment of the mind,
+      A tempest everlasting;
+    And Jove hath made it of a kind
+      Not well, nor full nor fasting.
+                Why so?
+    More we enjoy it, more it dies,
+      If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
+                Heigh-ho!
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+    Come live with me, and be my love,
+    And we will all the pleasures prove
+    That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
+    Woods or steepy mountain yields.
+
+    And we will sit upon the rocks,
+    Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
+    By shallow rivers, to whose falls
+    Melodious birds sing madrigals.
+
+    And I will make thee beds of roses,
+    And a thousand fragrant posies:
+    A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
+    Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
+
+    A gown made of the finest wool,
+    Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull;
+    Fair lined slippers for the cold,
+    With buckles of the purest gold.
+
+    A belt of straw and ivy buds,
+    With coral clasps and amber studs:
+    And if these pleasures may thee move,
+    Come live with me and be my love.
+
+    The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
+    For thy delight each May morning.
+    If these delights thy mind may move,
+    Come live with me and be my love.
+
+Christopher Marlowe.
+
+[See "The Shepherdess's Reply to The Passionate Pilgrim," page 22.]
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.
+
+
+    Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
+    And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
+    Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
+    Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.
+
+    Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
+    And you, my Love, as humble and as low
+    As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
+    Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
+
+    Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
+    My love should shine on you like to the sun,
+    And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
+    Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
+
+    Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
+    Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
+
+J. Sylvester.
+
+
+
+
+A PARTING; OR, LOVE'S LAST CHANCE.
+
+
+    Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part:
+      Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
+    And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
+      That thus so clearly I myself can free.
+    Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
+      And, when we meet at any time again,
+    Be it not seen in either of our brows
+      That we one jot of former love retain.
+    Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
+      When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
+    When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
+      And Innocence is closing up his eyes;
+    Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
+    From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.
+
+Michael Drayton.
+
+
+
+
+WHO IS SILVIA?
+
+
+    Who is Silvia? What is she,
+      That all our swains commend her?
+    Holy, fair, and wise is she:
+      The heavens such grace did lend her,
+    That she might admired be.
+
+    Is she kind as she is fair?
+      For beauty lives with kindness.
+    Love doth to her eyes repair
+      To help him of his blindness,
+    And, being helped, inhabits there.
+
+    Then to Silvia let us sing,
+      That Silvia is excelling;
+    She excels each mortal thing
+      Upon the dull earth dwelling:
+    To her let us garlands bring.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.
+
+
+    Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
+      Men were deceivers ever,
+    One foot in sea and one on shore,
+      To one thing constant never:
+          Then sigh not so,
+          But let them go,
+      And be you blithe and bonny,
+    Converting all your sounds of woe
+      Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
+
+    Sing no more ditties, sing no moe
+      Of dumps so dull and heavy;
+    The fraud of men was ever so,
+      Since summer first was leafy.
+          Then sigh not so,
+          But let them go,
+      And be you blithe and bonny,
+    Converting all your sounds of woe
+      Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN.
+
+
+    Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
+      And Phoebus 'gins arise';
+    His steeds to water at those springs
+      On chalic'd flowers that lies;
+    And winking Mary-buds begin
+      To ope their golden eyes:
+    With everything that pretty is,
+      My lady sweet arise:
+            Arise, arise.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.
+
+
+    While that the sun with his beams hot
+    Scorchèd the fruits in vale and mountain,
+    Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
+    Sitting beside a crystal fountain,
+      In shadow of a green oak tree
+      Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    So long as I was in your sight
+    I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;
+    And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd
+    Burning in flames beyond all measure:
+      --Three days endured your love to me,
+      And it was lost in other three!
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Another Shepherd you did see
+    To whom your heart was soon enchainèd;
+    Full soon your love was leapt from me,
+    Full soon my place he had obtainèd.
+      Soon came a third, your love to win,
+      And we were out and he was in.
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Sure you have made me passing glad
+    That you your mind so soon removèd,
+    Before that I the leisure had
+    To choose you for my best belovèd:
+      For all your love was past and done
+      Two days before it was begun:--
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+Anon., circa 1564.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE LOVELINESS.
+
+
+    It is not Beauty I demand,
+    A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
+    Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
+    Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair:
+
+    Tell me not of your starry eyes,
+    Your lips that seem on roses fed,
+    Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies,
+    Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed:--
+
+    A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
+    Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
+    A breath that softer music speaks
+    Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,
+
+    These are but gauds: nay, what are lips?
+    Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
+    Whose brink when your adventurer slips,
+    Full oft he perisheth on them.
+
+    And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft
+    That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
+    Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft,
+    Do Greece or Ilium any good?
+
+    Eyes can with baleful ardour burn;
+    Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed;
+    There's many a white hand holds an urn
+    With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
+
+    For crystal brows there's nought within,
+    They are but empty cells for pride;
+    He who the Siren's hair would win
+    Is mostly strangled in the tide.
+
+    Give me, instead of Beauty's bust,
+    A tender heart, a loyal mind,
+    Which with temptation I would trust,
+    Yet never link'd with error find,--
+
+    One in whose gentle bosom I
+    Could pour my secret heart of woes,
+    Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly
+    That hides his murmurs in the rose,--
+
+    My earthly Comforter! whose love
+    So indefeasible might be,
+    That when my spirit wonn'd above,
+    Hers could not stay, for sympathy.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+A WOMAN'S REASON.
+
+
+    Love me not for comely grace,
+    For my pleasing eye or face,
+    Nor for any outward part;
+    No! nor for my constant heart,--
+      For these may fail, or turn to ill;
+        So thou and I shall sever:
+    Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,
+    And love me well, but know not why.
+      So hast thou the same reason still
+        To dote upon me ever!
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
+
+
+    Over the mountains
+      And over the waves,
+    Under the fountains
+      And under the graves;
+    Under floods that are deepest,
+      Which Neptune obey;
+    Over rocks that are steepest,
+      Love will find out the way.
+
+    Where there is no place
+      For the glow-worm to lie;
+    Where there is no space
+      For receipt of a fly;
+    Where the midge dares not venture,
+      Lest herself fast she lay;
+    If love come, he will enter
+      And soon find out his way.
+
+    You may esteem him
+      A child for his might;
+    Or you may deem him
+      A coward for his flight;
+    But if she whom Love doth honour
+      Be concealed from the day,
+    Set a thousand guards upon her,
+      Love will find out the way.
+
+    Some think to lose him
+      By having him confin'd,
+    And some do suppose him,
+      Poor thing, to be blind;
+    But if ne'er so close you wall him,
+      Do the best that you may;
+    Blind Love, if so ye call him,
+      Will find out his way.
+
+    You may train the eagle
+      To stoop to your fist;
+    Or you may inveigle
+      The Phoenix of the East;
+    The lioness, you may move her
+      To give o'er her prey;
+    But you will never stop a lover--
+      He will find out his way.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIDA FLOUTS ME.
+
+
+    Oh, what a plague is love!
+      I cannot bear it,
+    She will inconstant prove,
+      I greatly fear it;
+    It so torments my mind,
+      That my heart faileth,
+    She wavers with the wind,
+      As a ship saileth;
+    Please her the best I may,
+      She looks another way;
+    Alack and well a-day!
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+    I often heard her say
+      That she loved posies:
+    In the last month of May
+      I gave her roses,
+    Cowslips and gillyflow'rs
+      And the sweet lily,
+    I got to deck the bow'rs
+      Of my dear Philly;
+    She did them all disdain,
+      And threw them back again;
+    Therefore, 'tis flat and plain
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+    Which way soe'er I go,
+      She still torments me;
+    And whatsoe'er I do,
+      Nothing contents me:
+    I fade, and pine away
+      With grief and sorrow;
+    I fall quite to decay,
+      Like any shadow;
+    Since 'twill no better be,
+      I'll bear it patiently;
+    Yet all the world may see
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+Circa 1610.
+
+
+
+
+IN PRAISE OF TWO.
+
+
+    Faustina hath the fairest face,
+    And Phillida the better grace;
+      Both have mine eye enriched:
+    This sings full sweetly with her voice;
+    Her fingers make so sweet a noise:
+      Both have mine ear bewitched.
+    Ah me! sith Fates have so provided,
+    My heart, alas! must be divided.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS.
+
+
+    I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
+      And I might have gone near to love thee,
+    Had I not found the slightest prayer
+      That lips could speak, had power to move thee;
+    But I can let thee now alone,
+    As worthy to be loved by none.
+
+    I do confess thou'rt sweet, but find
+      Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
+    Thy favours are but like the wind,
+      That kisses everything it meets;
+    And since thou can with more than one,
+    Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.
+
+    The morning rose that untouch'd stands,
+      Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells;
+    But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
+      Her sweet no longer with her dwells.
+    But scent and beauty both are gone,
+    And leaves fall from her, one by one.
+
+    Such fate ere long will thee betide,
+      When thou hast handled been a while;
+    Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;--
+      And I will sigh, while some will smile,
+    To see thy love for more than one
+    Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun.
+
+
+
+
+ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.
+
+
+    I Lov'd thee once, I'll love no more,
+      Thine be the grief as is the blame;
+    Thou art not what thou wert before,
+      What reason I should be the same?
+        He that can love unlov'd again,
+        Hath better store of love than brain:
+      God send me love my debts to pay,
+      While unthrifts fool their love away.
+
+    Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
+      If thou hadst still continued mine;
+    Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own,
+      I might perchance have yet been thine.
+        But thou thy freedom did recall,
+        That if thou might elsewhere inthral;
+      And then how could I but disdain
+      A captive's captive to remain?
+
+    When new desires had conquer'd thee,
+      And chang'd the object of thy will,
+    It had been lethargy in me,
+      Not constancy to love thee still.
+        Yea it had been a sin to go
+        And prostitute affection so,
+      Since we are taught no prayers to say
+      To such as must to others pray.
+
+    Yet do thou glory in thy choice,
+      Thy choice of his good fortune's boast;
+    I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
+      To see him gain what I have lost;
+        The height of my disdain shall be,
+        To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
+      To love thee still, but go no more
+      A-begging to a beggar's door.
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN.
+
+
+    In a maiden-time profess'd,
+    Then we say that life is bless'd;
+    Tasting once the married life,
+    Then we only praise the wife;
+    There's but one state more to try,
+    Which makes women laugh or cry--
+    Widow, widow: of these three
+    The middle's best, and that give me.
+
+Thomas Middleton.
+
+
+
+
+MY LOVE AND I MUST PART.
+
+
+    Weep eyes, break heart!
+    My love and I must part.
+    Cruel fates true love do soonest sever;
+    O, I shall see thee never, never, never!
+    O, happy is the maid whose life takes end
+    Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend!
+    Weep eyes, break heart!
+    My love and I must part.
+
+Thomas Middleton.
+
+
+
+
+PERFECT BEAUTY.
+
+
+    It was a beauty that I saw,
+      So pure, so perfect, as the frame
+      Of all the universe was lame,
+    To that one figure, could I draw,
+    Or give least line of it a law!
+      A skein of silk without a knot,
+    A fair march made without a halt,
+    A curious form without a fault,
+      A printed book without a blot,
+      All beauty, and without a spot!
+
+Ben Jonson.
+
+
+
+
+TO CELIA.
+
+
+    Drink to me only with thine eyes,
+      And I will pledge with mine;
+    Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
+      And I'll not look for wine.
+    The thirst that from the soul doth rise
+      Doth ask a drink divine;
+    But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
+      I would not change for thine.
+
+    I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
+      Not so much honouring thee
+    As giving it a hope that there
+      It could not withered be:
+    But thou thereon didst only breathe
+      And sent'st it back to me;
+    Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
+      Not of itself, but thee!
+
+Ben Jonson.
+
+
+
+
+A WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
+    To-morrow, when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?
+    Wilt thou then ante-date some new-made vow?
+      Or say, that now
+    We are not just those persons which we were?
+    Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
+    Of Love and his wrath any may forswear?
+      Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
+    So lovers' contracts, images of those,
+    Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose?
+      Or, your own end to justify
+    For having purposed change and falsehood, you
+    Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
+    Vain lunatic! Against these scapes I could
+      Dispute and conquer if I would;
+    Which I abstain to do;
+    For, by to-morrow, I may think so too.
+
+Dr. John Donne.
+
+
+
+
+SWEETEST LOVE.
+
+
+    Sweetest love, I do not go
+    For weariness of thee,
+    Nor in hope the world can show
+    A fitter love for me.
+    But since that I
+    Must die at last, 'tis best
+    Thus to use myself in jest
+    By feigned death to die.
+
+    Yester-night the sun went hence,
+    And yet is here to-day;
+    He hath no desire nor sense,
+    Nor half so short a way:
+    Then fear not me,
+    But believe that I shall make
+    Hastier journeys, since I take
+    More wings and spurs than he.
+
+Dr. John Donne.
+
+
+
+
+TO AURORA.
+
+
+    O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm,
+    And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest;
+    Then would'st thou melt the ice out of thy breast,
+    And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
+    O, if thy pride did not our joys control,
+    What world of loving wonders should'st thou see!
+    For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,
+    Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;
+    Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,
+    And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan
+    Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone:
+    No, I would have my share in what were thine:
+      And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,
+      This happy harmony would make them none.
+
+W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIS.
+
+
+    In petticoat of green,
+    Her hair about her eyne,
+    Phillis, beneath an oak,
+    Sat milking her fair flock.
+    'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight!
+    Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.
+
+William Drummond.
+
+
+
+
+TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.
+
+
+    Take, O, take those lips away,
+      That so sweetly were forsworn;
+    And those eyes, the break of day,
+      Lights that do mislead the morn:
+    But my kisses bring again, bring again;
+    Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.
+
+    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 icy chains by thee.
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher.
+
+
+
+
+TELL ME, WHAT IS LOVE?
+
+
+    Tell me, dearest, what is love?
+    'Tis a lightning from above,
+    'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
+    'Tis a boy they call Desire.
+          'Tis a grave
+          Gapes to have
+    Those poor fools that long to prove.
+
+    Tell me more, are women true?
+    Yes, some are, and some as you;
+    Some are willing, some are strange,
+    Since you men first taught to change.
+          And till truth
+          Be in both
+    All shall love to love anew.
+
+    Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
+    Yes, and sicken sore, but live:
+    And be wise and delay,
+    When you men are as wise as they.
+          Then I see
+          Faith will be
+    Never till they both believe.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+PINING FOR LOVE.
+
+
+    How long shall I pine for love?
+      How long shall I sue in vain?
+    How long like the turtle-dove,
+      Shall I heartily thus complain?
+    Shall the sails of my heart stand still?
+      Shall the grists of my hope be unground?
+    Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
+      Let the mill, let the mill go round.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+FIE ON LOVE.
+
+
+    Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
+      Or man or woman know it.
+    Love was not meant for people in their wits,
+      And they that fondly show it
+    Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
+    And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
+    If simple love be such a curse,
+    To marry is to make it ten times worse.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+DAMOETAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.
+
+
+    Tune on my pipe the praises of my love,
+        Love fair and bright;
+    Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above,
+        Heavens Jove's delight,
+        With Daphnis' praise.
+
+    Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold,
+        Gold bright and sheen;
+    Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd,
+        Scyll o'erseen
+        Through Minos' love.
+
+    Her eyes like shining lamps in midst of night,
+        Night dark and dead:
+    Or as the stars that give the seamen light,
+        Light for to lead
+        Their wandering ships.
+
+    Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive,
+        Lily snow-white:
+    When their contést doth make their colour thrive,
+        Colour too bright
+        For shepherds' eyes.
+
+    Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye,
+        Scarlet blood-red:
+    Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie,
+        Hills overspread
+        By winter's force.
+
+    Her skin as soft as is the finest silk,
+        Silk soft and fine:
+    Of colour like unto the whitest milk,
+        Milk of the kine
+        Of Daphnis' herd.
+
+    As swift of foot as is the pretty roe,
+        Roe swift of pace:
+    When yelping hounds pursue her to and fro,
+        Hounds fierce in chase
+        To reave her life.
+
+    Cease to tell of any more compare,
+        Compares too rude,
+    Daphnis' deserts and beauty are too rare:
+        Then here conclude
+        Fair Daphnis' praise.
+
+John Wootton.
+
+
+
+
+SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?
+
+
+    Shall I, wasting in despair,
+    Die because a woman's fair?
+    Or my cheeks make pale with care,
+    'Cause another's rosy are?
+    Be she fairer than the day,
+    Or the flowery meads in May,
+      If she be not so to me,
+      What care I how fair she be?
+
+    Shall my foolish heart be pined
+    'Cause I see a woman kind;
+    Or a well-disposèd nature
+    Joinèd with a lovely feature?
+    Be she meeker, kinder, than
+    Turtle-dove or pelican,
+      If she be not so to me,
+      What care I how kind she be?
+
+    Shall a woman's virtues move
+    Me to perish for her love?
+    Or her merit's value known,
+    Make me quite forget mine own?
+    Be she with that goodness blest
+    Which may gain her name of Best;
+      If she seem not such to me,
+      What care I how good she be?
+
+    'Cause her fortune seems too high,
+    Shall I play the fool and die?
+    Those that bear a noble mind,
+    Where they want, of riches find.
+    Think what with them they would do
+    Who without them dare to woo:
+      And unless that mind I see,
+      What care I tho' great she be?
+
+    Great or good, or kind or fair,
+    I will ne'er the more despair;
+    If she love me, this believe,
+    I will die ere she shall grieve;
+    If she slight me when I woo,
+    I can scorn and let her go;
+      For if she be not for me,
+      What care I for whom she be?
+
+George Wither.
+
+
+
+
+TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.
+
+
+    Wonder not, though I am blind,
+                  For you must be
+    Dark in your eyes, or in your mind,
+                  If, when you see
+    Her face, you prove not blind like me;
+    If the powerful beams that fly
+                  From her eye,
+    And those amorous sweets that lie
+    Scatter'd in each neighbouring part,
+    Find a passage to your heart,
+    Then you'll confess your mortal sight
+    Too weak for such a glorious light:
+    For if her graces you discover,
+    You grow, like me, a dazzled lover;
+    But if those beauties you not spy,
+    Then are you blinder far than I.
+
+Thomas Carew.
+
+
+
+
+HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK
+
+
+    He that loves a rosy cheek,
+      Or a coral lip admires,
+    Or from star-like eyes doth seek
+      Fuel to maintain his fires;
+    As old Time makes these decay,
+    So his flames must waste away.
+
+    But a smooth and steadfast mind,
+      Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
+    Hearts with equal love combined,
+      Kindle never-dying fires;
+    Where these are not, I despise
+    Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
+
+Thomas Carew.
+
+
+
+
+MATIN SONG.
+
+
+    Rise, Lady Mistress! rise!
+      The night hath tedious been;
+    No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes,
+      Nor slumbers made me sin.
+    Is not she a saint, then, say!
+    Thought of whom keeps sin away?
+
+    Rise, madam! rise, and give me light,
+      Whom darkness still will cover,
+    And ignorance, more dark than night,
+      Till thou smile on thy lover.
+    All want day till thy beauty rise,
+    For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.
+
+Nathaniel Field.
+
+
+
+
+JULIA.
+
+
+    Some asked me where the rubies grew,
+      And nothing did I say,
+    But with my finger pointed to
+      The lips of Julia.
+
+    Some asked how pearls did grow, and where;
+      Then spake I to my girl,
+    To part her lips and show me there
+      The quarelets of pearl.
+
+    One asked me where the roses grew;
+      I bade him not go seek,
+    But forthwith bade my Julia show
+      A bud in either cheek.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY RIPE.
+
+
+    "Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe," I cry,
+    "Full and fair ones--come and buy;"
+    If so be you ask me where
+    They do grow? I answer, "There,
+    Where my Julia's lips do smile;"
+    There's the land, or cherry-isle,
+    Whose plantations fully show
+    All the year where cherries grow!
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE VIRGINS.
+
+
+    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
+      Old Time is still a-flying;
+    And this same flower that smiles to-day,
+      To-morrow will be dying.
+
+    The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
+      The higher he's a-getting,
+    The sooner will his race be run,
+      And nearer he's to setting.
+
+    That age is best which is the first,
+      When youth and blood are warmer;
+    But being spent, the worse and worst
+      Times still succeed the former.
+
+    Then be not coy, but use your time,
+      And while ye may, go marry;
+    For having lost but once your prime,
+      You may for ever tarry.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+TO ELECTRA.
+
+
+    I dare not ask a kiss;
+      I dare not beg a smile;
+    Lest having that or this,
+      I might grow proud the while.
+
+    No, no, the utmost share
+      Of my desire shall be,
+    Only to kiss that air
+      That lately kissèd thee.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+DRY THOSE EYES.
+
+
+    Dry those fair, those crystal eyes,
+    Which like growing fountains rise
+    To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks
+    Would better flow in furrow'd looks:
+    Thy lovely face was never meant
+    To be the shore of discontent.
+
+    Then clear those waterish stars again,
+    Which else portend a lasting rain;
+    Lest the clouds which settle there
+    Prolong my winter all the year,
+    And thy example others make
+    In love with sorrow, for thy sake.
+
+Dr. Henry King.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;
+    Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;
+    Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;
+    Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.
+    Dear, sweet, fair, wise,--change, shrink, nor be not weak;
+    And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.
+
+    Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
+    Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;
+    Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;
+    Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
+    Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
+    Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.
+
+John Dowland.
+
+
+
+
+FAREWELL, MY JOY.
+
+
+    Farewell! my joy!
+      Adieu! my love and pleasure!
+    To sport and toy
+      We have no longer leisure.
+            Fa la la!
+
+    Farewell! adieu!
+      Until our next consorting!
+    Sweet love, be true!
+      And thus we end our sporting.
+            Fa la la!
+
+Thomas Weelkes.
+
+
+
+
+THE LARK NOW LEAVES HIS WAT'RY NEST.
+
+
+    The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
+      And climbing, shakes his dewy wings,
+    He takes your window for the east,
+      And to implore your light, he sings;
+    Awake, awake, the morn will never rise
+    Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
+
+    The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
+      The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
+    But still the lover wonders what they are,
+      Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
+    Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn,
+    Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.
+
+Sir William Davenant.
+
+
+
+
+GO, LOVELY ROSE.
+
+
+    Go, lovely Rose,
+    Tell her that wastes her time and me,
+    That now she knows
+    When I resemble her to thee,
+    How sweet and fair she seems to be.
+
+    Tell her that's young,
+    And shuns to have her graces spied,
+    That had'st thou sprung
+    In deserts where no men abide,
+    Thou must have uncommended died.
+
+    Small is the worth
+    Of beauty from the light retired;
+    Bid her come forth,
+    Suffer herself to be desired,
+    And not blush so to be admired.
+
+    Then die, that she
+    The common fate of all things rare
+    May read in thee,
+    How small a part of time they share
+    Who are so wondrous sweet and fair!
+
+Edmund Waller.
+
+
+
+
+HIS MISTRESS.
+
+
+    I have a mistress, for perfections rare
+    In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.
+    Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes;
+    Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice.
+    And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin,
+    Still her perfection lets religion in.
+    We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours
+    As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers.
+    I touch her, like my beads, with devout care,
+    And come unto my courtship as my prayer.
+
+Thomas Randolph.
+
+
+
+
+CHLORIS.
+
+
+    Amyntas, go! Thou art undone,
+      Thy faithful heart is crossed by fate;
+    That love is better not begun,
+      Where love is come to love too late.
+
+    Yet who that saw fair Chloris weep
+      Such sacred dew, with such pure grace,
+    Durst think them feignèd tears, or seek
+      For treason in an angel's face.
+
+Henry Vaughan.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.
+
+
+    Love me little, love me long,
+      Is the burden of my song;
+    Love that is too hot and strong
+      Burneth soon to waste;
+    Still I would not have thee cold,
+      Or backward, or too bold,
+    For love that lasteth till 'tis old
+      Fadeth not in haste.
+
+    Winter's cold, or summer's heat,
+      Autumn tempests on it beat,
+    It can never know defeat,
+      Never can rebel;
+    Such the love that I would gain,
+      Such love, I tell thee plain,
+    That thou must give or love in vain,
+      So to thee farewell.
+
+Circa 1610.
+
+
+
+
+FAIN WOULD I CHANGE THAT NOTE.
+
+
+    Fain would I change that note
+    To which fond love hath charm'd me,
+    Long, long to sing by rote,
+    Fancying that that harm'd me:
+    Yet when this thought doth come,
+    "Love is the perfect sum
+    Of all delight,"
+    I have no other choice
+    Either for pen or voice
+    To sing or write.
+
+    O Love, they wrong thee much
+    That say thy sweet is bitter,
+    When thy rich fruit is such
+    As nothing can be sweeter.
+    Fair house of joy and bliss
+    Where truest pleasure is,
+    I do adore thee;
+    I know thee what thou art,
+    I serve thee with my heart,
+    And fall before thee.
+
+Captain Tobias Hume.
+
+
+
+
+TO ROSES IN CASTARA'S BREAST.
+
+
+    Ye blushing Virgins happy are
+      In the chaste Nunn'ry of her breasts,
+    For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
+      Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.
+
+    Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,
+      How rich a perfume do ye yield?
+    In some close garden, cowslips so
+      Are sweeter than in th' open field.
+
+    In those white Cloisters live secure
+      From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
+    Each hour more innocent and pure,
+      Till you shall wither into death.
+
+    Then that which living gave you room,
+      Your glorious sepulchre shall be;
+    There wants no marble for a tomb,
+      Whose breast hath marble been to me.
+
+William Habington.
+
+
+
+
+THOU PRETTY BIRD.
+
+
+    Thou pretty bird, how do I see
+    Thy silly state and mine agree!
+    For thou a prisoner art;
+      So is my heart.
+    Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address
+    My music to her ear that's merciless;
+    But herein doth the difference lie,--
+    That thou art graced; so am not I;
+    Thou singing livest, and I must singing die.
+
+John Danyel.
+
+
+
+
+ONCE I LOV'D A MAIDEN FAIR.
+
+
+    Once I lov'd a maiden fair,
+      But she did deceive me;
+    She with Venus might compare,
+      In my mind, believe me:
+    She was young, and among
+      All our maids the sweetest.
+    Now I say, ah! well-a-day!
+      Brightest hopes are fleetest.
+
+    I the wedding ring had got,
+      Wedding clothes provided,
+    Sure the church would bind a knot
+      Ne'er to be divided:
+    Married we straight must be,
+      She her vows had plighted;
+    Vows, alas! as frail as glass:
+      All my hopes are blighted.
+
+    Maidens wav'ring and untrue,
+      Many a heart have broken;
+    Sweetest lips the world e'er knew,
+      Falsest words have spoken.
+    Fare thee well, faithless girl,
+      I'll not sorrow for thee;
+    Once I held thee dear as pearl,
+      Now I do abhor thee.
+
+Temp. Jas. I. (condensed by T. Oxenford).
+
+
+
+
+I PR'YTHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART.
+
+
+    I pr'ythee send me back my heart,
+      Since I cannot have thine;
+    For if from yours you will not part,
+      Why then shouldst thou have mine?
+
+    Yet now I think on't, let it lie;
+      To find it were in vain,
+    For thou'st a thief in either eye
+      Would steal it back again.
+
+    Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
+      And yet not lodge together?
+    O love! where is thy sympathy,
+      If thus our breasts you sever?
+
+    But love is such a mystery,
+      I cannot find it out;
+    For when I think I'm best resolved,
+      I then am most in doubt.
+
+    Then farewell love, and farewell woe,
+      I will no longer pine;
+    For I'll believe I have her heart
+      As much as she hath mine.
+
+Sir John Suckling.
+
+
+
+
+ORSAMES' SONG.
+
+
+    Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
+        Prithee, why so pale?
+    Will, when looking well can't move her,
+        Looking ill prevail?
+        Prithee, why so pale?
+
+    Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
+        Prithee, why so mute?
+    Will, when speaking well can't win her,
+        Saying nothing do't?
+        Prithee, why so mute?
+
+    Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move,
+        This cannot take her;
+    If of herself she will not love,
+        Nothing can make her:
+        The devil take her!
+
+Sir John Suckling.
+
+
+
+
+SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE.
+
+
+    Since first I saw your face I resolved
+      To honour and renown you;
+    If now I be disdained
+      I wish my heart had never known you.
+    What! I that loved, and you that liked,
+      Shall we begin to wrangle?
+    No, no, no, my heart is fast
+      And cannot disentangle.
+
+    The sun whose beams most glorious are,
+      Rejecteth no beholder,
+    And your sweet beauty past compare,
+      Made my poor eyes the bolder.
+    Where beauty moves, and wit delights
+      And signs of kindness bind me,
+    There, oh! there, where'er I go
+      I leave my heart behind me.
+
+    If I admire or praise you too much,
+      That fault you may forgive me,
+    Or if my hands had strayed but a touch,
+      Then justly might you leave me.
+    I asked you leave, you bade me love;
+      Is't now a time to chide me?
+    No, no, no, I'll love you still,
+      What fortune e'er betide me.
+
+Circa 1617.
+
+
+
+
+THE GIVEN HEART.
+
+
+    I Wonder what those lovers mean, who say
+    They've given their hearts away.
+    Some good, kind lover, tell me how:
+    For mine is but a torment to me now.
+
+    If so it be one place both hearts contain,
+    For what do they complain?
+    What courtesy can Love do more,
+    Than to join hearts that parted were before?
+
+    Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
+    Into the self-same room;
+    'Twill tear and blow up all within
+    Like a grenade shot into a magazine.
+
+    Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts
+    Of both our broken hearts;
+    Shall out of both one new one make,
+    From hers th' alloy, from mine the metal take.
+
+    For of her heart he from the flames will find
+    But little left behind:
+    Mine only will remain entire,
+    No dross was there to perish in the fire.
+
+Abraham Cowley.
+
+
+
+
+ICE AND FIRE.
+
+
+    Naked Love did to thine eye,
+    Chloris, once to warm him, fly;
+    But its subtle flame, and light,
+    Scorch'd his wings, and spoiled his sight.
+
+    Forc'd from thence he went to rest
+    In the soft couch of thy breast:
+    But there met a frost so great,
+    As his torch extinguish'd straight.
+
+    When poor Cupid (thus constrain'd
+    His cold bed to leave) complain'd:
+    "'Las! what lodging's here for me,
+    If all ice and fire she be."
+
+Sir Edmund Sherburne.
+
+
+
+
+AMARANTHA.
+
+
+    Amarantha, sweet and fair,
+    Forbear to braid that shining hair;
+    As my curious hand or eye,
+    Hovering round thee, let it fly:
+
+    Let it fly as unconfined
+    As its ravisher the wind,
+    Who has left his darling east
+    To wanton o'er this spicy nest.
+
+    Every tress must be confess'd
+    But neatly tangled at the best,
+    Like a clew of golden thread,
+    Most excellently ravelled.
+
+    Do not then wind up that light
+    In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;
+    Like the sun in his early ray,
+    But shake your head and scatter day.
+
+Richard Lovelace.
+
+
+
+
+TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.
+
+
+    When love, with unconfined wings,
+      Hovers within my gates,
+    And my divine Althea brings
+      To whisper at the grates;
+    When I lie tangled in her hair,
+      And fetter'd to her eye--
+    The birds that wanton in the air,
+      Know no such liberty.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Stone walls do not a prison make,
+      Nor iron bars a cage;
+    Minds innocent and quiet take
+      That for an hermitage.
+    If I have freedom in my love,
+      And in my soul am free,--
+    Angels alone, that soar above,
+      Enjoy such liberty.
+
+Richard Lovelace.
+
+
+
+
+A MOCK SONG.
+
+
+    Tis true I never was in love:
+      But now I mean to be,
+          For there's no art
+          Can shield a heart
+      From love's supremacy.
+
+    Though in my nonage I have seen
+      A world of taking faces,
+    I had not age or wit to ken
+      Their several hidden graces.
+
+    Those virtues which, though thinly set,
+      In others are admired,
+    In thee are altogether met,
+      Which make thee so desired.
+
+    That though I never was in love,
+      Nor never meant to be,
+          Thyself and parts
+          Above my arts
+      Have drawn my heart to thee.
+
+Alexander Brome.
+
+
+
+
+SPEAKING AND KISSING.
+
+
+    The air which thy smooth voice doth break,
+      Into my soul like lightning flies;
+    My life retires while thou dost speak,
+      And thy soft breath its room supplies.
+
+    Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
+      I join my trembling lips to thine,
+    And back receive that life from thee
+      Which I so gladly did resign.
+
+    Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire
+      What numbers do the soul compose;
+    No harmony can life inspire
+      But that which from these accents flows.
+
+Thomas Stanley.
+
+
+
+
+LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.
+
+
+    Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
+    Love owes its chiefest victories,
+    And borrows those bright arms from you
+    With which he does the world subdue;
+    Yet you yourselves are not above
+    The empire nor the griefs of love.
+
+    Then rack not lovers with disdain,
+    Lest love on you revenge their pain:
+    You are not free because you're fair,
+    The Boy did not his mother spare:
+    Though beauty be a killing dart,
+    It is no armour for the heart.
+
+George Etherege.
+
+
+
+
+DORINDA.
+
+
+    Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,
+      United, cast too fierce a light,
+    Which blazes high, but quickly dies,
+      Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.
+
+    Love is a calmer, gentler joy,
+      Smooth are his looks and soft his pace;
+    Her Cupid is a blackguard boy
+      That runs his link full in your face.
+
+Charles Sackville.
+
+
+
+
+CELIA AND SYLVIA.
+
+
+    Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou,
+      I must confess art kind;
+    But in her cruelty, I vow,
+      I more repose can find.
+    For, oh! thy fancy at all games does fly,
+    Fond of address, and willing to comply.
+
+    Thus he that loves must be undone,
+      Each way on rocks we fall;
+    Either you will be kind to none,
+      Or worse, be kind to all.
+    Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care;
+    We must be jealous, or we must despair.
+
+Robert Gould.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE LOVE.
+
+
+    Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid
+      Of sighs, nor aches, to make it known,
+    And to convince the cruellest maid,
+      Lovers should use their love alone.
+
+    Into their very looks 'twill steal,
+      And he that most would hide his flame,
+    Does in that case his pain reveal:
+      Silence itself can love proclaim.
+
+Sir Charles Sedley.
+
+
+
+
+TOO LATE!
+
+
+    Too late, alas! I must confess,
+      You need not arts to move me;
+    Such charms by nature you possess,
+      'Twere madness not to love ye.
+
+    Then spare a heart you may surprise,
+      And give my tongue the glory
+    To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
+      Betray a tender story.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+MY MISTRESS' HEART.
+
+
+    My dear mistress has a heart
+      Soft as those kind looks she gave me;
+    When with Love's resistless art,
+      And her eyes, she did enslave me.
+    But her constancy's so weak,
+      She's so wild and apt to wander;
+    That my jealous heart would break
+      Should we live one day asunder.
+
+    Melting joys about her move,
+      Killing pleasures, wounding blisses;
+    She can dress her eyes in love,
+      And her lips can arm with kisses.
+    Angels listen when she speaks,
+      She's my delight, all mankind wonder;
+    But my jealous heart would break
+      Should we live one day asunder.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    I cannot change, as others do,
+      Though you unjustly scorn;
+    Since the poor swain that sighs for you,
+      For you alone was born.
+    No, Phillis, no, your heart to move
+      A surer way I'll try;
+    And to revenge my slighted love,
+      Will still love on and die.
+
+    When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies,
+      And you to mind shall call
+    The sighs that now unpitied rise,
+      The tears that vainly fall;
+    That welcome hour that ends his smart,
+      Will then begin your pain;
+    For such a faithful tender heart
+      Can never break in vain.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+MAN AND WOMAN.
+
+
+    Man is for woman made,
+      And woman made for man;
+    As the spur is for the jade,
+    As the scabbard for the blade,
+      As for liquor is the can,
+    So man's for woman made,
+      And woman made for man.
+
+    As the sceptre to be sway'd,
+    As to night the serenade,
+      As for pudding is the pan,
+      As to cool us is the fan,
+    So man's for woman made,
+      And woman made for man.
+
+Peter Antony Motteux.
+
+
+
+
+ACCEPT MY HEART.
+
+
+    Accept, my love, as true a heart
+      As ever lover gave:
+    'Tis free, it vows, from any art,
+      And proud to be your slave.
+
+    Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,
+      And let the giver live,
+    Who, with it, would the world have sent
+      Had it been his to give.
+
+    And, that Dorinda may not fear
+      I e'er will prove untrue,
+    My vow shall, ending with the year,
+      With it begin anew.
+
+Matthew Prior.
+
+
+
+
+AN ANGELIC WOMAN.
+
+
+    Not an angel dwells above
+    Half so fair as her I love.
+    Heaven knows how she'll receive me:
+    If she smiles I'm blest indeed;
+    If she frowns I'm quickly freed;
+    Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me.
+
+    None can love her more than I,
+    Yet she ne'er shall make me die,
+    If my flame can never warm her:
+    Lasting beauty I'll adore,
+    I shall never love her more,
+    Cruelty will so deform her.
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh.
+
+
+
+
+I SMILE AT LOVE.
+
+
+    I smile at Love, and all its arts,
+      The charming Cynthia cried:
+    Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,
+      A wounded swain replied.
+    Once free and blest as you are now,
+      I trifled with his charms,
+    I pointed at his little bow,
+      And sported with his arms,
+    Till urged too far, Revenge! he cries,
+      A fatal shaft he drew,
+    It took its passage through your eyes,
+      And to my heart it flew.
+
+    To tear it thence I tried in vain;
+      To strive, I quickly found
+    Was only to increase the pain,
+      And to enlarge the wound.
+    Ah! much too well, I fear, you know
+      What pain I'm to endure,
+    Since what your eyes alone can do
+      Your heart alone can cure.
+    And that (grant Heaven, I may mistake!)
+      I doubt is doom'd to bear
+    A burden for another's sake,
+      Who ill rewards its care.
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh.
+
+
+
+
+ADIEU L'AMOUR.
+
+
+    Here end my chains, and thraldom cease,
+    If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace;
+    Since for the pleasures of an hour,
+    We must endure an age of pain;
+    I'll be this abject thing no more,
+    Love, give me back my heart again.
+
+    Despair tormented first my breast,
+    Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;
+    O! for the peace of human kind,
+    Make women longer true, or sooner kind:
+    With justice, or with mercy reign,
+    O Love! or give me back my heart again.
+
+George Granville.
+
+
+
+
+SABINA WAKES.
+
+
+    See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes!
+      And now the sun begins to rise;
+    Less glorious is the morn that breaks
+      From his bright beams, than her fair eyes.
+
+    With light united, day they give,
+      But different fates ere night fulfil;
+    How many by his warmth will live!
+      How many will her coldness kill!
+
+William Congreve.
+
+
+
+
+FALSE! OR INCONSTANCY.
+
+
+    False though she be to me and love,
+      I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
+    For still the charmer I approve,
+      Though I deplore her change.
+
+    In hours of bliss we oft have met,
+      They could not always last;
+    And though the present I regret,
+      I'm grateful for the past.
+
+William Congreve.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE AND HATE.
+
+
+    Why we love, and why we hate,
+      Is not granted us to know:
+    Random chance, or wilful fate,
+      Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.
+
+    If on me Zelinda frown,
+      Madness 'tis in me to grieve:
+    Since her will is not her own,
+      Why should I uneasy live?
+
+    If I for Zelinda die,
+      Deaf to poor Mizella's cries,
+    Ask not me the reason why:
+      Seek the riddle in the skies.
+
+Ambrose Philips.
+
+
+
+
+I LATELY VOWED.
+
+
+    I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste,
+      That I no more would court
+    The joys that seem when they are past
+      As dull as they are short.
+
+    I oft to hate my mistress swear,
+      But soon my weakness find;
+    I make my oaths when she's severe,
+      But break them when she's kind.
+
+John Oldmixon.
+
+
+
+
+FEW HAPPY MATCHES.
+
+
+    Say, mighty Love, and teach my song
+    To whom thy sweetest joys belong,
+      And who the happy pairs
+    Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,
+    Find blessings twisted with their bands
+      To soften all their cares.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Two kindest souls alone must meet,
+    'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,
+      And feeds their mutual loves:
+    Bright Venus on her rolling throne
+    Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,
+      And Cupids yoke the doves.
+
+Dr. Isaac Watts.
+
+
+
+
+DORINDA'S CONQUEST.
+
+
+    Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought
+      The God of Love her charms to view;
+    To wound th' unwary maid he thought,
+      But soon became her conquest too.
+
+    He dropp'd half-drawn his feeble bow,
+      He look'd, he raved, and sighing pined;
+    And wish'd in vain he had been now,
+      As painters falsely draw him, blind.
+
+    Disarm'd, he to his mother flies;
+      Help, Venus, help thy wretched son!
+    Who now will pay us sacrifice?
+      For Love himself's, alas! undone.
+
+    To Cupid now no lover's prayer
+      Shall be address'd in suppliant sighs;
+    My darts are gone, but, oh! beware,
+      Fond mortals, of Dorinda's eyes!
+
+John Hughes.
+
+
+
+
+LOVERS IN DISGUISE.
+
+
+    How bless'd are lovers in disguise!
+        Like gods, they see,
+        As I do thee,
+    Unseen by human eyes.
+        Exposed to view,
+        I'm hid from view,
+    I'm altered, yet the same:
+        The dark conceals me,
+        Love reveals me:
+    Love, which lights me by its flame.
+
+    Were you not false, you would me know;
+        For though your eyes
+        Could not devise,
+    Your heart had told you so.
+        Your heart would beat
+        With eager heat,
+    And me by sympathy would find:
+        True love might see,
+        One changed like me,
+    False love is only blind.
+
+George Farquhar.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THY BEAUTY APPEARS.
+
+
+    When thy beauty appears
+    In its graces and airs,
+      All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;
+    At a distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,
+      So strangely you dazzle my eye!
+
+    But then, without art,
+    Your kind thought you impart,
+      When your love runs in blushes through every vein;
+    When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,
+      Then I know you're a woman again.
+
+    There's a passion and pride
+    In our sex, she replied,
+      And thus, might I gratify both, would I do:
+    Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
+      But still be a woman to you.
+
+Thomas Parnell.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
+
+
+Accept, my love, as true a heart. 124.
+
+Ah! I remember well (and how can I. 48.
+
+Ah! my sweet sweeting! 5.
+
+Amarantha, sweet and fair. 112.
+
+Amid my bale I bathe in bliss. 14.
+
+Amyntas, go! Thou art undone. 100.
+
+And wilt thou leave me thus? 2.
+
+Away with these self-loving lads. 24.
+
+
+Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou. 118.
+
+Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry. 91.
+
+Come live with me, and be my love. 50.
+
+Cupid and my Campaspe played. 26.
+
+
+Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again. 95.
+
+Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly. 46.
+
+Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes. 117.
+
+Drink to me only with thine eyes. 74.
+
+Dry those fair, those crystal eyes. 94.
+
+
+Fain would I change that note. 102.
+
+False though she be to me and love. 129.
+
+Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought. 133.
+
+Farewell! my joy. 96.
+
+Faustina hath the fairest face. 66.
+
+Foolish love is only folly. 41.
+
+
+Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. 92.
+
+Go, lovely Rose. 98.
+
+
+Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 56.
+
+He that loves a rosy cheek. 88.
+
+He that loves and fears to try. 30.
+
+Help me to seek! For I lost it there. 1.
+
+Here end my chains, and thraldom cease, 127.
+
+How bless'd are lovers in disguise! 134.
+
+How long shall I pine for love? 81.
+
+
+I cannot change, as others do. 122.
+
+I dare not ask a kiss. 93.
+
+I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair. 67.
+
+I have a mistress, for perfections rare. 99.
+
+I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste. 131.
+
+I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more. 69.
+
+I pr'ythee send me back my heart. 106.
+
+I smile at Love, and all its arts. 126.
+
+I wonder what those lovers mean, who say. 110.
+
+If all the world and Love were young. 22.
+
+If women could be fair, and yet not fond. 11.
+
+In a maiden-time profess'd. 71.
+
+In petticoat of green. 78.
+
+In the merry month of May. 35.
+
+It is not Beauty I demand. 59.
+
+It was a beauty that I saw. 73.
+
+
+Ladies, though to your conquering eyes. 116.
+
+Like to Diana in her summer weed. 39.
+
+Like to the clear in highest sphere. 32.
+
+Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose. 47.
+
+Love guards the roses of thy lips. 31.
+
+Love is a sickness full of woes. 49.
+
+Love me little, love me long. 101.
+
+Love me not for comely grace. 61.
+
+Love mistress is of many minds. 43.
+
+Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought. 3.
+
+Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid. 119.
+
+
+Man is for woman made. 123.
+
+My dear mistress has a heart. 121.
+
+My girl, thou gazest much. 6.
+
+My Phyllis hath the morning sun. 16.
+
+My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 27.
+
+
+Naked Love did to thine eye. 111.
+
+Not an angel dwells above. 125.
+
+Now fie on foolish love, it not befits. 82.
+
+Now thou hast loved me one whole day. 75.
+
+
+O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed! 17.
+
+O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm. 77.
+
+Oh, what a plague is love! 64.
+
+Once I loved a maiden fair. 105.
+
+Over the mountains. 62.
+
+
+Phylida was a fair maid. 12.
+
+Pretty twinkling starry eyes. 42.
+
+
+Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread. 28.
+
+Rise, Lady Mistress! rise! 89.
+
+
+Say, mighty Love, and teach my song. 132.
+
+See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes! 128.
+
+Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green. 4.
+
+Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee. 37.
+
+Shall I like a hermit dwell. 18.
+
+Shall I, wasting in despair. 85.
+
+Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell! 20.
+
+Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. 55.
+
+Since first I saw your face I resolved. 108.
+
+Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part. 53.
+
+Some asked me where the rubies grew. 90.
+
+Sweetest love, I do not go. 76.
+
+
+Take, O, take those lips away. 79.
+
+Tell me, dearest, what is love? 80.
+
+The air which thy smooth voice doth break. 115.
+
+The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest. 97.
+
+There is a garden in her face. 38.
+
+Thou pretty bird, how do I see. 104.
+
+'Tis true I never was in love. 114.
+
+Too late, alas! I must confess. 120.
+
+Tune on my pipe the praises of my love. 83.
+
+Two lines shall teach you how. 8.
+
+Two lines shall tell the grief. 7.
+
+
+Weep eyes, break heart! 72.
+
+Were I as base as is the lowly plain. 52.
+
+What shepherd can express. 9.
+
+When love, with unconfined wings. 113.
+
+When thy beauty appears. 135.
+
+Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose! 45.
+
+While that the sun with his beams hot. 57.
+
+Who is Sylvia? What is she. 54.
+
+Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 107.
+
+Why we love, and why we hate. 130.
+
+With fragrant flowers we strew the way. 34.
+
+Wonder not, though I am blind. 87.
+
+
+Ye blushing Virgins happy are. 103.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF AUTHORS.
+
+
+Alexander, W., Earl of Stirling. 77.
+
+Anonymous. 5, 57, 59, 61, 62, 64, 66, 101, 105.
+
+Aytoun, Sir Robert. 67.
+
+
+Beaumont, Francis. 80.
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher. 79.
+
+Breton, Richard. 35.
+
+Brome, Alexander. 114.
+
+Brooke, Lord. 24.
+
+
+Campion, Thomas. 37.
+
+Carew, Thomas. 87.
+
+Congreve, William. 128.
+
+Constable, Henry. 46.
+
+Cowley, Abraham, 110.
+
+
+Daniel, John. 104.
+
+Daniel, Samuel. 47.
+
+Davenant, Sir William. 97.
+
+Donne, Dr. John. 75.
+
+Dowland, John. 95.
+
+Drayton, Michael. 53.
+
+Drummond, William. 78.
+
+Dyer, Sir Edward. 16.
+
+
+Etherege, Sir George. 116.
+
+
+Farquhar, George. 134.
+
+Field, Nathaniel. 89.
+
+Fletcher, _see_ Beaumont and F.
+
+
+Gascoigne, George. 14.
+
+Googe, Barnaby. 12.
+
+Gould, Robert. 118.
+
+Granville, George. 127.
+
+Greene, Robert. 39.
+
+Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke. 24.
+
+
+Habington, William. 103.
+
+Harrington, Sir John. 45.
+
+Herrick, Robert. 90.
+
+Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey. 3.
+
+Hughes, John. 133.
+
+Hume, Capt. Tobias. 102.
+
+
+Jonson, Ben. 73.
+
+
+King, Bp. Henry. 94.
+
+
+Lodge, Thomas. 31.
+
+Lovelace, Richard. 112.
+
+Lyly, John. 26.
+
+
+Marlowe, Christopher. 50.
+
+Middleton, Thomas. 71.
+
+Motteux, Peter Anthony. 123.
+
+
+Oldmixon, John. 131.
+
+Oxford, Earl of. 9.
+
+
+Parnell, Thomas. 135.
+
+Peele, George. 17.
+
+Philips, Ambrose. 130.
+
+Prior, Matthew. 124.
+
+
+Raleigh, Sir Walter. 18.
+
+Randolph, Thomas, 99.
+
+Rochester, Earl of. 120.
+
+
+Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset. 117.
+
+Sedley, Sir Charles, 119.
+
+Shakespeare, William. 54.
+
+Sherburne, Sir Edmund. 111.
+
+Sidney, Sir Philip. 27.
+
+Southwell, Robert. 43.
+
+Stanley, Thomas. 115.
+
+Stirling, Earl of. 77.
+
+Suckling, Sir John. 106.
+
+Surrey, Earl of. 3.
+
+Sylvester, J. 52.
+
+
+Turberville, George. 6.
+
+
+Vanbrugh, Sir John. 125.
+
+Vaughan, Henry. 100.
+
+Vere, E., Earl of Oxford, 9.
+
+
+Waller, Edmund. 98.
+
+Watson, Thomas. 34.
+
+Watts, Dr. Isaac. 132.
+
+Weelkes, Thomas. 96.
+
+Wilmot, John. 120.
+
+Wither, George. 85.
+
+Wootton, John. 83.
+
+Wyatt, Sir Thomas. 1.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Chiswick Press: Charles Whittingham and Co.
+Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tudor and Stuart Love Songs, by Various
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tudor and Stuart Love Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Tudor and Stuart Love Songs
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. Potter Briscoe
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2008 [EBook #26398]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
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+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+<div class='transnote'>
+<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3>
+
+<p>Small discrepancies in punctuation between the Table of Content and poem
+titles have been retained.</p>
+
+<p>"Cherry Ripe" and "Julia" are on pages 91 and 90 respectively, rather
+than on pages 90 and 91 as listed in the Table of Contents.</p>
+
+<p>John Dowland's poem is titled "True till death" in the Table of
+Contents, but is titled "Love's constancy" on page 95.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 257px;">
+<a href="images/fig001.jpg"><img src="images/fig001th.jpg" width="257" height="400" alt="" title="" /></a>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 253px;">
+<a href="images/fig002.jpg"><img src="images/fig002th.jpg" width="253" height="400" alt="TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS
+COLLECTED BY
+J. POTTER BRISCOE" title="" /></a></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h1>TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS</h1>
+
+<h3>SELECTED AND EDITED BY</h3>
+
+<h2>J. POTTER BRISCOE, F.R.S.L.</h2>
+
+<h4>Editor of "The Bibelots"</h4>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 119px;">
+<img src="images/fig003.jpg" width="119" height="120" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class='frontend'>
+E. P. DUTTON AND CO.<br />
+31 W. 23<span class='super'>RD</span> STREET <br />
+NEW YORK</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2>
+
+
+<p>The spirit of reform which was developed during the early part of the
+sixteenth century brought about a desire on the part of young men of
+means to travel on the continent of Europe. This was for the purpose of
+making themselves acquainted with the politics, social life, literature,
+art, science, and commerce of the various nations of the same,
+especially of France, Spain, and Italy. These young Englishmen on their
+return introduced into the society in which they mixed not only the
+politenesses of these countries, but the wit of Italy, and the character
+of the poetry which was then in vogue in Southern Europe. Among these
+travellers during the reign of Henry the Eighth were Sir Thomas Wyatt
+and the Earl of Surrey. These courtiers possessed the poetical faculty,
+and therefore paid special attention to literary form. As a result they
+introduced the Sonnet of the Petrarchan type into England. The amorous
+verse of the inhabitants of these sunny climes took hold of the young
+Englishmen. Many men of rank and education, who did not regard
+themselves as of the world of letters, penned pleasant verse, much of it
+being of an amatory character based upon that of the Italians. During
+the reign of "Good Queen Bess" England was full of song. Of the writers
+of love verses William Watson occupied a very high, probably the
+highest, position during the time of Elizabeth. A glance at the Table of
+Contents of this volume will show that some of the best poets who were
+born between the years 1503 and 1679 have handed down to us poetical
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>contributions of this character.</p>
+
+<p>Of the Elizabethan amatory verses only a small portion has been
+transmitted to us. That which possessed least literary merit did not
+long survive, and, no doubt, some of considerable merit has been lost
+too. The best has been preserved. Selections from these, arranged in
+chronological order, appear in this anthology. Richard Tottel printed
+his "Miscellany" in 1557. It is to this work, and to Richard Edwards'
+"Paradise of Dainty Devices," issued nineteen years later, that much of
+the best poetical literature of the sixteenth century has come down to
+us. The first-named passed through eight editions during thirty years:
+the last issue being dated 1587.</p>
+
+<p>From the amatory verses produced by seventy-one writers during the reign
+of Henry the Eighth and down to those of the early Georges one hundred
+and thirteen appear in this love anthology. The limitation of space
+prevents further biographical particulars being given than the years of
+birth and death, which will be found in the Table of Contents. As
+writers do not always agree in this respect, "The Dictionary of National
+Biography" has been taken as the authority.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever labour has been bestowed on the preparation of this anthology
+has not been in bulking it out to its present dimensions, but rather in
+keeping it within the prescribed limits; and, at the same time,
+furnishing these best examples of the love verses of the numerous
+authors who have been requisitioned for the purpose of this volume of
+"Tudor and Stuart Love Songs."</p>
+
+<p class='right'>J. P. B.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
+<h2>CONTENTS.</h2>
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc">
+<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'>Page</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The lost heart</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The lover's appeal</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517?-1547).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A sonnet&mdash;"Love that liveth," etc.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A vow to love faithfully</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Anon., <i>circa</i> 1530.</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>My sweet sweeting</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Turberville (1540?-1610?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The lover to his lady</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Master George: his sonnet</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Turberville's answer and distich</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford (1550-1604).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The shepherd's commendation of his nymph</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A renunciation</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Barnaby Googe (?) (1535?-1594).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The complaint of Harpalus</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Gascoigne (1525-1577).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A strange passion of a lover</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Edward Dyer (&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;-1607).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To Phyllis, the fair shepherdess</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Peele (1558?-1596-1597?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The enamoured shepherd</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>His love admits no rival</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The shepherd's description of love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The shepherdess' reply</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke (1554-1628).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love for love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Lyly (1554?-1606).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Cupid and Campaspe: Apelles' song</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A ditty&mdash;"My true love," etc.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love is dead</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>He that loves</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Lodge (1558?-1625).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love's wantonness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Rosaline</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Watson (1557?-1592?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The May Queen</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Nicholas Breton (1545?-1626?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Phillida and Corydon</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Campion (<i>circa</i> 1619).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Cherry-ripe</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Robert Greene (1560?-1592).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Fair Samela</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Kinds of love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love and beauty</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Robert Southwell (1561?-1595).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love's servile lot</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir John Harrington (1561-1612).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The heart of stone</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Henry Constable (1561-1613).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A shepherd's song to his love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Samuel Daniel (1562-1619).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love now, for roses fade</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Early love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love is a sickness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The passionate shepherd to his love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Joshua Sylvester (1563-1618).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love's omnipresence</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Michael Drayton (1563-1631).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A parting, or Love's last chance</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>William Shakespeare (1564-1616).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Who is Silvia?</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Sigh no more, ladies</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A morning song for Imogen</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Anon. (<i>circa</i> 1564).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The unfaithful shepherdess</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Anon.</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>True loveliness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A woman's reason</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love will find out the way</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Phillida flouts me</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>In praise of two</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Robert Aytoun (1570-1638).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To his forsaken mistress</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>On women's inconstancy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Middleton (1570?-1627).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The three states of women</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>My love and I must part</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Ben Jonson (1573?-1637).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Perfect beauty</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To Celia</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Dr. John Donne (1573-1631).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A woman's constancy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Sweetest love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (1567?-1640).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To Aurora</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>William Drummond (1585-1649).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Phillis</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Beaumont and Fletcher (1584-1616; 1579-1625).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Take those lips away</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Francis Beaumont (1584-1616).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Tell me what is love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Pining for love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Fie on love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Wootton (<i>circa</i> 1600).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Dam&#339;tas' praise of his Daphnis</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Wither (1588-1667).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Shall I, wasting in despair</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Carew (1598?-1639?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To one who, when I praised my mistress' beauty, said I was blind</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>He that loves a rosy cheek</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Nathaniel Field (1587-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Matin song</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Robert Herrick (1591-1674).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Cherry ripe</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Julia</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To the virgins</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To Electra</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Bp. Henry King (1592-1669).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Dry those eyes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Dowland (ed.) (1563?-1626?).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>True till death</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Weelkes (ed.) (1597-&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Farewell, my joy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir William Davenant (1605-1606-1668).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The lark now leaves</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Edmund Waller (1606-1687).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Go, lovely rose!</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Randolph (1605-1635).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>His mistress</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Henry Vaughan (1622-1695).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Chloris</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Anon. (<i>circa</i> 1610).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love me little, love me long</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Capt. Tobias Hume (musical composer).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Fain would I change that note</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>William Habington.</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To roses in Castara's breast</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Danyel (1604?-1625?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Thou pretty bird</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Anon. (<i>temp.</i> James I.).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Once I lov'd a maiden fair</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir John Suckling (1609-1642).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>I pr'ythee send me back my heart</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Orsame's song&mdash;"Why so pale," etc.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Ford, composer (1607?-1648).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Since first I saw your face</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Abraham Cowley (1618-1667).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>The given heart</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Edward Sherburne (1618-1702).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Ice and fire</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_111">111</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Richard Lovelace (1618-1658).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Amarantha</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>To Althea, from prison</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Alexander Brome (1620-1666).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>A mock song</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Stanley (1625-1678).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Speaking and kissing</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir George Etherege (1635?-1691).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Ladies' conquering eyes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset (1638-1706).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Dorinda</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Robert Gould (&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;-1709?).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Celia and Sylvia</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir Charles Sedley (1639?-1701).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>True love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Too late!</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>My mistress' heart</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Constancy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Peter Anthony Motteux (1660-1718).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Man and woman</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Matthew Prior (1664-1721).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Accept my heart</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Sir John Vanbrugh (1664-1726).</td><td align='right'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>An angelic woman</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>I smile at love</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Granville (1667-1735).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Adieu l'amour</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>William Congreve (1670-1729).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Sabina wakes</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Inconstancy</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Ambrose Philips (1675?-1709).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Love and hate</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Oldmixon (1673-1742).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>I lately vowed</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Dr. Isaac Watts (1674-1748).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Few happy matches</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>John Hughes (1677-1720).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Dorinda's conquest</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>George Farquhar (1678-1707).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>Lovers in disguise</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thomas Parnell (1679-1718).</td><td align='right'></td></tr>
+<tr><td class='indent'>When thy beauty appears</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+<h1>LOVE VERSES OF THE TUDOR &amp; STUART PERIODS.</h1>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p class='heading'>THE LOST HEART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Help me to seek! For I lost it there;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, if that ye have found it, ye that be here,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seek to convey it secretly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Handle it soft and treat it tenderly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or else it will 'plain, and then appair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But pray restore it mannerly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since that I do ask it thus honestly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For to lose it, it sitteth me near;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Help me to seek!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas, and is there no remedy?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But have I thus lost it wilfully?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I-wis, it was a thing all too dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be bestowed, and wist not where!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was mine heart! I pray you heartily<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Help me to seek!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Thomas Wyatt.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE LOVER'S APPEAL.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say nay! say nay! for shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To save thee from the blame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all my grief and grame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say nay! say nay!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hath loved thee so long<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In wealth and woe among:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is thy heart so strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As for to leave me thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say nay! say nay!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hath given thee my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never for to depart<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Neither for pain nor smart:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say nay! say nay!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And have no more pity<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of him that loveth thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas! thy cruelty!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wilt thou leave me thus?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say nay! say nay!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Thomas Wyatt.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A SONNET.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That built his seat within my captive breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oft in my face he doth his banner rest:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She that me taught to love and suffer pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And coward Love then to the heart apace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and plains<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my lord's guilt, thus faultless, bide I pains:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sweet is his death that takes his end by love!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In temperate heat where he is felt and seen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In presence pressed of people mad or wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set me in high, or yet in low degree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In longest night, or in the shortest day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hers will I be, and only with this thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Content myself, although my chance be nought.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MY SWEET SWEETING.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, my sweet sweeting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My little pretty sweeting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My sweeting will I love wherever I go:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She is so proper and pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full steadfast, stable, and demure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">There is none such, you may be sure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As my sweet sweeting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In all this world, as thinketh me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is none so pleasant to my eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I am glad so oft to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As my sweet sweeting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I behold my sweeting sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face, her hands, her mignon feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They seem to me there is none so sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As my sweet sweeting.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon., circa 1530.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE LOVER TO HIS LADY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My girl, thou gazest much<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Upon the golden skies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would <i>I</i> were Heaven! I would behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thee then with all mine eyes!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Turberville.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MASTER GEORGE: HIS SONNET OF THE PAINS OF LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Two lines shall tell the grief<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That I by love sustain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I burn, I flame, I faint, I freeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of Hell I feel the pain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Turberville.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TURBERVILLE'S ANSWER AND DISTICH TO THE SAME.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Two lines shall teach you how<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To purchase love anew:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let reason rule, where Love did reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And idle thoughts eschew.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Turberville.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What shepherd can express<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The favour of her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom, in this distress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do appeal for grace?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A thousand Cupids fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">About her gentle eye;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">From which each throws a dart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That kindleth soft sweet fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within my sighing heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Possessed by desire:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No sweeter life I try<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Than in her love to die!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The lily in the field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That glories in his white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For pureness now must yield<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And render up his right;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heaven pictured in her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Doth promise joy and grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fair Cynthia's silver light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That beats on running streams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Compares not with her white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose hairs are all sunbeams:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So bright my Nymph doth shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As day unto my eyne!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With this, there is a red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Exceeds the damask-rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which in her cheeks is spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where every favour grows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In sky there is no star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But she surmounts it far.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Ph&#339;bus from the bed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Thetis doth arise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The morning, blushing red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In fair carnation-wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He shows in my Nymph's face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As Queen of every grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This pleasant lily-white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This taint of roseate red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Cynthia's silver light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This sweet fair Dea spread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">These sunbeams in mine eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">These beauties, make me die!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A RENUNCIATION.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If women could be fair, and yet not fond,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would not marvel that they make men bond<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By service long to purchase their good will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I see how frail those creatures are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I muse that men forget themselves so far.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To mark the choice they make, and how they change,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How oft from Ph&#339;bus they do flee to Pan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These gentle birds that fly from man to man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To pass the time when nothing else can please,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And train them to our lure with subtle oath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then we say when we their fancy try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To play with fools, O what a fool was I!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE COMPLAINT OF HARPALUS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Phylida was a fair maid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fresh as any flower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom Harpalus the herdman prayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be his paramour.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Harpalus and eke Corin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were herdmen, both yfere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phylida could twist and spin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thereto sing full clear.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Phylida was all too coy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Harpalus to win;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Corin was her only joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who forced her not a pin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How often would she flowers twine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How often garlands make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of cowslips and of columbine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all for Corin's sake!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But Corin, he had hawks to lure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And forc&egrave;d more the field;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of lovers' law he took no cure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For once he was beguiled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Harpalus prevail&egrave;d nought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His labour all was lost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he was farthest from her thoughts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet he loved her most.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Therefore waxed he both pale and lean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dry as clot of clay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His flesh it was consum&egrave;d clean,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">His colour gone away....<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His beasts he kept upon the hill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he sate in the dale;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thus, with sighs and sorrows shrill,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gan to tell his tale.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"O Harpalus,"&mdash;thus would he say&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Unhappiest under sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The cause of thine unhappy day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By love was first begun!...<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O Cupid, grant this my request,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And do not stop thine ears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she may feel within her breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The pains of my despairs!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Corin that is careless,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she may crave her fee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I have done in great distress,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That loved her faithfully!" ...<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Barnaby Googe (?).</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A STRANGE PASSION OF A LOVER.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Amid my bale I bathe in bliss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I swim in Heaven, I sink in hell:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I find amends for every miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet my moan no tongue can tell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I live and love (what would you more?)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As never lover lived before.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I laugh sometimes with little lust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So jest I oft and feel no joy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine eye is builded all on trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I live and lack, I lack and have;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have and miss the thing I crave.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 35%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then like the lark that passed the night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In heavy sleep with cares oppressed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet when she spies the pleasant light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She sends sweet notes from out her breast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sing I now because I think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How joys approach when sorrows shrink.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as fair Philomene again<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can watch and sing when others sleep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And taketh pleasure in her pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wray the woe that makes her weep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sing I now for to bewray<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The loathsome life I lead alway.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The which to thee, dear wench, I write,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou know'st my mirth but not my moan;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pray God grant thee deep delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live in joys when I am gone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot live; it will not be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I die to think to part from thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Gascoigne.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO PHYLLIS, THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My Phyllis hath the morning sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">At first to look upon her:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her rising still to honour.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That smile when she treads on them:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phyllis hath a gallant flock<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That leaps since she doth own them.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Alas, that she should have it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It yields no mercy to desert<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor peace to those that crave it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Pray her regard my moan!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet birds, when you sing to her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To yield some pity woo her!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet flowers, that she treads on,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Tell her, her beauty dreads one;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if in life her love she'll not agree me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Pray her before I die, she will come see me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Edward Dyer.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Thou mak'st my heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">A bloody mark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With piercing shot to bleed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shoot soft, sweet Love! for fear thou shoot amiss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">For fear too keen<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Thy arrows been,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hit the heart where my Belov&egrave;d is.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Too fair that fortune were, nor never I<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Shall be so blest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Among the rest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">This doth remain<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To cease my pain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Peele.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>HIS LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I like a hermit dwell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On a rock, or in a cell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Calling home the smallest part<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is missing of my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To bestow it where I may<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Meet a rival every day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she undervalue me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What care I how fair she be?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were her tresses angel gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If a stranger may be bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unrebuked, unafraid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To convert them to a braid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with little more ado<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Work them into bracelets too?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the mine be grown so free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What care I how rich it be?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were her hand as rich a prize<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As her hairs, or precious eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she lay them out to take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kisses, for good manners' sake:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let every lover skip<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her hand unto her lip;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she seem not chaste to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What care I how chaste she be?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No; she must be perfect snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In effect as well as show;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Warming, but as snowballs do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not like fire, by burning too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when she by change hath got<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To her heart a second lot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then if others share with me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Farewell her, whate'er she be!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Walter Raleigh.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell!"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is that fountain, and that well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where pleasure and repentance dwell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is, perhaps, that passing bell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That tolls us all to heaven or hell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I heard tell.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine!"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a sunshine mix'd with rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a toothache, or like pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a game where none doth gain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lass saith No, and would full fain!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I hear saine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a "Yea," it is a "Nay,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pretty kind of sporting fray;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is a thing will soon away;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is love, as I hear say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Yet what is love? good shepherd, show!"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thing that creeps, it cannot go,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">A prize that passeth to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A thing for one, a thing for moe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he that proves shall find it so;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, shepherd, this is love, I trow.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Walter Raleigh.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the world and Love were young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And truth in every shepherd's tongue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These pretty pleasures might me move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live with thee and be thy love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But time drives flocks from field to fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then Philomel becometh dumb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rest complains of cares to come.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The flowers do fade, and wanton fields<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wayward winter reckoning yields;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A honey tongue, a heart of gall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is fancy's spring: but sorrow's fall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy posies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In folly ripe, in reason rotten.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The belt of straw and ivy-buds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy coral clasps and amber studs,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All these in me no means can move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To come to thee, and be thy love.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What should we talk of dainties, then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of better meat than's fit for men?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These are but vain: that's only good<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which God hath bless'd and sent for food.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But could youth last, and love still breed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had joys no date, nor age no need;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then those delights my mind might move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To live with thee, and be thy love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Walter Raleigh.</p>
+
+<p class='comment'>[See "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," page 50.]</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE FOR LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Away with these self-loving lads<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In love of them that lie and sleep!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For Cupid is a merry god,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And forceth none to kiss the rod.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet Cupid's shafts, like Destiny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do causeless good or ill decree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Desert is borne out of his bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Reward upon his wing doth go:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What fools are they that have not known<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That Love likes no laws but his own!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My songs, they be of Cynthia's praise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wear her rings on holy days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On every tree I write her name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every day I read the same:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where Honour Cupid's rival is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">There miracles are seen of his.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If Cynthia crave her ring of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I blot her name out of the tree;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If doubt do darken things held dear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then "farewell nothing," once a year:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For many run, but one must win;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The worth that worthiness should move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is love, which is the due of love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And love as well the shepherd can<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As can the mighty nobleman:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Sweet nymph, 'tis true, you worthy be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet, without love, nought worth to me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Fulke-Greville, Lord Brooke.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CUPID AND MY CAMPASPE: APELLES' SONG.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cupid and my Campaspe played<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At cards for kisses: Cupid paid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His mother's doves and team of sparrows;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loses them too; then down he throws<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The coral of his lip, the rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With these the crystal of his brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then the dimple of his chin&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All these did my Campaspe win.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At last he set her both his eyes.&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She won, and Cupid blind did rise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Love, has she done this to thee?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What shall, alas! become of me?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Lyly.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A DITTY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By just exchange one to the other given:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There never was a better bargain driven:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His heart in me keeps him and me in one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He loves my heart, for once it was his own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cherish his because in me it bides:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Philip Sidney.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE IS DEAD.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love is dead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">All Love is dead, infected<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With plague of deep disdain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Worth, as nought worth, rejected,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Faith fair scorn doth gain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From so ungrateful fancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From such a female franzy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From them that use men thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Good Lord, deliver us!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Love is dead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">His death-bed, peacock's folly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His winding-sheet is shame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">His will, false-seeming holy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His sole executor, blame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From so ungrateful fancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From such a female franzy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From them that use men thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Good Lord, deliver us!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Love is dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">My mistress' marble heart;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Which epitaph containeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Her eyes were once his dart</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From so ungrateful fancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From such a female franzy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">From them that use men thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Good Lord, deliver us!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Alas, I lie; rage hath this error bred;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love is not dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Love is not dead, but sleepeth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In his unmatch&egrave;d mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Where she his counsel keepeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till due deserts she find:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Therefore from so vile fancy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">To call such wit a franzy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Who Love can temper thus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Good Lord, deliver us!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Philip Sidney.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>HE THAT LOVES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He that loves and fears to try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Learns his mistress to deny.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thy coldness makes her do it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is she silent, is she mute?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silence fully grants thy suit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth she pout and leave the room?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then she goes to bid thee come.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is she sick? why then be sure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She invites thee to the cure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth she cross thy suit with "No"?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tush! she loves to hear thee woo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth she call the faith of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In question? nay, she loves thee then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if e'er she makes a blot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She's lost if that thou hit'st her not.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He that after ten denials<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth attempt no further trials,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath no warrant to acquire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The dainties of his chaste desire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Philip Sidney.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE'S WANTONNESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love guards the roses of thy lips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And flies about them like a bee:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I approach, he forward skips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And if I kiss, he stingeth me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sleeps within their pretty shine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I look, the boy will lower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love works thy heart within his fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And in my tears doth firm the same;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if I tempt, it will retire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And of my plaints doth make a game.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And pity me, and calm her eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then will I praise thy deity,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Lodge.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ROSALINE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like to the clear in highest sphere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where all imperial glory shines,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of selfsame colour is her hair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether unfolded, or in twines:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resembling heaven by every wink;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Gods do fear whenas they glow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I do tremble when I think<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, would she were mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That beautifies Aurora's face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or like the silver crimson shroud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Ph&#339;bus' smiling looks doth grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her lips are like two budded roses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Within which bounds she balm encloses<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Apt to entice a deity:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, would she were mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her neck is like a stately tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Love himself imprison'd lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To watch for glances every hour<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From her divine and sacred eyes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, for Rosaline!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Her paps are centres of delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where Nature moulds the dew of light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To feed perfection with the same:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, would she were mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With orient pearl, with ruby red,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With marble white, with sapphire blue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her body every way is fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nature herself her shape admires;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Gods are wounded in her sight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Love forsakes his heavenly fires<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And at her eyes his brand doth light:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, would she were mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The absence of fair Rosaline,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since for a fair there's fairer none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor for her virtues so divine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh ho, fair Rosaline;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Lodge.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE MAY QUEEN.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With fragrant flowers we strew the way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And make this our chief holiday;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For though this clime were blest of yore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet was it never proud before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O beauteous Queen of second Troy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Accept of our unfeign&egrave;d joy!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now th' air is sweeter than sweet balm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And satyrs dance about the palm;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now earth, with verdure newly dight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gives perfect signs of her delight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O beauteous Queen of second Troy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Accept of our unfeign&egrave;d joy!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now birds recall new harmony,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And trees do whistle melody;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now everything that nature breeds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O beauteous Queen of second Troy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Accept of our unfeign&egrave;d joy!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Watson.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the merry month of May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a morn by break of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With a troop of damsels playing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When anon by a woodside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where as May was in his pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I espied, all alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Phillida and Corydon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Much ado there was, God wot!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He would love, and she would not:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, never man was true:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, none was false to you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said, he had loved her long:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, love should have no wrong.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Corydon would kiss her then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She said, maids must kiss no men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till they do for good and all;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then she made the shepherd call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the heavens to witness truth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never loved a truer youth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus with many a pretty oath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, and nay, and faith and troth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such as silly shepherds use<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When they will not love abuse;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, which had been long deluded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was with kisses sweet concluded:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phillida with garlands gay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was made the lady of the May.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Richard Breton.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SHALL I COME, SWEET LOVE?</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When the evening beams are set?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I not excluded be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will you find no feigned let?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let me not, for pity, more<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell the long hours at your door.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who can tell what thief or foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the covert of the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For his prey will work my woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or through wicked foul despite?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So may I die unredrest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere my long love be possest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But to let such dangers pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which a lover's thoughts disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis enough in such a place<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To attend love's joys in vain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not mock me in thy bed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While these cold nights freeze me dead.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Campion.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CHERRY-RIPE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There is a garden in her face<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where roses and white lilies blow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A heavenly paradise that place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There cherries grow that none may buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those cherries fairly do enclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of orient pearl a double row,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which when her lovely laughter shows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her eyes like angels watch them still;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her brows like bended bows do stand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All that approach with eye or hand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These sacred cherries to come nigh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Campion.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FAIR SAMELA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like to Diana in her summer weed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Goes fair Samela;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When wash'd by Arethusa's fount they lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Is fair Samela;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As fair Aurora in her morning gray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Is fair Samela;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like lovely Thetis on a calm&egrave;d day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Shines fair Samela;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Of fair Samela;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her brows, bright arches fram'd of ebony;<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Thus fair Samela<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Juno in the show of majesty,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">(For she's Samela!)<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pallas in wit,&mdash;all three, if you well view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">Yield to Samela.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Greene.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>KINDS OF LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Foolish love is only folly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wanton love is too unholy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Greedy love is covetous;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Idle love is frivolous;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the gracious love is it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That doth prove the work of wit.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beauty but deceives the eye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flattery leads the ear awry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wealth doth but enchant the wit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Want, the overthrow of it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While in Wisdom's worthy grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Virtue sees the sweetest face.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There hath Love found out his life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Peace without all thought of strife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kindness in Discretion's care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Truth, that clearly doth declare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Faith doth in true fancy prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lust the excrements of Love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then in faith may fancy see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How my love may constru&egrave;d be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How it grows and what it seeks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How it lives and what it likes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So in highest grace regard it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or in lowest scorn discard it.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Greene.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE AND BEAUTY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Pretty twinkling starry eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How did Nature first devise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such a sparkling in your sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to give Love such delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to make him like a fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Play with looks until he die?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sure ye were not made at first<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For such mischief to be curst;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to kill Affection's care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That doth only truth declare;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where worth's wonders never wither,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love and Beauty live together.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Blessed eyes, then give your blessing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in passion's best expressing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love that only lives to grace ye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May not suffer pride deface ye;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in gentle thought's directions<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Show the power of your perfections.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Greene.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE'S SERVILE LOT.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love mistress is of many minds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet few know whom they serve;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They reckon least how little hope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their service doth deserve.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The will she robbeth from the wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sense from reason's lore;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She is delightful in the rind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Corrupted in the core.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">May never was the month of love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For May is full of flowers;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But rather April, wet by kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For love is full of showers.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With soothing words inthrall&egrave;d souls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She chains in servile bands!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her eye in silence hath a speech<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which eye best understands.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her little sweet hath many sours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Short hap, immortal harms;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her loving looks are murdering darts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her songs bewitching charms.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Like winter rose, and summer ice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her joys are still untimely;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Before her hope, behind remorse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair first, in fine unseemly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Leave off your idle pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seek other mistress for your minds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love's service is in vain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Southwell.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE HEART OF STONE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was from cheeks that shame the rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence comes my woe? as freely own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lips befitting words most kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The eye does tempt to love's desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And seems to say, "'Tis Cupid's fire;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet all so fair but speak my moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since nought doth say the heart of stone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet not a heart to save my pain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Venus, take thy gifts again!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make not so fair to cause our moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or make a heart that's like your own.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Harrington.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A SHEPHERD'S SONG TO HIS LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">White as the sun, fair as the lily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heigh-ho, how I do love thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do love thee as my lambs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are belov&egrave;d of their dams:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How blest I were if thou would'st prove me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fair sweet, how I do love thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do love thee as each flower<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Loves the sun's life-giving power;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Diaphenia, like to all things bless&egrave;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all thy praises are express&egrave;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dear joy, how I do love thee!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the birds do love the spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the bees their careful king:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then, in requite, sweet virgin, love me!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Henry Constable.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE NOW, FOR ROSES FADE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The image of thy blush, and summer's honour!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That full of beauty Time bestows upon her:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sooner spreads her glory in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd the fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No April can revive thy withered flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But love now, whilst thou may'st be loved again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Samuel Daniel.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>EARLY LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah! I remember well (and how can I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But evermore remember well) when first<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look'd upon each other, and conceived<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not what we ail'd&mdash;yet something we did ail;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet were well, and yet we were not well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what was our disease we could not tell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look; and thus<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In that first garden of our simpleness<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We spent our childhood. But when years began<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would she with graver looks, with sweet, stern brow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Check my presumption and my forwardness;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What she would have me, yet not have me know.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Samuel Daniel.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE IS A SICKNESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love is a sickness full of woes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All remedies refusing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A plant that most with cutting grows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Most barren with best using.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Why so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More we enjoy it, more it dies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Heigh-ho!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love is a torment of the mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A tempest everlasting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Jove hath made it of a kind<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not well, nor full nor fasting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Why so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More we enjoy it, more it dies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i5">Heigh-ho!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Samuel Daniel.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Come live with me, and be my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we will all the pleasures prove<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Woods or steepy mountain yields.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And we will sit upon the rocks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By shallow rivers, to whose falls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Melodious birds sing madrigals.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And I will make thee beds of roses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a thousand fragrant posies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A gown made of the finest wool,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair lined slippers for the cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With buckles of the purest gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A belt of straw and ivy buds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With coral clasps and amber studs:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if these pleasures may thee move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come live with me and be my love.<br /></span>
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The shepherd swains shall dance and sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thy delight each May morning.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If these delights thy mind may move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come live with me and be my love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Christopher Marlowe.</p>
+
+<p class='comment'>[See "The Shepherdess's Reply to The Passionate Pilgrim," page 22.]</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were I as base as is the lowly plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were I as high as heaven above the plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you, my Love, as humble and as low<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As are the deepest bottoms of the main,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love should shine on you like to the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And look upon you with ten thousand eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>J. Sylvester.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A PARTING; OR, LOVE'S LAST CHANCE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That thus so clearly I myself can free.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And, when we meet at any time again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be it not seen in either of our brows<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That we one jot of former love retain.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Innocence is closing up his eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Michael Drayton.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>WHO IS SILVIA?</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Who is Silvia? What is she,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That all our swains commend her?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Holy, fair, and wise is she:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The heavens such grace did lend her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That she might admired be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Is she kind as she is fair?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For beauty lives with kindness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love doth to her eyes repair<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To help him of his blindness,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, being helped, inhabits there.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then to Silvia let us sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That Silvia is excelling;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She excels each mortal thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon the dull earth dwelling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To her let us garlands bring.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Shakespeare.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Men were deceivers ever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One foot in sea and one on shore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To one thing constant never:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Then sigh not so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">But let them go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And be you blithe and bonny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Converting all your sounds of woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Into, Hey nonny, nonny.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sing no more ditties, sing no moe<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of dumps so dull and heavy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fraud of men was ever so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since summer first was leafy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Then sigh not so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">But let them go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And be you blithe and bonny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Converting all your sounds of woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Into, Hey nonny, nonny.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Shakespeare.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Ph&#339;bus 'gins arise';<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His steeds to water at those springs<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On chalic'd flowers that lies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And winking Mary-buds begin<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To ope their golden eyes:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With everything that pretty is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My lady sweet arise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Arise, arise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Shakespeare.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While that the sun with his beams hot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorch&egrave;d the fruits in vale and mountain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Philon the shepherd, late forgot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sitting beside a crystal fountain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In shadow of a green oak tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon his pipe this song play'd he:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So long as I was in your sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Burning in flames beyond all measure:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">&mdash;Three days endured your love to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And it was lost in other three!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Another Shepherd you did see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom your heart was soon enchain&egrave;d;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full soon your love was leapt from me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full soon my place he had obtain&egrave;d.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Soon came a third, your love to win,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we were out and he was in.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sure you have made me passing glad<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That you your mind so soon remov&egrave;d,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before that I the leisure had<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To choose you for my best belov&egrave;d:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For all your love was past and done<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Two days before it was begun:&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon., circa 1564.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TRUE LOVELINESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is not Beauty I demand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A crystal brow, the moon's despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me not of your starry eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your lips that seem on roses fed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed:&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A breath that softer music speaks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">These are but gauds: nay, what are lips?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Coral beneath the ocean-stream,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose brink when your adventurer slips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full oft he perisheth on them.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That wave hot youth to fields of blood?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do Greece or Ilium any good?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Eyes can with baleful ardour burn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's many a white hand holds an urn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For crystal brows there's nought within,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They are but empty cells for pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He who the Siren's hair would win<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is mostly strangled in the tide.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Give me, instead of Beauty's bust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A tender heart, a loyal mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which with temptation I would trust,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet never link'd with error find,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One in whose gentle bosom I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Could pour my secret heart of woes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That hides his murmurs in the rose,&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My earthly Comforter! whose love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So indefeasible might be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That when my spirit wonn'd above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hers could not stay, for sympathy.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A WOMAN'S REASON.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love me not for comely grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For my pleasing eye or face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor for any outward part;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No! nor for my constant heart,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For these may fail, or turn to ill;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So thou and I shall sever:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And love me well, but know not why.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So hast thou the same reason still<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To dote upon me ever!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Over the mountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And over the waves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under the fountains<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And under the graves;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Under floods that are deepest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which Neptune obey;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over rocks that are steepest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Love will find out the way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where there is no place<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For the glow-worm to lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where there is no space<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For receipt of a fly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where the midge dares not venture,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lest herself fast she lay;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If love come, he will enter<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And soon find out his way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You may esteem him<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A child for his might;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or you may deem him<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A coward for his flight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if she whom Love doth honour<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Be concealed from the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Set a thousand guards upon her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Love will find out the way.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some think to lose him<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">By having him confin'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some do suppose him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Poor thing, to be blind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if ne'er so close you wall him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Do the best that you may;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blind Love, if so ye call him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will find out his way.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You may train the eagle<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To stoop to your fist;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or you may inveigle<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Ph&#339;nix of the East;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The lioness, you may move her<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To give o'er her prey;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you will never stop a lover&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He will find out his way.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>PHILLIDA FLOUTS ME.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, what a plague is love!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I cannot bear it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She will inconstant prove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I greatly fear it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It so torments my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That my heart faileth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She wavers with the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As a ship saileth;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Please her the best I may,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She looks another way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alack and well a-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Phillida flouts me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I often heard her say<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That she loved posies:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the last month of May<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I gave her roses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cowslips and gillyflow'rs<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the sweet lily,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I got to deck the bow'rs<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of my dear Philly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She did them all disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And threw them back again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therefore, 'tis flat and plain<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Phillida flouts me.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Which way soe'er I go,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She still torments me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And whatsoe'er I do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nothing contents me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fade, and pine away<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With grief and sorrow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I fall quite to decay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like any shadow;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since 'twill no better be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll bear it patiently;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet all the world may see<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Phillida flouts me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Circa 1610.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>IN PRAISE OF TWO.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Faustina hath the fairest face,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Phillida the better grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Both have mine eye enriched:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This sings full sweetly with her voice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her fingers make so sweet a noise:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Both have mine ear bewitched.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah me! sith Fates have so provided,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My heart, alas! must be divided.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Anon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I might have gone near to love thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had I not found the slightest prayer<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That lips could speak, had power to move thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I can let thee now alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As worthy to be loved by none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do confess thou'rt sweet, but find<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy favours are but like the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That kisses everything it meets;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And since thou can with more than one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The morning rose that untouch'd stands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her sweet no longer with her dwells.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But scent and beauty both are gone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And leaves fall from her, one by one.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Such fate ere long will thee betide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When thou hast handled been a while;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I will sigh, while some will smile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see thy love for more than one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath brought thee to be loved by none.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Robert Aytoun.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I Lov'd thee once, I'll love no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thine be the grief as is the blame;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou art not what thou wert before,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What reason I should be the same?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He that can love unlov'd again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hath better store of love than brain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">God send me love my debts to pay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">While unthrifts fool their love away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If thou hadst still continued mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I might perchance have yet been thine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But thou thy freedom did recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That if thou might elsewhere inthral;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And then how could I but disdain<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A captive's captive to remain?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When new desires had conquer'd thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And chang'd the object of thy will,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It had been lethargy in me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not constancy to love thee still.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yea it had been a sin to go<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And prostitute affection so,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since we are taught no prayers to say<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To such as must to others pray.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet do thou glory in thy choice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thy choice of his good fortune's boast;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To see him gain what I have lost;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The height of my disdain shall be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To laugh at him, to blush for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To love thee still, but go no more<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A-begging to a beggar's door.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Robert Aytoun.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In a maiden-time profess'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then we say that life is bless'd;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tasting once the married life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then we only praise the wife;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's but one state more to try,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which makes women laugh or cry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Widow, widow: of these three<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The middle's best, and that give me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Middleton.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MY LOVE AND I MUST PART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Weep eyes, break heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love and I must part.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cruel fates true love do soonest sever;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, I shall see thee never, never, never!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, happy is the maid whose life takes end<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Weep eyes, break heart!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My love and I must part.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Middleton.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>PERFECT BEAUTY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was a beauty that I saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So pure, so perfect, as the frame<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of all the universe was lame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To that one figure, could I draw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or give least line of it a law!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A skein of silk without a knot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fair march made without a halt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A curious form without a fault,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A printed book without a blot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All beauty, and without a spot!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Ben Jonson.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO CELIA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Drink to me only with thine eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I will pledge with mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or leave a kiss but in the cup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I'll not look for wine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The thirst that from the soul doth rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Doth ask a drink divine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But might I of Jove's nectar sup,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I would not change for thine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I sent thee late a rosy wreath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not so much honouring thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As giving it a hope that there<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It could not withered be:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thou thereon didst only breathe<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sent'st it back to me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not of itself, but thee!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Ben Jonson.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now thou hast loved me one whole day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-morrow, when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wilt thou then ante-date some new-made vow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or say, that now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We are not just those persons which we were?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or, that oaths made in reverential fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Love and his wrath any may forswear?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So lovers' contracts, images of those,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or, your own end to justify<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For having purposed change and falsehood, you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can have no way but falsehood to be true?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vain lunatic! Against these scapes I could<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Dispute and conquer if I would;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which I abstain to do;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, by to-morrow, I may think so too.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Dr. John Donne.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SWEETEST LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweetest love, I do not go<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For weariness of thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor in hope the world can show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A fitter love for me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But since that I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must die at last, 'tis best<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thus to use myself in jest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By feigned death to die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yester-night the sun went hence,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet is here to-day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hath no desire nor sense,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor half so short a way:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then fear not me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But believe that I shall make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hastier journeys, since I take<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More wings and spurs than he.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Dr. John Donne.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO AURORA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then would'st thou melt the ice out of thy breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O, if thy pride did not our joys control,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What world of loving wonders should'st thou see!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, I would have my share in what were thine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">This happy harmony would make them none.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>PHILLIS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In petticoat of green,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hair about her eyne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Phillis, beneath an oak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat milking her fair flock.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Drummond.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Take, O, take those lips away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That so sweetly were forsworn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those eyes, the break of day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lights that do mislead the morn:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my kisses bring again, bring again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hide, O, hide those hills of snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which thy frozen bosom bears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On whose tops the pinks that grow<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are of those that April wears;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But first set my poor heart free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bound in icy chains by thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Beaumont and Fletcher.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TELL ME, WHAT IS LOVE?</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me, dearest, what is love?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis a lightning from above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis a boy they call Desire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">'Tis a grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gapes to have<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those poor fools that long to prove.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me more, are women true?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, some are, and some as you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some are willing, some are strange,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since you men first taught to change.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And till truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be in both<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All shall love to love anew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me more yet, can they grieve?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yes, and sicken sore, but live:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And be wise and delay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you men are as wise as they.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Faith will be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Never till they both believe.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Francis Beaumont.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>PINING FOR LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How long shall I pine for love?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How long shall I sue in vain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How long like the turtle-dove,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall I heartily thus complain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall the sails of my heart stand still?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall the grists of my hope be unground?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Let the mill, let the mill go round.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Francis Beaumont.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FIE ON LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now fie on foolish love, it not befits<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or man or woman know it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love was not meant for people in their wits,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And they that fondly show it<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Betray the straw, and features in their brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shall have Bedlam for their pain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If simple love be such a curse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To marry is to make it ten times worse.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Francis Beaumont.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>DAM&#338;TAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tune on my pipe the praises of my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love fair and bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Heavens Jove's delight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With Daphnis' praise.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gold bright and sheen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scyll o'erseen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Through Minos' love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her eyes like shining lamps in midst of night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Night dark and dead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or as the stars that give the seamen light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Light for to lead<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their wandering ships.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lily snow-white:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When their cont&eacute;st doth make their colour thrive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Colour too bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For shepherds' eyes.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Scarlet blood-red:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hills overspread<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By winter's force.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her skin as soft as is the finest silk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Silk soft and fine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of colour like unto the whitest milk,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Milk of the kine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Daphnis' herd.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As swift of foot as is the pretty roe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Roe swift of pace:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When yelping hounds pursue her to and fro,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hounds fierce in chase<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To reave her life.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cease to tell of any more compare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Compares too rude,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Daphnis' deserts and beauty are too rare:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then here conclude<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fair Daphnis' praise.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Wootton.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall I, wasting in despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Die because a woman's fair?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or my cheeks make pale with care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Cause another's rosy are?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be she fairer than the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or the flowery meads in May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If she be not so to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What care I how fair she be?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall my foolish heart be pined<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Cause I see a woman kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or a well-dispos&egrave;d nature<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Join&egrave;d with a lovely feature?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be she meeker, kinder, than<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turtle-dove or pelican,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If she be not so to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What care I how kind she be?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shall a woman's virtues move<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Me to perish for her love?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or her merit's value known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make me quite forget mine own?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be she with that goodness blest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which may gain her name of Best;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If she seem not such to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What care I how good she be?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Cause her fortune seems too high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall I play the fool and die?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those that bear a noble mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where they want, of riches find.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think what with them they would do<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who without them dare to woo:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And unless that mind I see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What care I tho' great she be?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Great or good, or kind or fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will ne'er the more despair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she love me, this believe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I will die ere she shall grieve;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she slight me when I woo,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can scorn and let her go;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For if she be not for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What care I for whom she be?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Wither.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Wonder not, though I am blind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">For you must be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dark in your eyes, or in your mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">If, when you see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her face, you prove not blind like me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If the powerful beams that fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i11">From her eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those amorous sweets that lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scatter'd in each neighbouring part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find a passage to your heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then you'll confess your mortal sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too weak for such a glorious light:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if her graces you discover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You grow, like me, a dazzled lover;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But if those beauties you not spy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then are you blinder far than I.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Carew.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He that loves a rosy cheek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or a coral lip admires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or from star-like eyes doth seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fuel to maintain his fires;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As old Time makes these decay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So his flames must waste away.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But a smooth and steadfast mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Gentle thoughts and calm desires,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hearts with equal love combined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Kindle never-dying fires;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where these are not, I despise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Carew.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MATIN SONG.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rise, Lady Mistress! rise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The night hath tedious been;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor slumbers made me sin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not she a saint, then, say!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thought of whom keeps sin away?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rise, madam! rise, and give me light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whom darkness still will cover,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ignorance, more dark than night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till thou smile on thy lover.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All want day till thy beauty rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Nathaniel Field.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>JULIA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some asked me where the rubies grew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And nothing did I say,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But with my finger pointed to<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The lips of Julia.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some asked how pearls did grow, and where;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then spake I to my girl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To part her lips and show me there<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The quarelets of pearl.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">One asked me where the roses grew;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I bade him not go seek,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But forthwith bade my Julia show<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A bud in either cheek.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Herrick.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CHERRY RIPE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe," I cry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Full and fair ones&mdash;come and buy;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If so be you ask me where<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They do grow? I answer, "There,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where my Julia's lips do smile;"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There's the land, or cherry-isle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose plantations fully show<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All the year where cherries grow!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Herrick.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO THE VIRGINS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Old Time is still a-flying;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this same flower that smiles to-day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To-morrow will be dying.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The higher he's a-getting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sooner will his race be run,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And nearer he's to setting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That age is best which is the first,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When youth and blood are warmer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But being spent, the worse and worst<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Times still succeed the former.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then be not coy, but use your time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And while ye may, go marry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For having lost but once your prime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You may for ever tarry.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Herrick.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO ELECTRA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I dare not ask a kiss;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I dare not beg a smile;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest having that or this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I might grow proud the while.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, no, the utmost share<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of my desire shall be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only to kiss that air<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That lately kiss&egrave;d thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Herrick.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>DRY THOSE EYES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dry those fair, those crystal eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which like growing fountains rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would better flow in furrow'd looks:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy lovely face was never meant<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be the shore of discontent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then clear those waterish stars again,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which else portend a lasting rain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest the clouds which settle there<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prolong my winter all the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thy example others make<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In love with sorrow, for thy sake.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Dr. Henry King.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE'S CONSTANCY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dear, sweet, fair, wise,&mdash;change, shrink, nor be not weak;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Dowland.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FAREWELL, MY JOY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell! my joy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Adieu! my love and pleasure!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sport and toy<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We have no longer leisure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Farewell! adieu!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Until our next consorting!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet love, be true!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And thus we end our sporting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Fa la la!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Weelkes.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE LARK NOW LEAVES HIS WAT'RY NEST.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And climbing, shakes his dewy wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He takes your window for the east,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And to implore your light, he sings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awake, awake, the morn will never rise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The ploughman from the sun his season takes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But still the lover wonders what they are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who look for day before his mistress wakes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir William Davenant.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>GO, LOVELY ROSE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go, lovely Rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tell her that wastes her time and me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That now she knows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I resemble her to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How sweet and fair she seems to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell her that's young,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And shuns to have her graces spied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That had'st thou sprung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In deserts where no men abide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou must have uncommended died.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Small is the worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of beauty from the light retired;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bid her come forth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suffer herself to be desired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And not blush so to be admired.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then die, that she<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The common fate of all things rare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May read in thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How small a part of time they share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who are so wondrous sweet and fair!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Edmund Waller.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>HIS MISTRESS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have a mistress, for perfections rare<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still her perfection lets religion in.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I touch her, like my beads, with devout care,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And come unto my courtship as my prayer.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Randolph.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CHLORIS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Amyntas, go! Thou art undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thy faithful heart is crossed by fate;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That love is better not begun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where love is come to love too late.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet who that saw fair Chloris weep<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such sacred dew, with such pure grace,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Durst think them feign&egrave;d tears, or seek<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For treason in an angel's face.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Henry Vaughan.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love me little, love me long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is the burden of my song;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love that is too hot and strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Burneth soon to waste;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still I would not have thee cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or backward, or too bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For love that lasteth till 'tis old<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fadeth not in haste.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Winter's cold, or summer's heat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Autumn tempests on it beat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It can never know defeat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Never can rebel;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such the love that I would gain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Such love, I tell thee plain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou must give or love in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So to thee farewell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Circa 1610.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FAIN WOULD I CHANGE THAT NOTE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fain would I change that note<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To which fond love hath charm'd me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Long, long to sing by rote,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fancying that that harm'd me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet when this thought doth come,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Love is the perfect sum<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of all delight,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have no other choice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either for pen or voice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To sing or write.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Love, they wrong thee much<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That say thy sweet is bitter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thy rich fruit is such<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As nothing can be sweeter.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair house of joy and bliss<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where truest pleasure is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do adore thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know thee what thou art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I serve thee with my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fall before thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Captain Tobias Hume.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO ROSES IN CASTARA'S BREAST.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ye blushing Virgins happy are<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the chaste Nunn'ry of her breasts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For he'd profane so chaste a fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How rich a perfume do ye yield?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In some close garden, cowslips so<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are sweeter than in th' open field.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In those white Cloisters live secure<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From the rude blasts of wanton breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each hour more innocent and pure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till you shall wither into death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then that which living gave you room,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Your glorious sepulchre shall be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wants no marble for a tomb,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose breast hath marble been to me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Habington.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THOU PRETTY BIRD.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thou pretty bird, how do I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy silly state and mine agree!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou a prisoner art;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So is my heart.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My music to her ear that's merciless;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But herein doth the difference lie,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou art graced; so am not I;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou singing livest, and I must singing die.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Danyel.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ONCE I LOV'D A MAIDEN FAIR.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Once I lov'd a maiden fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But she did deceive me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She with Venus might compare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In my mind, believe me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was young, and among<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All our maids the sweetest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now I say, ah! well-a-day!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Brightest hopes are fleetest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I the wedding ring had got,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Wedding clothes provided,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure the church would bind a knot<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Ne'er to be divided:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Married we straight must be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She her vows had plighted;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vows, alas! as frail as glass:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All my hopes are blighted.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maidens wav'ring and untrue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Many a heart have broken;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweetest lips the world e'er knew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Falsest words have spoken.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fare thee well, faithless girl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll not sorrow for thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once I held thee dear as pearl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Now I do abhor thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Temp. Jas. I. (condensed by T. Oxenford).</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>I PR'YTHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I pr'ythee send me back my heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Since I cannot have thine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For if from yours you will not part,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Why then shouldst thou have mine?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet now I think on't, let it lie;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To find it were in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thou'st a thief in either eye<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Would steal it back again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why should two hearts in one breast lie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And yet not lodge together?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O love! where is thy sympathy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If thus our breasts you sever?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But love is such a mystery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I cannot find it out;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For when I think I'm best resolved,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I then am most in doubt.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then farewell love, and farewell woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I will no longer pine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I'll believe I have her heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As much as she hath mine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir John Suckling.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ORSAMES' SONG.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why so pale and wan, fond lover?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prithee, why so pale?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will, when looking well can't move her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Looking ill prevail?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prithee, why so pale?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why so dull and mute, young sinner?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prithee, why so mute?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will, when speaking well can't win her,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Saying nothing do't?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Prithee, why so mute?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">This cannot take her;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If of herself she will not love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nothing can make her:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The devil take her!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir John Suckling.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since first I saw your face I resolved<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To honour and renown you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If now I be disdained<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I wish my heart had never known you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What! I that loved, and you that liked,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall we begin to wrangle?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, no, no, my heart is fast<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And cannot disentangle.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The sun whose beams most glorious are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Rejecteth no beholder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And your sweet beauty past compare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Made my poor eyes the bolder.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where beauty moves, and wit delights<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And signs of kindness bind me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There, oh! there, where'er I go<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I leave my heart behind me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I admire or praise you too much,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That fault you may forgive me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or if my hands had strayed but a touch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then justly might you leave me.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">I asked you leave, you bade me love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is't now a time to chide me?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, no, no, I'll love you still,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What fortune e'er betide me.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Circa 1617.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>THE GIVEN HEART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I Wonder what those lovers mean, who say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They've given their hearts away.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some good, kind lover, tell me how:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For mine is but a torment to me now.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If so it be one place both hearts contain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For what do they complain?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What courtesy can Love do more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than to join hearts that parted were before?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the self-same room;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Twill tear and blow up all within<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a grenade shot into a magazine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of both our broken hearts;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall out of both one new one make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From hers th' alloy, from mine the metal take.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For of her heart he from the flames will find<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But little left behind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine only will remain entire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No dross was there to perish in the fire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Abraham Cowley.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ICE AND FIRE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Naked Love did to thine eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chloris, once to warm him, fly;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But its subtle flame, and light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorch'd his wings, and spoiled his sight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Forc'd from thence he went to rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In the soft couch of thy breast:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there met a frost so great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As his torch extinguish'd straight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When poor Cupid (thus constrain'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His cold bed to leave) complain'd:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"'Las! what lodging's here for me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If all ice and fire she be."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Edmund Sherburne.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>AMARANTHA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Amarantha, sweet and fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forbear to braid that shining hair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As my curious hand or eye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hovering round thee, let it fly:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let it fly as unconfined<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As its ravisher the wind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who has left his darling east<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wanton o'er this spicy nest.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Every tress must be confess'd<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But neatly tangled at the best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like a clew of golden thread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most excellently ravelled.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Do not then wind up that light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like the sun in his early ray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But shake your head and scatter day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Richard Lovelace.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When love, with unconfined wings,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hovers within my gates,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my divine Althea brings<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To whisper at the grates;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I lie tangled in her hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And fetter'd to her eye&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The birds that wanton in the air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Know no such liberty.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 35%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Stone walls do not a prison make,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor iron bars a cage;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Minds innocent and quiet take<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That for an hermitage.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I have freedom in my love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And in my soul am free,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Angels alone, that soar above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Enjoy such liberty.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Richard Lovelace.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>A MOCK SONG.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tis true I never was in love:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But now I mean to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">For there's no art<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Can shield a heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From love's supremacy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though in my nonage I have seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A world of taking faces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had not age or wit to ken<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Their several hidden graces.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those virtues which, though thinly set,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In others are admired,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In thee are altogether met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which make thee so desired.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That though I never was in love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor never meant to be,<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Thyself and parts<br /></span>
+<span class="i3">Above my arts<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Have drawn my heart to thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Alexander Brome.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SPEAKING AND KISSING.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The air which thy smooth voice doth break,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Into my soul like lightning flies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My life retires while thou dost speak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And thy soft breath its room supplies.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I join my trembling lips to thine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And back receive that life from thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which I so gladly did resign.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What numbers do the soul compose;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No harmony can life inspire<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But that which from these accents flows.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Stanley.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ladies, though to your conquering eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love owes its chiefest victories,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And borrows those bright arms from you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With which he does the world subdue;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet you yourselves are not above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The empire nor the griefs of love.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then rack not lovers with disdain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lest love on you revenge their pain:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are not free because you're fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Boy did not his mother spare:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though beauty be a killing dart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It is no armour for the heart.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Etherege.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>DORINDA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">United, cast too fierce a light,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which blazes high, but quickly dies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love is a calmer, gentler joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Smooth are his looks and soft his pace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her Cupid is a blackguard boy<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That runs his link full in your face.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Charles Sackville.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CELIA AND SYLVIA.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I must confess art kind;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But in her cruelty, I vow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I more repose can find.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For, oh! thy fancy at all games does fly,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fond of address, and willing to comply.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thus he that loves must be undone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Each way on rocks we fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Either you will be kind to none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or worse, be kind to all.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We must be jealous, or we must despair.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Robert Gould.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TRUE LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of sighs, nor aches, to make it known,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to convince the cruellest maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Lovers should use their love alone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Into their very looks 'twill steal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And he that most would hide his flame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Does in that case his pain reveal:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Silence itself can love proclaim.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir Charles Sedley.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>TOO LATE!</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Too late, alas! I must confess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You need not arts to move me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Such charms by nature you possess,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Twere madness not to love ye.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then spare a heart you may surprise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And give my tongue the glory<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To boast, though my unfaithful eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Betray a tender story.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MY MISTRESS' HEART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My dear mistress has a heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Soft as those kind looks she gave me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When with Love's resistless art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And her eyes, she did enslave me.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But her constancy's so weak,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She's so wild and apt to wander;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That my jealous heart would break<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Should we live one day asunder.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Melting joys about her move,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Killing pleasures, wounding blisses;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She can dress her eyes in love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And her lips can arm with kisses.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Angels listen when she speaks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She's my delight, all mankind wonder;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my jealous heart would break<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Should we live one day asunder.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>CONSTANCY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I cannot change, as others do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though you unjustly scorn;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since the poor swain that sighs for you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For you alone was born.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No, Phillis, no, your heart to move<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A surer way I'll try;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to revenge my slighted love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will still love on and die.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And you to mind shall call<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sighs that now unpitied rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The tears that vainly fall;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That welcome hour that ends his smart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will then begin your pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For such a faithful tender heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Can never break in vain.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>MAN AND WOMAN.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Man is for woman made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And woman made for man;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the spur is for the jade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As the scabbard for the blade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As for liquor is the can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So man's for woman made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And woman made for man.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As the sceptre to be sway'd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As to night the serenade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As for pudding is the pan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As to cool us is the fan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So man's for woman made,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And woman made for man.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Peter Antony Motteux.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ACCEPT MY HEART.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Accept, my love, as true a heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As ever lover gave:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis free, it vows, from any art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And proud to be your slave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And let the giver live,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who, with it, would the world have sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had it been his to give.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And, that Dorinda may not fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I e'er will prove untrue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My vow shall, ending with the year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With it begin anew.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Matthew Prior.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>AN ANGELIC WOMAN.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not an angel dwells above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Half so fair as her I love.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven knows how she'll receive me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she smiles I'm blest indeed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she frowns I'm quickly freed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">None can love her more than I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet she ne'er shall make me die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If my flame can never warm her:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lasting beauty I'll adore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall never love her more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cruelty will so deform her.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir John Vanbrugh.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>I SMILE AT LOVE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I smile at Love, and all its arts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The charming Cynthia cried:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A wounded swain replied.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Once free and blest as you are now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I trifled with his charms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I pointed at his little bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sported with his arms,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till urged too far, Revenge! he cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A fatal shaft he drew,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It took its passage through your eyes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And to my heart it flew.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To tear it thence I tried in vain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To strive, I quickly found<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was only to increase the pain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And to enlarge the wound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ah! much too well, I fear, you know<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">What pain I'm to endure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since what your eyes alone can do<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Your heart alone can cure.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that (grant Heaven, I may mistake!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I doubt is doom'd to bear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A burden for another's sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who ill rewards its care.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Sir John Vanbrugh.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>ADIEU L'AMOUR.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Here end my chains, and thraldom cease,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since for the pleasures of an hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We must endure an age of pain;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll be this abject thing no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, give me back my heart again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Despair tormented first my breast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O! for the peace of human kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make women longer true, or sooner kind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With justice, or with mercy reign,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Love! or give me back my heart again.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Granville.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>SABINA WAKES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And now the sun begins to rise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less glorious is the morn that breaks<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From his bright beams, than her fair eyes.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">With light united, day they give,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But different fates ere night fulfil;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many by his warmth will live!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How many will her coldness kill!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Congreve.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FALSE! OR INCONSTANCY.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">False though she be to me and love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll ne'er pursue revenge;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For still the charmer I approve,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though I deplore her change.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In hours of bliss we oft have met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They could not always last;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And though the present I regret,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'm grateful for the past.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>William Congreve.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVE AND HATE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why we love, and why we hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is not granted us to know:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Random chance, or wilful fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If on me Zelinda frown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Madness 'tis in me to grieve:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since her will is not her own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Why should I uneasy live?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I for Zelinda die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Deaf to poor Mizella's cries,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ask not me the reason why:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seek the riddle in the skies.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Ambrose Philips.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>I LATELY VOWED.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That I no more would court<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The joys that seem when they are past<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As dull as they are short.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I oft to hate my mistress swear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But soon my weakness find;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I make my oaths when she's severe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But break them when she's kind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Oldmixon.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>FEW HAPPY MATCHES.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Say, mighty Love, and teach my song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To whom thy sweetest joys belong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And who the happy pairs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Find blessings twisted with their bands<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To soften all their cares.<br /></span>
+</div>
+<hr style='width: 35%;' />
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Two kindest souls alone must meet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And feeds their mutual loves:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright Venus on her rolling throne<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Cupids yoke the doves.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Dr. Isaac Watts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>DORINDA'S CONQUEST.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The God of Love her charms to view;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To wound th' unwary maid he thought,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But soon became her conquest too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He dropp'd half-drawn his feeble bow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He look'd, he raved, and sighing pined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wish'd in vain he had been now,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As painters falsely draw him, blind.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Disarm'd, he to his mother flies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Help, Venus, help thy wretched son!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who now will pay us sacrifice?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For Love himself's, alas! undone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">To Cupid now no lover's prayer<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall be address'd in suppliant sighs;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My darts are gone, but, oh! beware,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fond mortals, of Dorinda's eyes!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>John Hughes.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>LOVERS IN DISGUISE.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How bless'd are lovers in disguise!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like gods, they see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">As I do thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unseen by human eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Exposed to view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm hid from view,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm altered, yet the same:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The dark conceals me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Love reveals me:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love, which lights me by its flame.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Were you not false, you would me know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For though your eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Could not devise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your heart had told you so.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Your heart would beat<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With eager heat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And me by sympathy would find:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">True love might see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">One changed like me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">False love is only blind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>George Farquhar.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 35%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>
+<p class='heading'>WHEN THY BEAUTY APPEARS.</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When thy beauty appears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In its graces and airs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At a distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So strangely you dazzle my eye!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But then, without art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your kind thought you impart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When your love runs in blushes through every vein;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then I know you're a woman again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There's a passion and pride<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In our sex, she replied,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And thus, might I gratify both, would I do:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still an angel appear to each lover beside,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But still be a woman to you.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class='author'>Thomas Parnell.</p><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INDEX OF FIRST LINES.</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+Accept, my love, as true a heart. <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Ah! I remember well (and how can I. <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Ah! my sweet sweeting! <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Amarantha, sweet and fair. <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Amid my bale I bathe in bliss. <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Amyntas, go! Thou art undone. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
+<br />
+And wilt thou leave me thus? <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Away with these self-loving lads. <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou. <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry. <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Come live with me, and be my love. <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Cupid and my Campaspe played. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again. <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes. <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Drink to me only with thine eyes. <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Dry those fair, those crystal eyes. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Fain would I change that note. <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br />
+<br />
+False though she be to me and love. <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought. <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Farewell! my joy. <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Faustina hath the fairest face. <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Foolish love is only folly. <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Go, lovely Rose. <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br />
+<br />
+He that loves a rosy cheek. <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.<br />
+<br />
+He that loves and fears to try. <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Help me to seek! For I lost it there. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>Here end my chains, and thraldom cease, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br />
+<br />
+How bless'd are lovers in disguise! <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.<br />
+<br />
+How long shall I pine for love? <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+I cannot change, as others do. <a href="#Page_122">122</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I dare not ask a kiss. <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair. <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I have a mistress, for perfections rare. <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste. <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more. <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I pr'ythee send me back my heart. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I smile at Love, and all its arts. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.<br />
+<br />
+I wonder what those lovers mean, who say. <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.<br />
+<br />
+If all the world and Love were young. <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br />
+<br />
+If women could be fair, and yet not fond. <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
+<br />
+In a maiden-time profess'd. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br />
+<br />
+In petticoat of green. <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.<br />
+<br />
+In the merry month of May. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.<br />
+<br />
+It is not Beauty I demand. <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br />
+<br />
+It was a beauty that I saw. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ladies, though to your conquering eyes. <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Like to Diana in her summer weed. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Like to the clear in highest sphere. <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose. <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love guards the roses of thy lips. <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love is a sickness full of woes. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love me little, love me long. <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love me not for comely grace. <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love mistress is of many minds. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid. <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Man is for woman made. <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br />
+<br />
+My dear mistress has a heart. <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>My girl, thou gazest much. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br />
+<br />
+My Phyllis hath the morning sun. <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br />
+<br />
+My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Naked Love did to thine eye. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Not an angel dwells above. <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Now fie on foolish love, it not befits. <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Now thou hast loved me one whole day. <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed! <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.<br />
+<br />
+O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Oh, what a plague is love! <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Once I loved a maiden fair. <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Over the mountains. <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Phylida was a fair maid. <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Pretty twinkling starry eyes. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread. <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Rise, Lady Mistress! rise! <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Say, mighty Love, and teach my song. <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br />
+<br />
+See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes! <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Shall I like a hermit dwell. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Shall I, wasting in despair. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell! <a href="#Page_20">20</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Since first I saw your face I resolved. <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Some asked me where the rubies grew. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sweetest love, I do not go. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Take, O, take those lips away. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Tell me, dearest, what is love? <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>The air which thy smooth voice doth break. <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
+<br />
+The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest. <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br />
+<br />
+There is a garden in her face. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Thou pretty bird, how do I see. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.<br />
+<br />
+'Tis true I never was in love. <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Too late, alas! I must confess. <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Tune on my pipe the praises of my love. <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Two lines shall teach you how. <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Two lines shall tell the grief. <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Weep eyes, break heart! <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Were I as base as is the lowly plain. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.<br />
+<br />
+What shepherd can express. <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br />
+<br />
+When love, with unconfined wings. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.<br />
+<br />
+When thy beauty appears. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose! <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br />
+<br />
+While that the sun with his beams hot. <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Who is Sylvia? What is she. <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Why so pale and wan, fond lover? <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Why we love, and why we hate. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br />
+<br />
+With fragrant flowers we strew the way. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Wonder not, though I am blind. <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Ye blushing Virgins happy are. <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.<br />
+</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INDEX OF AUTHORS.</h2>
+
+
+<p>
+Alexander, W., Earl of Stirling. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Anonymous. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>,
+<a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>,
+<a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>,
+<a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>,
+<a href="#Page_105">105</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Aytoun, Sir Robert. <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Beaumont, Francis. <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Beaumont and Fletcher. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Breton, Richard. <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Brome, Alexander. <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Brooke, Lord. <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Campion, Thomas. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Carew, Thomas. <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Congreve, William. <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Constable, Henry. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Cowley, Abraham, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Daniel, John. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Daniel, Samuel. <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Davenant, Sir William. <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Donne, Dr. John. <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Dowland, John. <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Drayton, Michael. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Drummond, William. <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Dyer, Sir Edward. <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Etherege, Sir George. <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Farquhar, George. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Field, Nathaniel. <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Fletcher, <i>see</i> Beaumont and F.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Gascoigne, George. <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Googe, Barnaby. <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Gould, Robert. <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Granville, George. <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Greene, Robert. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke. <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Habington, William. <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Harrington, Sir John. <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Herrick, Robert. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Hughes, John. <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Hume, Capt. Tobias. <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Jonson, Ben. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+King, Bp. Henry. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Lodge, Thomas. <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Lovelace, Richard. <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Lyly, John. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Marlowe, Christopher. <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Middleton, Thomas. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Motteux, Peter Anthony. <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Oldmixon, John. <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Oxford, Earl of. <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Parnell, Thomas. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Peele, George. <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Philips, Ambrose. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Prior, Matthew. <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Raleigh, Sir Walter. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Randolph, Thomas, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Rochester, Earl of. <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset. <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sedley, Sir Charles, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Shakespeare, William. <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sherburne, Sir Edmund. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sidney, Sir Philip. <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Southwell, Robert. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Stanley, Thomas. <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Stirling, Earl of. <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Suckling, Sir John. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Surrey, Earl of. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Sylvester, J. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Turberville, George. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Vanbrugh, Sir John. <a href="#Page_125">125</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Vaughan, Henry. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Vere, E., Earl of Oxford, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+Waller, Edmund. <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Watson, Thomas. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Watts, Dr. Isaac. <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Weelkes, Thomas. <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Wilmot, John. <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Wither, George. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Wootton, John. <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
+<br />
+Wyatt, Sir Thomas. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>.
+</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 128px;">
+<img src="images/fig004.jpg" width="128" height="150" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class='center'>Chiswick Press: Charles Whittingham and Co.<br />
+Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tudor and Stuart Love Songs, by Various
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tudor and Stuart Love Songs, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Tudor and Stuart Love Songs
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: J. Potter Briscoe
+
+Release Date: August 23, 2008 [EBook #26398]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by David Starner and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+  +--------------------------------------------------------+
+  | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES                                    |
+  |                                                        |
+  | Small discrepancies in punctuation between the Table   |
+  | of Contents and poem titles have been retained.        |
+  |                                                        |
+  | "Cherry Ripe" and "Julia" are on pages 91 and 90       |
+  | respectively, rather than on pages 90 and 91 as listed |
+  | in the Table of Contents.                              |
+  |                                                        |
+  | John Dowland's poem is titled "True till death" in the |
+  | Table of Contents, but is titled "Love's constancy"    |
+  | on page 95.                                            |
+  +--------------------------------------------------------+
+
+_[Illustration]_
+
+[Illustration: TUDOR
+AND
+STUART
+LOVE
+SONGS
+
+COLLECTED BY
+J. POTTER BRISCOE]
+
+
+
+
+TUDOR AND STUART LOVE SONGS
+
+SELECTED AND EDITED BY
+
+J. POTTER BRISCOE, F.R.S.L.
+Editor of "The Bibelots"
+
+[Illustration]
+
+E. P. DUTTON AND CO.
+31 W. 23^RD STREET
+NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+The spirit of reform which was developed during the early part of the
+sixteenth century brought about a desire on the part of young men of
+means to travel on the continent of Europe. This was for the purpose of
+making themselves acquainted with the politics, social life, literature,
+art, science, and commerce of the various nations of the same,
+especially of France, Spain, and Italy. These young Englishmen on their
+return introduced into the society in which they mixed not only the
+politenesses of these countries, but the wit of Italy, and the character
+of the poetry which was then in vogue in Southern Europe. Among these
+travellers during the reign of Henry the Eighth were Sir Thomas Wyatt
+and the Earl of Surrey. These courtiers possessed the poetical faculty,
+and therefore paid special attention to literary form. As a result they
+introduced the Sonnet of the Petrarchan type into England. The amorous
+verse of the inhabitants of these sunny climes took hold of the young
+Englishmen. Many men of rank and education, who did not regard
+themselves as of the world of letters, penned pleasant verse, much of it
+being of an amatory character based upon that of the Italians. During
+the reign of "Good Queen Bess" England was full of song. Of the writers
+of love verses William Watson occupied a very high, probably the
+highest, position during the time of Elizabeth. A glance at the Table of
+Contents of this volume will show that some of the best poets who were
+born between the years 1503 and 1679 have handed down to us poetical
+contributions of this character.
+
+Of the Elizabethan amatory verses only a small portion has been
+transmitted to us. That which possessed least literary merit did not
+long survive, and, no doubt, some of considerable merit has been lost
+too. The best has been preserved. Selections from these, arranged in
+chronological order, appear in this anthology. Richard Tottel printed
+his "Miscellany" in 1557. It is to this work, and to Richard Edwards'
+"Paradise of Dainty Devices," issued nineteen years later, that much of
+the best poetical literature of the sixteenth century has come down to
+us. The first-named passed through eight editions during thirty years:
+the last issue being dated 1587.
+
+From the amatory verses produced by seventy-one writers during the reign
+of Henry the Eighth and down to those of the early Georges one hundred
+and thirteen appear in this love anthology. The limitation of space
+prevents further biographical particulars being given than the years of
+birth and death, which will be found in the Table of Contents. As
+writers do not always agree in this respect, "The Dictionary of National
+Biography" has been taken as the authority.
+
+Whatever labour has been bestowed on the preparation of this anthology
+has not been in bulking it out to its present dimensions, but rather in
+keeping it within the prescribed limits; and, at the same time,
+furnishing these best examples of the love verses of the numerous
+authors who have been requisitioned for the purpose of this volume of
+"Tudor and Stuart Love Songs."
+
+J. P. B.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                              Page
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542).
+  The lost heart                                 1
+  The lover's appeal                             2
+
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517?-1547).
+  A sonnet--"Love that liveth," etc.             3
+  A vow to love faithfully                       4
+
+
+Anon., _circa_ 1530.
+  My sweet sweeting                              5
+
+
+George Turberville (1540?-1610?).
+  The lover to his lady                          6
+  Master George: his sonnet                      7
+  Turberville's answer and distich               8
+
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford (1550-1604).
+  The shepherd's commendation of his nymph       9
+  A renunciation                                11
+
+
+Barnaby Googe (?) (1535?-1594).
+  The complaint of Harpalus                     12
+
+
+George Gascoigne (1525-1577).
+  A strange passion of a lover                  14
+
+
+Sir Edward Dyer (   -1607).
+  To Phyllis, the fair shepherdess              16
+
+
+George Peele (1558?-1596-1597?).
+  The enamoured shepherd                        17
+
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh (1552?-1618).
+  His love admits no rival                      18
+  The shepherd's description of love            20
+  The shepherdess' reply                        22
+
+
+Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke (1554-1628).
+  Love for love                                 24
+
+
+John Lyly (1554?-1606).
+  Cupid and Campaspe: Apelles' song             26
+
+
+Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586).
+  A ditty--"My true love," etc.                 27
+  Love is dead                                  28
+  He that loves                                 30
+
+
+Thomas Lodge (1558?-1625).
+  Love's wantonness                             31
+  Rosaline                                      32
+
+
+Thomas Watson (1557?-1592?).
+  The May Queen                                 34
+
+
+Nicholas Breton (1545?-1626?).
+  Phillida and Corydon                          35
+
+
+Thomas Campion (_circa_ 1619).
+  Shall I come, sweet love, to thee?            37
+  Cherry-ripe                                   38
+
+
+Robert Greene (1560?-1592).
+  Fair Samela                                   39
+  Kinds of love                                 41
+  Love and beauty                               42
+
+
+Robert Southwell (1561?-1595).
+  Love's servile lot                            43
+
+
+Sir John Harrington (1561-1612).
+  The heart of stone                            45
+
+
+Henry Constable (1561-1613).
+  A shepherd's song to his love                 46
+
+
+Samuel Daniel (1562-1619).
+  Love now, for roses fade                      47
+  Early love                                    48
+  Love is a sickness                            49
+
+
+Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593).
+  The passionate shepherd to his love           50
+
+
+Joshua Sylvester (1563-1618).
+  Love's omnipresence                           52
+
+
+Michael Drayton (1563-1631).
+  A parting, or Love's last chance              53
+
+
+William Shakespeare (1564-1616).
+  Who is Silvia?                                54
+  Sigh no more, ladies                          55
+  A morning song for Imogen                     56
+
+
+Anon. (_circa_ 1564).
+  The unfaithful shepherdess                    57
+
+
+Anon.
+  True loveliness                               59
+  A woman's reason                              61
+  Love will find out the way                    62
+  Phillida flouts me                            64
+  In praise of two                              66
+
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun (1570-1638).
+  To his forsaken mistress                      67
+  On women's inconstancy                        69
+
+
+Thomas Middleton (1570?-1627).
+  The three states of women                     71
+  My love and I must part                       72
+
+
+Ben Jonson (1573?-1637).
+  Perfect beauty                                73
+  To Celia                                      74
+
+
+Dr. John Donne (1573-1631).
+  A woman's constancy                           75
+  Sweetest love                                 76
+
+
+William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (1567?-1640).
+  To Aurora                                     77
+
+
+William Drummond (1585-1649).
+  Phillis                                       78
+
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher (1584-1616; 1579-1625).
+  Take those lips away                          79
+
+
+Francis Beaumont (1584-1616).
+  Tell me what is love                          80
+  Pining for love                               81
+  Fie on love                                   82
+
+
+John Wootton (_circa_ 1600).
+  Damoetas' praise of his Daphnis               83
+
+
+George Wither (1588-1667).
+  Shall I, wasting in despair                   85
+
+
+Thomas Carew (1598?-1639?).
+  To one who, when I praised my mistress'
+      beauty, said I was blind                  87
+  He that loves a rosy cheek                    88
+
+
+Nathaniel Field (1587-    ).
+  Matin song                                    89
+
+
+Robert Herrick (1591-1674).
+  Cherry ripe                                   90
+  Julia                                         91
+  To the virgins                                92
+  To Electra                                    93
+
+
+Bp. Henry King (1592-1669).
+  Dry those eyes                                94
+
+
+John Dowland (ed.) (1563?-1626?).
+  True till death                               95
+
+
+Thomas Weelkes (ed.) (1597-    ?).
+  Farewell, my joy                              96
+
+
+Sir William Davenant (1605-1606-1668).
+  The lark now leaves                           97
+
+
+Edmund Waller (1606-1687).
+  Go, lovely rose!                              98
+
+
+Thomas Randolph (1605-1635).
+  His mistress                                  99
+
+
+Henry Vaughan (1622-1695).
+  Chloris                                      100
+
+
+Anon. (_circa_ 1610).
+  Love me little, love me long                 101
+
+
+Capt. Tobias Hume (musical composer).
+  Fain would I change that note                102
+
+
+William Habington.
+  To roses in Castara's breast                 103
+
+
+John Danyel (1604?-1625?).
+  Thou pretty bird                             104
+
+
+Anon. (_temp._ James I.).
+  Once I lov'd a maiden fair                   105
+
+
+Sir John Suckling (1609-1642).
+  I pr'ythee send me back my heart             106
+  Orsame's song--"Why so pale," etc.           107
+
+
+Thomas Ford, composer (1607?-1648).
+  Since first I saw your face                  108
+
+
+Abraham Cowley (1618-1667).
+  The given heart                              110
+
+
+Sir Edward Sherburne (1618-1702).
+  Ice and fire                                 111
+
+
+Richard Lovelace (1618-1658).
+  Amarantha                                    112
+  To Althea, from prison                       113
+
+
+Alexander Brome (1620-1666).
+  A mock song                                  114
+
+
+Thomas Stanley (1625-1678).
+  Speaking and kissing                         115
+
+
+Sir George Etherege (1635?-1691).
+  Ladies' conquering eyes                      116
+
+
+Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset (1638-1706).
+  Dorinda                                      117
+
+
+Robert Gould (    -1709?).
+  Celia and Sylvia                             118
+
+
+Sir Charles Sedley (1639?-1701).
+  True love                                    119
+
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680).
+  Too late!                                    120
+  My mistress' heart                           121
+  Constancy                                    122
+
+
+Peter Anthony Motteux (1660-1718).
+  Man and woman                                123
+
+
+Matthew Prior (1664-1721).
+  Accept my heart                              124
+
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh (1664-1726).
+  An angelic woman                             125
+  I smile at love                              126
+
+
+George Granville (1667-1735).
+  Adieu l'amour                                127
+
+
+William Congreve (1670-1729).
+  Sabina wakes                                 128
+  Inconstancy                                  129
+
+
+Ambrose Philips (1675?-1709).
+  Love and hate                                130
+
+
+John Oldmixon (1673-1742).
+  I lately vowed                               131
+
+
+Dr. Isaac Watts (1674-1748).
+  Few happy matches                            132
+
+
+John Hughes (1677-1720).
+  Dorinda's conquest                           133
+
+
+George Farquhar (1678-1707).
+  Lovers in disguise                           134
+
+
+Thomas Parnell (1679-1718).
+  When thy beauty appears                      135
+
+
+
+
+LOVE VERSES
+  OF THE TUDOR &
+  STUART PERIODS.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST HEART.
+
+
+    Help me to seek! For I lost it there;
+    And, if that ye have found it, ye that be here,
+    And seek to convey it secretly,
+    Handle it soft and treat it tenderly,
+    Or else it will 'plain, and then appair.
+      But pray restore it mannerly,
+    Since that I do ask it thus honestly;
+    For to lose it, it sitteth me near;
+      Help me to seek!
+
+    Alas, and is there no remedy?
+    But have I thus lost it wilfully?
+    I-wis, it was a thing all too dear
+    To be bestowed, and wist not where!
+    It was mine heart! I pray you heartily
+      Help me to seek!
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER'S APPEAL.
+
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay! for shame,
+    To save thee from the blame
+    Of all my grief and grame.
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    That hath loved thee so long
+    In wealth and woe among:
+    And is thy heart so strong
+    As for to leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    That hath given thee my heart
+    Never for to depart
+    Neither for pain nor smart:
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+    And wilt thou leave me thus,
+    And have no more pity
+    Of him that loveth thee?
+    Alas! thy cruelty!
+    And wilt thou leave me thus?
+    Say nay! say nay!
+
+Sir Thomas Wyatt.
+
+
+
+
+A SONNET.
+
+
+    Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought,
+    That built his seat within my captive breast,
+    Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
+    Oft in my face he doth his banner rest:
+    She that me taught to love and suffer pain,
+    My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
+    With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
+    Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire:
+    And coward Love then to the heart apace
+    Taketh his flight, whereas he lurks and plains
+    His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
+    For my lord's guilt, thus faultless, bide I pains:
+        Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove;
+        Sweet is his death that takes his end by love!
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.
+
+
+
+
+A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY HOWSOEVER HE BE REWARDED.
+
+
+    Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,
+    Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
+    In temperate heat where he is felt and seen,
+    In presence pressed of people mad or wise,
+    Set me in high, or yet in low degree,
+    In longest night, or in the shortest day,
+    In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be,
+    In lusty youth, or when my hairs are gray,
+    Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,
+    In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood,
+    Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
+    Sick, or in health, in evil fame or good:
+    Hers will I be, and only with this thought
+    Content myself, although my chance be nought.
+
+Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.
+
+
+
+
+MY SWEET SWEETING.
+
+
+    Ah, my sweet sweeting!
+      My little pretty sweeting,
+    My sweeting will I love wherever I go:
+      She is so proper and pure,
+    Full steadfast, stable, and demure,
+      There is none such, you may be sure,
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+    In all this world, as thinketh me,
+    Is none so pleasant to my eye,
+    That I am glad so oft to see
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+    When I behold my sweeting sweet,
+    Her face, her hands, her mignon feet,
+    They seem to me there is none so sweet
+        As my sweet sweeting.
+
+Anon., circa 1530.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER TO HIS LADY.
+
+
+    My girl, thou gazest much
+        Upon the golden skies:
+    Would _I_ were Heaven! I would behold
+        Thee then with all mine eyes!
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+MASTER GEORGE: HIS SONNET OF THE PAINS OF LOVE.
+
+
+    Two lines shall tell the grief
+      That I by love sustain:
+    I burn, I flame, I faint, I freeze,
+      Of Hell I feel the pain.
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+TURBERVILLE'S ANSWER AND DISTICH TO THE SAME.
+
+
+    Two lines shall teach you how
+      To purchase love anew:
+    Let reason rule, where Love did reign,
+      And idle thoughts eschew.
+
+George Turberville.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH.
+
+
+    What shepherd can express
+    The favour of her face
+    To whom, in this distress,
+    I do appeal for grace?
+      A thousand Cupids fly
+      About her gentle eye;
+
+    From which each throws a dart,
+    That kindleth soft sweet fire
+    Within my sighing heart,
+    Possessed by desire:
+      No sweeter life I try
+      Than in her love to die!
+
+    The lily in the field,
+    That glories in his white,
+    For pureness now must yield
+    And render up his right;
+      Heaven pictured in her face
+      Doth promise joy and grace.
+
+    Fair Cynthia's silver light,
+    That beats on running streams,
+    Compares not with her white,
+    Whose hairs are all sunbeams:
+      So bright my Nymph doth shine
+      As day unto my eyne!
+
+    With this, there is a red,
+    Exceeds the damask-rose,
+    Which in her cheeks is spread,
+    Where every favour grows;
+      In sky there is no star,
+      But she surmounts it far.
+
+    When Phoebus from the bed
+    Of Thetis doth arise,
+    The morning, blushing red,
+    In fair carnation-wise,
+      He shows in my Nymph's face,
+      As Queen of every grace.
+
+    This pleasant lily-white,
+    This taint of roseate red,
+    This Cynthia's silver light,
+    This sweet fair Dea spread,
+      These sunbeams in mine eye,
+      These beauties, make me die!
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
+
+
+
+
+A RENUNCIATION.
+
+
+    If women could be fair, and yet not fond,
+    Or that their love were firm, not fickle still,
+    I would not marvel that they make men bond
+    By service long to purchase their good will;
+    But when I see how frail those creatures are,
+    I muse that men forget themselves so far.
+
+    To mark the choice they make, and how they change,
+    How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan;
+    Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range,
+    These gentle birds that fly from man to man;
+    Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist,
+    And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?
+
+    Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both,
+    To pass the time when nothing else can please,
+    And train them to our lure with subtle oath,
+    Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease;
+    And then we say when we their fancy try,
+    To play with fools, O what a fool was I!
+
+Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPLAINT OF HARPALUS.
+
+
+    Phylida was a fair maid
+    And fresh as any flower,
+    Whom Harpalus the herdman prayed
+    To be his paramour.
+        Harpalus and eke Corin
+    Were herdmen, both yfere;
+    And Phylida could twist and spin,
+    And thereto sing full clear.
+        But Phylida was all too coy
+    For Harpalus to win;
+    For Corin was her only joy,
+    Who forced her not a pin.
+        How often would she flowers twine,
+    How often garlands make,
+    Of cowslips and of columbine,
+    And all for Corin's sake!
+        But Corin, he had hawks to lure,
+    And forced more the field;
+    Of lovers' law he took no cure,
+    For once he was beguiled.
+        Harpalus prevailed nought;
+    His labour all was lost;
+    For he was farthest from her thoughts,
+    And yet he loved her most.
+        Therefore waxed he both pale and lean,
+    And dry as clot of clay;
+    His flesh it was consumed clean,
+    His colour gone away....
+        His beasts he kept upon the hill,
+    And he sate in the dale;
+    And thus, with sighs and sorrows shrill,
+    He gan to tell his tale.
+        "O Harpalus,"--thus would he say--
+    "Unhappiest under sun,
+    The cause of thine unhappy day
+    By love was first begun!...
+        O Cupid, grant this my request,
+    And do not stop thine ears,
+    That she may feel within her breast
+    The pains of my despairs!
+        Of Corin that is careless,
+    That she may crave her fee,
+    As I have done in great distress,
+    That loved her faithfully!" ...
+
+Barnaby Googe (?).
+
+
+
+
+A STRANGE PASSION OF A LOVER.
+
+
+    Amid my bale I bathe in bliss,
+    I swim in Heaven, I sink in hell:
+    I find amends for every miss,
+    And yet my moan no tongue can tell.
+    I live and love (what would you more?)
+    As never lover lived before.
+
+    I laugh sometimes with little lust,
+    So jest I oft and feel no joy;
+    Mine eye is builded all on trust,
+    And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.
+    I live and lack, I lack and have;
+    I have and miss the thing I crave.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Then like the lark that passed the night
+    In heavy sleep with cares oppressed;
+    Yet when she spies the pleasant light,
+    She sends sweet notes from out her breast;
+    So sing I now because I think
+    How joys approach when sorrows shrink.
+
+    And as fair Philomene again
+    Can watch and sing when others sleep;
+    And taketh pleasure in her pain,
+    To wray the woe that makes her weep;
+    So sing I now for to bewray
+    The loathsome life I lead alway.
+
+    The which to thee, dear wench, I write,
+    Thou know'st my mirth but not my moan;
+    I pray God grant thee deep delight,
+    To live in joys when I am gone.
+    I cannot live; it will not be:
+    I die to think to part from thee.
+
+George Gascoigne.
+
+
+
+
+TO PHYLLIS, THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS.
+
+
+    My Phyllis hath the morning sun
+      At first to look upon her:
+    And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds
+      Her rising still to honour.
+    My Phyllis hath prime feathered flowers
+      That smile when she treads on them:
+    And Phyllis hath a gallant flock
+      That leaps since she doth own them.
+    But Phyllis hath too hard a heart,
+      Alas, that she should have it!
+    It yields no mercy to desert
+      Nor peace to those that crave it.
+    Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on,
+      Pray her regard my moan!
+    Sweet birds, when you sing to her,
+      To yield some pity woo her!
+    Sweet flowers, that she treads on,
+      Tell her, her beauty dreads one;
+    And if in life her love she'll not agree me,
+      Pray her before I die, she will come see me.
+
+Sir Edward Dyer.
+
+
+
+
+THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD.
+
+
+    O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed!
+            Thou mak'st my heart
+            A bloody mark,
+    With piercing shot to bleed.
+
+    Shoot soft, sweet Love! for fear thou shoot amiss,
+            For fear too keen
+            Thy arrows been,
+    And hit the heart where my Beloved is.
+
+    Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
+            Shall be so blest,
+            Among the rest,
+    That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
+
+    Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,
+            This doth remain
+            To cease my pain:
+    I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.
+
+George Peele.
+
+
+
+
+HIS LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.
+
+
+    Shall I like a hermit dwell,
+    On a rock, or in a cell,
+    Calling home the smallest part
+    That is missing of my heart,
+    To bestow it where I may
+    Meet a rival every day?
+    If she undervalue me,
+    What care I how fair she be?
+
+    Were her tresses angel gold,
+    If a stranger may be bold,
+    Unrebuked, unafraid,
+    To convert them to a braid,
+    And with little more ado
+    Work them into bracelets too?
+    If the mine be grown so free,
+    What care I how rich it be?
+
+    Were her hand as rich a prize
+    As her hairs, or precious eyes,
+    If she lay them out to take
+    Kisses, for good manners' sake:
+    And let every lover skip
+    From her hand unto her lip;
+    If she seem not chaste to me,
+    What care I how chaste she be?
+
+    No; she must be perfect snow,
+    In effect as well as show;
+    Warming, but as snowballs do,
+    Not like fire, by burning too;
+    But when she by change hath got
+    To her heart a second lot,
+    Then if others share with me,
+    Farewell her, whate'er she be!
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE.
+
+
+    "Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell!"--
+    It is that fountain, and that well,
+    Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
+    It is, perhaps, that passing bell
+    That tolls us all to heaven or hell;
+    And this is love, as I heard tell.
+
+    "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine!"--
+    It is a sunshine mix'd with rain;
+    It is a toothache, or like pain;
+    It is a game where none doth gain:
+    The lass saith No, and would full fain!
+    And this is love, as I hear saine.
+
+    "Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?"--
+    It is a "Yea," it is a "Nay,"
+    A pretty kind of sporting fray;
+    It is a thing will soon away;
+    Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may,
+    And this is love, as I hear say.
+
+    "Yet what is love? good shepherd, show!"--
+    A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
+    A prize that passeth to and fro,
+    A thing for one, a thing for moe;
+    And he that proves shall find it so;
+    And, shepherd, this is love, I trow.
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.
+
+
+    If all the world and Love were young,
+    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
+    These pretty pleasures might me move
+    To live with thee and be thy love.
+
+    But time drives flocks from field to fold,
+    When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
+    Then Philomel becometh dumb,
+    The rest complains of cares to come.
+
+    The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
+    To wayward winter reckoning yields;
+    A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
+    Is fancy's spring: but sorrow's fall.
+
+    Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
+    Thy cup, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
+    Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;--
+    In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
+
+    The belt of straw and ivy-buds,
+    Thy coral clasps and amber studs,--
+    All these in me no means can move,
+    To come to thee, and be thy love.
+
+    What should we talk of dainties, then,
+    Of better meat than's fit for men?
+    These are but vain: that's only good
+    Which God hath bless'd and sent for food.
+
+    But could youth last, and love still breed;
+    Had joys no date, nor age no need;
+    Then those delights my mind might move,
+    To live with thee, and be thy love.
+
+Sir Walter Raleigh.
+
+[See "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love," page 50.]
+
+
+
+
+LOVE FOR LOVE.
+
+
+    Away with these self-loving lads
+    Whom Cupid's arrow never glads!
+    Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep,
+    In love of them that lie and sleep!
+      For Cupid is a merry god,
+      And forceth none to kiss the rod.
+
+    Sweet Cupid's shafts, like Destiny,
+    Do causeless good or ill decree;
+    Desert is borne out of his bow,
+    Reward upon his wing doth go:
+      What fools are they that have not known
+      That Love likes no laws but his own!
+
+    My songs, they be of Cynthia's praise:
+    I wear her rings on holy days;
+    On every tree I write her name,
+    And every day I read the same:
+      Where Honour Cupid's rival is,
+      There miracles are seen of his.
+
+    If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
+    I blot her name out of the tree;
+    If doubt do darken things held dear,
+    Then "farewell nothing," once a year:
+      For many run, but one must win;
+      Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
+
+    The worth that worthiness should move
+    Is love, which is the due of love;
+    And love as well the shepherd can
+    As can the mighty nobleman:--
+      Sweet nymph, 'tis true, you worthy be;
+      Yet, without love, nought worth to me.
+
+Fulke-Greville, Lord Brooke.
+
+
+
+
+CUPID AND MY CAMPASPE: APELLES' SONG.
+
+
+    Cupid and my Campaspe played
+    At cards for kisses: Cupid paid.
+    He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,
+    His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
+    Loses them too; then down he throws
+    The coral of his lip, the rose
+    Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how;
+    With these the crystal of his brow,
+    And then the dimple of his chin--
+    All these did my Campaspe win.
+    At last he set her both his eyes.--
+    She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
+    O Love, has she done this to thee?
+    What shall, alas! become of me?
+
+John Lyly.
+
+
+
+
+A DITTY.
+
+
+    My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
+    By just exchange one to the other given:
+    I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
+    There never was a better bargain driven:
+      My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
+
+    His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
+    My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
+    He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
+    I cherish his because in me it bides:
+      My true-love hath my heart, and I have his.
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IS DEAD.
+
+
+    Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread;
+    For Love is dead:
+            All Love is dead, infected
+    With plague of deep disdain:
+            Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
+    And Faith fair scorn doth gain.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said
+    That Love is dead?
+            His death-bed, peacock's folly;
+    His winding-sheet is shame;
+            His will, false-seeming holy;
+    His sole executor, blame.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,
+    For Love is dead;
+            Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth
+    My mistress' marble heart;
+            Which epitaph containeth,
+    _Her eyes were once his dart_.
+            From so ungrateful fancy,
+            From such a female franzy,
+            From them that use men thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+    Alas, I lie; rage hath this error bred;
+    Love is not dead;
+            Love is not dead, but sleepeth
+    In his unmatched mind,
+            Where she his counsel keepeth,
+    Till due deserts she find:
+            Therefore from so vile fancy,
+            To call such wit a franzy,
+            Who Love can temper thus,
+            Good Lord, deliver us!
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+HE THAT LOVES.
+
+
+    He that loves and fears to try,
+    Learns his mistress to deny.
+    Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it
+    That thy coldness makes her do it.
+    Is she silent, is she mute?
+    Silence fully grants thy suit.
+    Doth she pout and leave the room?
+    Then she goes to bid thee come.
+
+    Is she sick? why then be sure
+    She invites thee to the cure.
+    Doth she cross thy suit with "No"?
+    Tush! she loves to hear thee woo.
+    Doth she call the faith of men
+    In question? nay, she loves thee then,
+    And if e'er she makes a blot,
+    She's lost if that thou hit'st her not.
+
+    He that after ten denials
+    Doth attempt no further trials,
+    Hath no warrant to acquire
+    The dainties of his chaste desire.
+
+Sir Philip Sidney.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S WANTONNESS.
+
+
+    Love guards the roses of thy lips,
+      And flies about them like a bee:
+    If I approach, he forward skips,
+      And if I kiss, he stingeth me.
+    Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,
+      And sleeps within their pretty shine;
+    And if I look, the boy will lower,
+      And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.
+    Love works thy heart within his fire,
+     And in my tears doth firm the same;
+    And if I tempt, it will retire,
+      And of my plaints doth make a game.
+    Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,
+      And pity me, and calm her eye;
+    Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,
+      Then will I praise thy deity,
+    But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her
+    In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.
+
+Thomas Lodge.
+
+
+
+
+ROSALINE.
+
+
+    Like to the clear in highest sphere
+    Where all imperial glory shines,
+    Of selfsame colour is her hair
+    Whether unfolded, or in twines:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
+    Resembling heaven by every wink;
+    The Gods do fear whenas they glow,
+    And I do tremble when I think
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
+    That beautifies Aurora's face,
+    Or like the silver crimson shroud
+    That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace;
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Her lips are like two budded roses
+    Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh,
+    Within which bounds she balm encloses
+    Apt to entice a deity:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Her neck is like a stately tower
+    Where Love himself imprison'd lies,
+    To watch for glances every hour
+    From her divine and sacred eyes:
+      Heigh ho, for Rosaline!
+    Her paps are centres of delight,
+    Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
+    Where Nature moulds the dew of light
+    To feed perfection with the same:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    With orient pearl, with ruby red,
+    With marble white, with sapphire blue
+    Her body every way is fed,
+    Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
+    Nature herself her shape admires;
+    The Gods are wounded in her sight;
+    And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
+    And at her eyes his brand doth light:
+      Heigh ho, would she were mine!
+
+    Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
+    The absence of fair Rosaline,
+    Since for a fair there's fairer none,
+    Nor for her virtues so divine:
+      Heigh ho, fair Rosaline;
+    Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!
+
+Thomas Lodge.
+
+
+
+
+THE MAY QUEEN.
+
+
+    With fragrant flowers we strew the way,
+    And make this our chief holiday;
+    For though this clime were blest of yore,
+    Yet was it never proud before.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeigned joy!
+
+    Now th' air is sweeter than sweet balm,
+    And satyrs dance about the palm;
+    Now earth, with verdure newly dight,
+    Gives perfect signs of her delight.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeigned joy!
+
+    Now birds recall new harmony,
+    And trees do whistle melody;
+    Now everything that nature breeds,
+    Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds.
+      O beauteous Queen of second Troy,
+      Accept of our unfeigned joy!
+
+Thomas Watson.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.
+
+
+    In the merry month of May,
+    In a morn by break of day,
+    With a troop of damsels playing,
+    Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying,
+    When anon by a woodside,
+    Where as May was in his pride,
+    I espied, all alone,
+    Phillida and Corydon.
+
+    Much ado there was, God wot!
+    He would love, and she would not:
+    She said, never man was true:
+    He said, none was false to you.
+    He said, he had loved her long:
+    She said, love should have no wrong.
+
+    Corydon would kiss her then,
+    She said, maids must kiss no men,
+    Till they do for good and all;
+    Then she made the shepherd call
+    All the heavens to witness truth,
+    Never loved a truer youth.
+
+    Thus with many a pretty oath,
+    Yea, and nay, and faith and troth,
+    Such as silly shepherds use
+    When they will not love abuse;
+    Love, which had been long deluded,
+    Was with kisses sweet concluded:
+    And Phillida with garlands gay,
+    Was made the lady of the May.
+
+Richard Breton.
+
+
+
+
+SHALL I COME, SWEET LOVE?
+
+
+    Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee
+      When the evening beams are set?
+    Shall I not excluded be,
+      Will you find no feigned let?
+    Let me not, for pity, more
+    Tell the long hours at your door.
+
+    Who can tell what thief or foe,
+      In the covert of the night,
+    For his prey will work my woe,
+      Or through wicked foul despite?
+    So may I die unredrest
+    Ere my long love be possest.
+
+    But to let such dangers pass,
+      Which a lover's thoughts disdain,
+    'Tis enough in such a place
+      To attend love's joys in vain:
+    Do not mock me in thy bed,
+    While these cold nights freeze me dead.
+
+Thomas Campion.
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY-RIPE.
+
+
+    There is a garden in her face
+      Where roses and white lilies blow;
+    A heavenly paradise that place,
+      Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
+    There cherries grow that none may buy,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+    Those cherries fairly do enclose
+      Of orient pearl a double row,
+    Which when her lovely laughter shows,
+      They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow.
+    Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+    Her eyes like angels watch them still;
+      Her brows like bended bows do stand,
+    Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
+      All that approach with eye or hand
+    These sacred cherries to come nigh,
+    Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
+
+Thomas Campion.
+
+
+
+
+FAIR SAMELA.
+
+
+    Like to Diana in her summer weed,
+    Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
+                              Goes fair Samela;
+
+    Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
+    When wash'd by Arethusa's fount they lie,
+                              Is fair Samela;
+
+    As fair Aurora in her morning gray,
+    Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love,
+                              Is fair Samela;
+
+    Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day,
+    Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
+                              Shines fair Samela;
+
+    Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
+    Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
+                              Of fair Samela;
+
+    Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams,
+    Her brows, bright arches fram'd of ebony;
+                              Thus fair Samela
+
+    Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
+    And Juno in the show of majesty,
+                              (For she's Samela!)
+
+    Pallas in wit,--all three, if you well view,
+    For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity
+                              Yield to Samela.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+KINDS OF LOVE.
+
+
+    Foolish love is only folly;
+    Wanton love is too unholy;
+    Greedy love is covetous;
+    Idle love is frivolous;
+    But the gracious love is it
+    That doth prove the work of wit.
+
+    Beauty but deceives the eye;
+    Flattery leads the ear awry;
+    Wealth doth but enchant the wit;
+    Want, the overthrow of it;
+    While in Wisdom's worthy grace,
+    Virtue sees the sweetest face.
+
+    There hath Love found out his life,
+    Peace without all thought of strife;
+    Kindness in Discretion's care;
+    Truth, that clearly doth declare
+    Faith doth in true fancy prove,
+    Lust the excrements of Love.
+
+    Then in faith may fancy see
+    How my love may construed be;
+    How it grows and what it seeks;
+    How it lives and what it likes;
+    So in highest grace regard it,
+    Or in lowest scorn discard it.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE AND BEAUTY.
+
+
+    Pretty twinkling starry eyes,
+    How did Nature first devise
+    Such a sparkling in your sight
+    As to give Love such delight,
+    As to make him like a fly,
+    Play with looks until he die?
+
+    Sure ye were not made at first
+    For such mischief to be curst;
+    As to kill Affection's care
+    That doth only truth declare;
+    Where worth's wonders never wither,
+    Love and Beauty live together.
+
+    Blessed eyes, then give your blessing,
+    That in passion's best expressing;
+    Love that only lives to grace ye,
+    May not suffer pride deface ye;
+    But in gentle thought's directions
+    Show the power of your perfections.
+
+Robert Greene.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S SERVILE LOT.
+
+
+    Love mistress is of many minds,
+    Yet few know whom they serve;
+    They reckon least how little hope
+    Their service doth deserve.
+
+    The will she robbeth from the wit,
+    The sense from reason's lore;
+    She is delightful in the rind,
+    Corrupted in the core.
+
+    May never was the month of love,
+    For May is full of flowers;
+    But rather April, wet by kind;
+    For love is full of showers.
+
+    With soothing words inthralled souls
+    She chains in servile bands!
+    Her eye in silence hath a speech
+    Which eye best understands.
+
+    Her little sweet hath many sours,
+    Short hap, immortal harms;
+    Her loving looks are murdering darts,
+    Her songs bewitching charms.
+
+    Like winter rose, and summer ice,
+    Her joys are still untimely;
+    Before her hope, behind remorse,
+    Fair first, in fine unseemly.
+
+    Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,
+    Leave off your idle pain;
+    Seek other mistress for your minds,
+    Love's service is in vain.
+
+Robert Southwell.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF STONE.
+
+
+    Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose!
+    It was from cheeks that shame the rose,
+    From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
+    From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:
+    Whence comes my woe? as freely own;
+    Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
+
+    The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
+    The lips befitting words most kind,
+    The eye does tempt to love's desire,
+    And seems to say, "'Tis Cupid's fire;"
+    Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
+    Since nought doth say the heart of stone.
+
+    Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
+    Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek,--
+    Yet not a heart to save my pain?
+    O Venus, take thy gifts again!
+    Make not so fair to cause our moan,
+    Or make a heart that's like your own.
+
+John Harrington.
+
+
+
+
+A SHEPHERD'S SONG TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+    Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly,
+    White as the sun, fair as the lily,
+      Heigh-ho, how I do love thee!
+    I do love thee as my lambs
+    Are beloved of their dams:
+      How blest I were if thou would'st prove me!
+
+    Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,
+    That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
+      Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
+    I do love thee as each flower
+    Loves the sun's life-giving power;
+      For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.
+
+    Diaphenia, like to all things blessed,
+    When all thy praises are expressed,
+      Dear joy, how I do love thee!
+    As the birds do love the spring,
+    Or the bees their careful king:
+      Then, in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
+
+Henry Constable.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE NOW, FOR ROSES FADE.
+
+
+    Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose,
+    The image of thy blush, and summer's honour!
+    Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose
+    That full of beauty Time bestows upon her:
+    No sooner spreads her glory in the air,
+    But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline;
+    She then is scorn'd, that late adorn'd the fair.
+    So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine!
+
+    No April can revive thy withered flowers,
+    Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:
+    Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours,
+    Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
+      Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,
+      But love now, whilst thou may'st be loved again.
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+EARLY LOVE.
+
+
+    Ah! I remember well (and how can I
+    But evermore remember well) when first
+    Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was
+    The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd
+    And look'd upon each other, and conceived
+    Not what we ail'd--yet something we did ail;
+    And yet were well, and yet we were not well,
+    And what was our disease we could not tell.
+    Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look; and thus
+    In that first garden of our simpleness
+    We spent our childhood. But when years began
+    To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then
+    Would she with graver looks, with sweet, stern brow,
+    Check my presumption and my forwardness;
+      Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show
+      What she would have me, yet not have me know.
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE IS A SICKNESS.
+
+
+    Love is a sickness full of woes,
+      All remedies refusing;
+    A plant that most with cutting grows,
+      Most barren with best using.
+                Why so?
+    More we enjoy it, more it dies,
+      If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
+                Heigh-ho!
+
+    Love is a torment of the mind,
+      A tempest everlasting;
+    And Jove hath made it of a kind
+      Not well, nor full nor fasting.
+                Why so?
+    More we enjoy it, more it dies,
+      If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
+                Heigh-ho!
+
+Samuel Daniel.
+
+
+
+
+THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
+
+
+    Come live with me, and be my love,
+    And we will all the pleasures prove
+    That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
+    Woods or steepy mountain yields.
+
+    And we will sit upon the rocks,
+    Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
+    By shallow rivers, to whose falls
+    Melodious birds sing madrigals.
+
+    And I will make thee beds of roses,
+    And a thousand fragrant posies:
+    A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
+    Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
+
+    A gown made of the finest wool,
+    Which from our pretty lambs we'll pull;
+    Fair lined slippers for the cold,
+    With buckles of the purest gold.
+
+    A belt of straw and ivy buds,
+    With coral clasps and amber studs:
+    And if these pleasures may thee move,
+    Come live with me and be my love.
+
+    The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
+    For thy delight each May morning.
+    If these delights thy mind may move,
+    Come live with me and be my love.
+
+Christopher Marlowe.
+
+[See "The Shepherdess's Reply to The Passionate Pilgrim," page 22.]
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE.
+
+
+    Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
+    And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
+    Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
+    Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.
+
+    Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
+    And you, my Love, as humble and as low
+    As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
+    Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
+
+    Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
+    My love should shine on you like to the sun,
+    And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
+    Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done.
+
+    Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you,
+    Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
+
+J. Sylvester.
+
+
+
+
+A PARTING; OR, LOVE'S LAST CHANCE.
+
+
+    Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part:
+      Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
+    And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
+      That thus so clearly I myself can free.
+    Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
+      And, when we meet at any time again,
+    Be it not seen in either of our brows
+      That we one jot of former love retain.
+    Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
+      When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
+    When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
+      And Innocence is closing up his eyes;
+    Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
+    From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.
+
+Michael Drayton.
+
+
+
+
+WHO IS SILVIA?
+
+
+    Who is Silvia? What is she,
+      That all our swains commend her?
+    Holy, fair, and wise is she:
+      The heavens such grace did lend her,
+    That she might admired be.
+
+    Is she kind as she is fair?
+      For beauty lives with kindness.
+    Love doth to her eyes repair
+      To help him of his blindness,
+    And, being helped, inhabits there.
+
+    Then to Silvia let us sing,
+      That Silvia is excelling;
+    She excels each mortal thing
+      Upon the dull earth dwelling:
+    To her let us garlands bring.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.
+
+
+    Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
+      Men were deceivers ever,
+    One foot in sea and one on shore,
+      To one thing constant never:
+          Then sigh not so,
+          But let them go,
+      And be you blithe and bonny,
+    Converting all your sounds of woe
+      Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
+
+    Sing no more ditties, sing no moe
+      Of dumps so dull and heavy;
+    The fraud of men was ever so,
+      Since summer first was leafy.
+          Then sigh not so,
+          But let them go,
+      And be you blithe and bonny,
+    Converting all your sounds of woe
+      Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN.
+
+
+    Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
+      And Phoebus 'gins arise';
+    His steeds to water at those springs
+      On chalic'd flowers that lies;
+    And winking Mary-buds begin
+      To ope their golden eyes:
+    With everything that pretty is,
+      My lady sweet arise:
+            Arise, arise.
+
+William Shakespeare.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.
+
+
+    While that the sun with his beams hot
+    Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain,
+    Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
+    Sitting beside a crystal fountain,
+      In shadow of a green oak tree
+      Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    So long as I was in your sight
+    I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;
+    And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd
+    Burning in flames beyond all measure:
+      --Three days endured your love to me,
+      And it was lost in other three!
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Another Shepherd you did see
+    To whom your heart was soon enchained;
+    Full soon your love was leapt from me,
+    Full soon my place he had obtained.
+      Soon came a third, your love to win,
+      And we were out and he was in.
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+    Sure you have made me passing glad
+    That you your mind so soon removed,
+    Before that I the leisure had
+    To choose you for my best beloved:
+      For all your love was past and done
+      Two days before it was begun:--
+    Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love,
+    Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love;
+    Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
+
+Anon., circa 1564.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE LOVELINESS.
+
+
+    It is not Beauty I demand,
+    A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
+    Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
+    Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair:
+
+    Tell me not of your starry eyes,
+    Your lips that seem on roses fed,
+    Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies,
+    Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed:--
+
+    A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
+    Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
+    A breath that softer music speaks
+    Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,
+
+    These are but gauds: nay, what are lips?
+    Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
+    Whose brink when your adventurer slips,
+    Full oft he perisheth on them.
+
+    And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft
+    That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
+    Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft,
+    Do Greece or Ilium any good?
+
+    Eyes can with baleful ardour burn;
+    Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed;
+    There's many a white hand holds an urn
+    With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
+
+    For crystal brows there's nought within,
+    They are but empty cells for pride;
+    He who the Siren's hair would win
+    Is mostly strangled in the tide.
+
+    Give me, instead of Beauty's bust,
+    A tender heart, a loyal mind,
+    Which with temptation I would trust,
+    Yet never link'd with error find,--
+
+    One in whose gentle bosom I
+    Could pour my secret heart of woes,
+    Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly
+    That hides his murmurs in the rose,--
+
+    My earthly Comforter! whose love
+    So indefeasible might be,
+    That when my spirit wonn'd above,
+    Hers could not stay, for sympathy.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+A WOMAN'S REASON.
+
+
+    Love me not for comely grace,
+    For my pleasing eye or face,
+    Nor for any outward part;
+    No! nor for my constant heart,--
+      For these may fail, or turn to ill;
+        So thou and I shall sever:
+    Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,
+    And love me well, but know not why.
+      So hast thou the same reason still
+        To dote upon me ever!
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.
+
+
+    Over the mountains
+      And over the waves,
+    Under the fountains
+      And under the graves;
+    Under floods that are deepest,
+      Which Neptune obey;
+    Over rocks that are steepest,
+      Love will find out the way.
+
+    Where there is no place
+      For the glow-worm to lie;
+    Where there is no space
+      For receipt of a fly;
+    Where the midge dares not venture,
+      Lest herself fast she lay;
+    If love come, he will enter
+      And soon find out his way.
+
+    You may esteem him
+      A child for his might;
+    Or you may deem him
+      A coward for his flight;
+    But if she whom Love doth honour
+      Be concealed from the day,
+    Set a thousand guards upon her,
+      Love will find out the way.
+
+    Some think to lose him
+      By having him confin'd,
+    And some do suppose him,
+      Poor thing, to be blind;
+    But if ne'er so close you wall him,
+      Do the best that you may;
+    Blind Love, if so ye call him,
+      Will find out his way.
+
+    You may train the eagle
+      To stoop to your fist;
+    Or you may inveigle
+      The Phoenix of the East;
+    The lioness, you may move her
+      To give o'er her prey;
+    But you will never stop a lover--
+      He will find out his way.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIDA FLOUTS ME.
+
+
+    Oh, what a plague is love!
+      I cannot bear it,
+    She will inconstant prove,
+      I greatly fear it;
+    It so torments my mind,
+      That my heart faileth,
+    She wavers with the wind,
+      As a ship saileth;
+    Please her the best I may,
+      She looks another way;
+    Alack and well a-day!
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+    I often heard her say
+      That she loved posies:
+    In the last month of May
+      I gave her roses,
+    Cowslips and gillyflow'rs
+      And the sweet lily,
+    I got to deck the bow'rs
+      Of my dear Philly;
+    She did them all disdain,
+      And threw them back again;
+    Therefore, 'tis flat and plain
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+    Which way soe'er I go,
+      She still torments me;
+    And whatsoe'er I do,
+      Nothing contents me:
+    I fade, and pine away
+      With grief and sorrow;
+    I fall quite to decay,
+      Like any shadow;
+    Since 'twill no better be,
+      I'll bear it patiently;
+    Yet all the world may see
+      Phillida flouts me.
+
+Circa 1610.
+
+
+
+
+IN PRAISE OF TWO.
+
+
+    Faustina hath the fairest face,
+    And Phillida the better grace;
+      Both have mine eye enriched:
+    This sings full sweetly with her voice;
+    Her fingers make so sweet a noise:
+      Both have mine ear bewitched.
+    Ah me! sith Fates have so provided,
+    My heart, alas! must be divided.
+
+Anon.
+
+
+
+
+TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS.
+
+
+    I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
+      And I might have gone near to love thee,
+    Had I not found the slightest prayer
+      That lips could speak, had power to move thee;
+    But I can let thee now alone,
+    As worthy to be loved by none.
+
+    I do confess thou'rt sweet, but find
+      Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
+    Thy favours are but like the wind,
+      That kisses everything it meets;
+    And since thou can with more than one,
+    Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.
+
+    The morning rose that untouch'd stands,
+      Arm'd with her briars, how sweetly smells;
+    But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
+      Her sweet no longer with her dwells.
+    But scent and beauty both are gone,
+    And leaves fall from her, one by one.
+
+    Such fate ere long will thee betide,
+      When thou hast handled been a while;
+    Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;--
+      And I will sigh, while some will smile,
+    To see thy love for more than one
+    Hath brought thee to be loved by none.
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun.
+
+
+
+
+ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.
+
+
+    I Lov'd thee once, I'll love no more,
+      Thine be the grief as is the blame;
+    Thou art not what thou wert before,
+      What reason I should be the same?
+        He that can love unlov'd again,
+        Hath better store of love than brain:
+      God send me love my debts to pay,
+      While unthrifts fool their love away.
+
+    Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
+      If thou hadst still continued mine;
+    Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own,
+      I might perchance have yet been thine.
+        But thou thy freedom did recall,
+        That if thou might elsewhere inthral;
+      And then how could I but disdain
+      A captive's captive to remain?
+
+    When new desires had conquer'd thee,
+      And chang'd the object of thy will,
+    It had been lethargy in me,
+      Not constancy to love thee still.
+        Yea it had been a sin to go
+        And prostitute affection so,
+      Since we are taught no prayers to say
+      To such as must to others pray.
+
+    Yet do thou glory in thy choice,
+      Thy choice of his good fortune's boast;
+    I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
+      To see him gain what I have lost;
+        The height of my disdain shall be,
+        To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
+      To love thee still, but go no more
+      A-begging to a beggar's door.
+
+Sir Robert Aytoun.
+
+
+
+
+THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN.
+
+
+    In a maiden-time profess'd,
+    Then we say that life is bless'd;
+    Tasting once the married life,
+    Then we only praise the wife;
+    There's but one state more to try,
+    Which makes women laugh or cry--
+    Widow, widow: of these three
+    The middle's best, and that give me.
+
+Thomas Middleton.
+
+
+
+
+MY LOVE AND I MUST PART.
+
+
+    Weep eyes, break heart!
+    My love and I must part.
+    Cruel fates true love do soonest sever;
+    O, I shall see thee never, never, never!
+    O, happy is the maid whose life takes end
+    Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend!
+    Weep eyes, break heart!
+    My love and I must part.
+
+Thomas Middleton.
+
+
+
+
+PERFECT BEAUTY.
+
+
+    It was a beauty that I saw,
+      So pure, so perfect, as the frame
+      Of all the universe was lame,
+    To that one figure, could I draw,
+    Or give least line of it a law!
+      A skein of silk without a knot,
+    A fair march made without a halt,
+    A curious form without a fault,
+      A printed book without a blot,
+      All beauty, and without a spot!
+
+Ben Jonson.
+
+
+
+
+TO CELIA.
+
+
+    Drink to me only with thine eyes,
+      And I will pledge with mine;
+    Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
+      And I'll not look for wine.
+    The thirst that from the soul doth rise
+      Doth ask a drink divine;
+    But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
+      I would not change for thine.
+
+    I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
+      Not so much honouring thee
+    As giving it a hope that there
+      It could not withered be:
+    But thou thereon didst only breathe
+      And sent'st it back to me;
+    Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
+      Not of itself, but thee!
+
+Ben Jonson.
+
+
+
+
+A WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    Now thou hast loved me one whole day,
+    To-morrow, when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say?
+    Wilt thou then ante-date some new-made vow?
+      Or say, that now
+    We are not just those persons which we were?
+    Or, that oaths made in reverential fear
+    Of Love and his wrath any may forswear?
+      Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
+    So lovers' contracts, images of those,
+    Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose?
+      Or, your own end to justify
+    For having purposed change and falsehood, you
+    Can have no way but falsehood to be true?
+    Vain lunatic! Against these scapes I could
+      Dispute and conquer if I would;
+    Which I abstain to do;
+    For, by to-morrow, I may think so too.
+
+Dr. John Donne.
+
+
+
+
+SWEETEST LOVE.
+
+
+    Sweetest love, I do not go
+    For weariness of thee,
+    Nor in hope the world can show
+    A fitter love for me.
+    But since that I
+    Must die at last, 'tis best
+    Thus to use myself in jest
+    By feigned death to die.
+
+    Yester-night the sun went hence,
+    And yet is here to-day;
+    He hath no desire nor sense,
+    Nor half so short a way:
+    Then fear not me,
+    But believe that I shall make
+    Hastier journeys, since I take
+    More wings and spurs than he.
+
+Dr. John Donne.
+
+
+
+
+TO AURORA.
+
+
+    O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm,
+    And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest;
+    Then would'st thou melt the ice out of thy breast,
+    And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.
+    O, if thy pride did not our joys control,
+    What world of loving wonders should'st thou see!
+    For if I saw thee once transform'd in me,
+    Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul;
+    Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine,
+    And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan
+    Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone:
+    No, I would have my share in what were thine:
+      And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,
+      This happy harmony would make them none.
+
+W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling.
+
+
+
+
+PHILLIS.
+
+
+    In petticoat of green,
+    Her hair about her eyne,
+    Phillis, beneath an oak,
+    Sat milking her fair flock.
+    'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight!
+    Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.
+
+William Drummond.
+
+
+
+
+TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.
+
+
+    Take, O, take those lips away,
+      That so sweetly were forsworn;
+    And those eyes, the break of day,
+      Lights that do mislead the morn:
+    But my kisses bring again, bring again;
+    Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.
+
+    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 icy chains by thee.
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher.
+
+
+
+
+TELL ME, WHAT IS LOVE?
+
+
+    Tell me, dearest, what is love?
+    'Tis a lightning from above,
+    'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
+    'Tis a boy they call Desire.
+          'Tis a grave
+          Gapes to have
+    Those poor fools that long to prove.
+
+    Tell me more, are women true?
+    Yes, some are, and some as you;
+    Some are willing, some are strange,
+    Since you men first taught to change.
+          And till truth
+          Be in both
+    All shall love to love anew.
+
+    Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
+    Yes, and sicken sore, but live:
+    And be wise and delay,
+    When you men are as wise as they.
+          Then I see
+          Faith will be
+    Never till they both believe.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+PINING FOR LOVE.
+
+
+    How long shall I pine for love?
+      How long shall I sue in vain?
+    How long like the turtle-dove,
+      Shall I heartily thus complain?
+    Shall the sails of my heart stand still?
+      Shall the grists of my hope be unground?
+    Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
+      Let the mill, let the mill go round.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+FIE ON LOVE.
+
+
+    Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
+      Or man or woman know it.
+    Love was not meant for people in their wits,
+      And they that fondly show it
+    Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
+    And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
+    If simple love be such a curse,
+    To marry is to make it ten times worse.
+
+Francis Beaumont.
+
+
+
+
+DAMOETAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.
+
+
+    Tune on my pipe the praises of my love,
+        Love fair and bright;
+    Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above,
+        Heavens Jove's delight,
+        With Daphnis' praise.
+
+    Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold,
+        Gold bright and sheen;
+    Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd,
+        Scyll o'erseen
+        Through Minos' love.
+
+    Her eyes like shining lamps in midst of night,
+        Night dark and dead:
+    Or as the stars that give the seamen light,
+        Light for to lead
+        Their wandering ships.
+
+    Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive,
+        Lily snow-white:
+    When their contest doth make their colour thrive,
+        Colour too bright
+        For shepherds' eyes.
+
+    Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye,
+        Scarlet blood-red:
+    Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie,
+        Hills overspread
+        By winter's force.
+
+    Her skin as soft as is the finest silk,
+        Silk soft and fine:
+    Of colour like unto the whitest milk,
+        Milk of the kine
+        Of Daphnis' herd.
+
+    As swift of foot as is the pretty roe,
+        Roe swift of pace:
+    When yelping hounds pursue her to and fro,
+        Hounds fierce in chase
+        To reave her life.
+
+    Cease to tell of any more compare,
+        Compares too rude,
+    Daphnis' deserts and beauty are too rare:
+        Then here conclude
+        Fair Daphnis' praise.
+
+John Wootton.
+
+
+
+
+SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?
+
+
+    Shall I, wasting in despair,
+    Die because a woman's fair?
+    Or my cheeks make pale with care,
+    'Cause another's rosy are?
+    Be she fairer than the day,
+    Or the flowery meads in May,
+      If she be not so to me,
+      What care I how fair she be?
+
+    Shall my foolish heart be pined
+    'Cause I see a woman kind;
+    Or a well-disposed nature
+    Joined with a lovely feature?
+    Be she meeker, kinder, than
+    Turtle-dove or pelican,
+      If she be not so to me,
+      What care I how kind she be?
+
+    Shall a woman's virtues move
+    Me to perish for her love?
+    Or her merit's value known,
+    Make me quite forget mine own?
+    Be she with that goodness blest
+    Which may gain her name of Best;
+      If she seem not such to me,
+      What care I how good she be?
+
+    'Cause her fortune seems too high,
+    Shall I play the fool and die?
+    Those that bear a noble mind,
+    Where they want, of riches find.
+    Think what with them they would do
+    Who without them dare to woo:
+      And unless that mind I see,
+      What care I tho' great she be?
+
+    Great or good, or kind or fair,
+    I will ne'er the more despair;
+    If she love me, this believe,
+    I will die ere she shall grieve;
+    If she slight me when I woo,
+    I can scorn and let her go;
+      For if she be not for me,
+      What care I for whom she be?
+
+George Wither.
+
+
+
+
+TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.
+
+
+    Wonder not, though I am blind,
+                  For you must be
+    Dark in your eyes, or in your mind,
+                  If, when you see
+    Her face, you prove not blind like me;
+    If the powerful beams that fly
+                  From her eye,
+    And those amorous sweets that lie
+    Scatter'd in each neighbouring part,
+    Find a passage to your heart,
+    Then you'll confess your mortal sight
+    Too weak for such a glorious light:
+    For if her graces you discover,
+    You grow, like me, a dazzled lover;
+    But if those beauties you not spy,
+    Then are you blinder far than I.
+
+Thomas Carew.
+
+
+
+
+HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK
+
+
+    He that loves a rosy cheek,
+      Or a coral lip admires,
+    Or from star-like eyes doth seek
+      Fuel to maintain his fires;
+    As old Time makes these decay,
+    So his flames must waste away.
+
+    But a smooth and steadfast mind,
+      Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
+    Hearts with equal love combined,
+      Kindle never-dying fires;
+    Where these are not, I despise
+    Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
+
+Thomas Carew.
+
+
+
+
+MATIN SONG.
+
+
+    Rise, Lady Mistress! rise!
+      The night hath tedious been;
+    No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes,
+      Nor slumbers made me sin.
+    Is not she a saint, then, say!
+    Thought of whom keeps sin away?
+
+    Rise, madam! rise, and give me light,
+      Whom darkness still will cover,
+    And ignorance, more dark than night,
+      Till thou smile on thy lover.
+    All want day till thy beauty rise,
+    For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.
+
+Nathaniel Field.
+
+
+
+
+JULIA.
+
+
+    Some asked me where the rubies grew,
+      And nothing did I say,
+    But with my finger pointed to
+      The lips of Julia.
+
+    Some asked how pearls did grow, and where;
+      Then spake I to my girl,
+    To part her lips and show me there
+      The quarelets of pearl.
+
+    One asked me where the roses grew;
+      I bade him not go seek,
+    But forthwith bade my Julia show
+      A bud in either cheek.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY RIPE.
+
+
+    "Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe," I cry,
+    "Full and fair ones--come and buy;"
+    If so be you ask me where
+    They do grow? I answer, "There,
+    Where my Julia's lips do smile;"
+    There's the land, or cherry-isle,
+    Whose plantations fully show
+    All the year where cherries grow!
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE VIRGINS.
+
+
+    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
+      Old Time is still a-flying;
+    And this same flower that smiles to-day,
+      To-morrow will be dying.
+
+    The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
+      The higher he's a-getting,
+    The sooner will his race be run,
+      And nearer he's to setting.
+
+    That age is best which is the first,
+      When youth and blood are warmer;
+    But being spent, the worse and worst
+      Times still succeed the former.
+
+    Then be not coy, but use your time,
+      And while ye may, go marry;
+    For having lost but once your prime,
+      You may for ever tarry.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+TO ELECTRA.
+
+
+    I dare not ask a kiss;
+      I dare not beg a smile;
+    Lest having that or this,
+      I might grow proud the while.
+
+    No, no, the utmost share
+      Of my desire shall be,
+    Only to kiss that air
+      That lately kissed thee.
+
+Robert Herrick.
+
+
+
+
+DRY THOSE EYES.
+
+
+    Dry those fair, those crystal eyes,
+    Which like growing fountains rise
+    To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks
+    Would better flow in furrow'd looks:
+    Thy lovely face was never meant
+    To be the shore of discontent.
+
+    Then clear those waterish stars again,
+    Which else portend a lasting rain;
+    Lest the clouds which settle there
+    Prolong my winter all the year,
+    And thy example others make
+    In love with sorrow, for thy sake.
+
+Dr. Henry King.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE'S CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again;
+    Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love;
+    Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain;
+    Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove.
+    Dear, sweet, fair, wise,--change, shrink, nor be not weak;
+    And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.
+
+    Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
+    Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move;
+    Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born;
+    Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
+    Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
+    Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.
+
+John Dowland.
+
+
+
+
+FAREWELL, MY JOY.
+
+
+    Farewell! my joy!
+      Adieu! my love and pleasure!
+    To sport and toy
+      We have no longer leisure.
+            Fa la la!
+
+    Farewell! adieu!
+      Until our next consorting!
+    Sweet love, be true!
+      And thus we end our sporting.
+            Fa la la!
+
+Thomas Weelkes.
+
+
+
+
+THE LARK NOW LEAVES HIS WAT'RY NEST.
+
+
+    The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest,
+      And climbing, shakes his dewy wings,
+    He takes your window for the east,
+      And to implore your light, he sings;
+    Awake, awake, the morn will never rise
+    Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.
+
+    The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
+      The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
+    But still the lover wonders what they are,
+      Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
+    Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn,
+    Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.
+
+Sir William Davenant.
+
+
+
+
+GO, LOVELY ROSE.
+
+
+    Go, lovely Rose,
+    Tell her that wastes her time and me,
+    That now she knows
+    When I resemble her to thee,
+    How sweet and fair she seems to be.
+
+    Tell her that's young,
+    And shuns to have her graces spied,
+    That had'st thou sprung
+    In deserts where no men abide,
+    Thou must have uncommended died.
+
+    Small is the worth
+    Of beauty from the light retired;
+    Bid her come forth,
+    Suffer herself to be desired,
+    And not blush so to be admired.
+
+    Then die, that she
+    The common fate of all things rare
+    May read in thee,
+    How small a part of time they share
+    Who are so wondrous sweet and fair!
+
+Edmund Waller.
+
+
+
+
+HIS MISTRESS.
+
+
+    I have a mistress, for perfections rare
+    In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.
+    Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes;
+    Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice.
+    And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin,
+    Still her perfection lets religion in.
+    We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours
+    As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers.
+    I touch her, like my beads, with devout care,
+    And come unto my courtship as my prayer.
+
+Thomas Randolph.
+
+
+
+
+CHLORIS.
+
+
+    Amyntas, go! Thou art undone,
+      Thy faithful heart is crossed by fate;
+    That love is better not begun,
+      Where love is come to love too late.
+
+    Yet who that saw fair Chloris weep
+      Such sacred dew, with such pure grace,
+    Durst think them feigned tears, or seek
+      For treason in an angel's face.
+
+Henry Vaughan.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.
+
+
+    Love me little, love me long,
+      Is the burden of my song;
+    Love that is too hot and strong
+      Burneth soon to waste;
+    Still I would not have thee cold,
+      Or backward, or too bold,
+    For love that lasteth till 'tis old
+      Fadeth not in haste.
+
+    Winter's cold, or summer's heat,
+      Autumn tempests on it beat,
+    It can never know defeat,
+      Never can rebel;
+    Such the love that I would gain,
+      Such love, I tell thee plain,
+    That thou must give or love in vain,
+      So to thee farewell.
+
+Circa 1610.
+
+
+
+
+FAIN WOULD I CHANGE THAT NOTE.
+
+
+    Fain would I change that note
+    To which fond love hath charm'd me,
+    Long, long to sing by rote,
+    Fancying that that harm'd me:
+    Yet when this thought doth come,
+    "Love is the perfect sum
+    Of all delight,"
+    I have no other choice
+    Either for pen or voice
+    To sing or write.
+
+    O Love, they wrong thee much
+    That say thy sweet is bitter,
+    When thy rich fruit is such
+    As nothing can be sweeter.
+    Fair house of joy and bliss
+    Where truest pleasure is,
+    I do adore thee;
+    I know thee what thou art,
+    I serve thee with my heart,
+    And fall before thee.
+
+Captain Tobias Hume.
+
+
+
+
+TO ROSES IN CASTARA'S BREAST.
+
+
+    Ye blushing Virgins happy are
+      In the chaste Nunn'ry of her breasts,
+    For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
+      Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.
+
+    Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,
+      How rich a perfume do ye yield?
+    In some close garden, cowslips so
+      Are sweeter than in th' open field.
+
+    In those white Cloisters live secure
+      From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
+    Each hour more innocent and pure,
+      Till you shall wither into death.
+
+    Then that which living gave you room,
+      Your glorious sepulchre shall be;
+    There wants no marble for a tomb,
+      Whose breast hath marble been to me.
+
+William Habington.
+
+
+
+
+THOU PRETTY BIRD.
+
+
+    Thou pretty bird, how do I see
+    Thy silly state and mine agree!
+    For thou a prisoner art;
+      So is my heart.
+    Thou sing'st to her, and so do I address
+    My music to her ear that's merciless;
+    But herein doth the difference lie,--
+    That thou art graced; so am not I;
+    Thou singing livest, and I must singing die.
+
+John Danyel.
+
+
+
+
+ONCE I LOV'D A MAIDEN FAIR.
+
+
+    Once I lov'd a maiden fair,
+      But she did deceive me;
+    She with Venus might compare,
+      In my mind, believe me:
+    She was young, and among
+      All our maids the sweetest.
+    Now I say, ah! well-a-day!
+      Brightest hopes are fleetest.
+
+    I the wedding ring had got,
+      Wedding clothes provided,
+    Sure the church would bind a knot
+      Ne'er to be divided:
+    Married we straight must be,
+      She her vows had plighted;
+    Vows, alas! as frail as glass:
+      All my hopes are blighted.
+
+    Maidens wav'ring and untrue,
+      Many a heart have broken;
+    Sweetest lips the world e'er knew,
+      Falsest words have spoken.
+    Fare thee well, faithless girl,
+      I'll not sorrow for thee;
+    Once I held thee dear as pearl,
+      Now I do abhor thee.
+
+Temp. Jas. I. (condensed by T. Oxenford).
+
+
+
+
+I PR'YTHEE SEND ME BACK MY HEART.
+
+
+    I pr'ythee send me back my heart,
+      Since I cannot have thine;
+    For if from yours you will not part,
+      Why then shouldst thou have mine?
+
+    Yet now I think on't, let it lie;
+      To find it were in vain,
+    For thou'st a thief in either eye
+      Would steal it back again.
+
+    Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
+      And yet not lodge together?
+    O love! where is thy sympathy,
+      If thus our breasts you sever?
+
+    But love is such a mystery,
+      I cannot find it out;
+    For when I think I'm best resolved,
+      I then am most in doubt.
+
+    Then farewell love, and farewell woe,
+      I will no longer pine;
+    For I'll believe I have her heart
+      As much as she hath mine.
+
+Sir John Suckling.
+
+
+
+
+ORSAMES' SONG.
+
+
+    Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
+        Prithee, why so pale?
+    Will, when looking well can't move her,
+        Looking ill prevail?
+        Prithee, why so pale?
+
+    Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
+        Prithee, why so mute?
+    Will, when speaking well can't win her,
+        Saying nothing do't?
+        Prithee, why so mute?
+
+    Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move,
+        This cannot take her;
+    If of herself she will not love,
+        Nothing can make her:
+        The devil take her!
+
+Sir John Suckling.
+
+
+
+
+SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE.
+
+
+    Since first I saw your face I resolved
+      To honour and renown you;
+    If now I be disdained
+      I wish my heart had never known you.
+    What! I that loved, and you that liked,
+      Shall we begin to wrangle?
+    No, no, no, my heart is fast
+      And cannot disentangle.
+
+    The sun whose beams most glorious are,
+      Rejecteth no beholder,
+    And your sweet beauty past compare,
+      Made my poor eyes the bolder.
+    Where beauty moves, and wit delights
+      And signs of kindness bind me,
+    There, oh! there, where'er I go
+      I leave my heart behind me.
+
+    If I admire or praise you too much,
+      That fault you may forgive me,
+    Or if my hands had strayed but a touch,
+      Then justly might you leave me.
+    I asked you leave, you bade me love;
+      Is't now a time to chide me?
+    No, no, no, I'll love you still,
+      What fortune e'er betide me.
+
+Circa 1617.
+
+
+
+
+THE GIVEN HEART.
+
+
+    I Wonder what those lovers mean, who say
+    They've given their hearts away.
+    Some good, kind lover, tell me how:
+    For mine is but a torment to me now.
+
+    If so it be one place both hearts contain,
+    For what do they complain?
+    What courtesy can Love do more,
+    Than to join hearts that parted were before?
+
+    Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
+    Into the self-same room;
+    'Twill tear and blow up all within
+    Like a grenade shot into a magazine.
+
+    Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts
+    Of both our broken hearts;
+    Shall out of both one new one make,
+    From hers th' alloy, from mine the metal take.
+
+    For of her heart he from the flames will find
+    But little left behind:
+    Mine only will remain entire,
+    No dross was there to perish in the fire.
+
+Abraham Cowley.
+
+
+
+
+ICE AND FIRE.
+
+
+    Naked Love did to thine eye,
+    Chloris, once to warm him, fly;
+    But its subtle flame, and light,
+    Scorch'd his wings, and spoiled his sight.
+
+    Forc'd from thence he went to rest
+    In the soft couch of thy breast:
+    But there met a frost so great,
+    As his torch extinguish'd straight.
+
+    When poor Cupid (thus constrain'd
+    His cold bed to leave) complain'd:
+    "'Las! what lodging's here for me,
+    If all ice and fire she be."
+
+Sir Edmund Sherburne.
+
+
+
+
+AMARANTHA.
+
+
+    Amarantha, sweet and fair,
+    Forbear to braid that shining hair;
+    As my curious hand or eye,
+    Hovering round thee, let it fly:
+
+    Let it fly as unconfined
+    As its ravisher the wind,
+    Who has left his darling east
+    To wanton o'er this spicy nest.
+
+    Every tress must be confess'd
+    But neatly tangled at the best,
+    Like a clew of golden thread,
+    Most excellently ravelled.
+
+    Do not then wind up that light
+    In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;
+    Like the sun in his early ray,
+    But shake your head and scatter day.
+
+Richard Lovelace.
+
+
+
+
+TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.
+
+
+    When love, with unconfined wings,
+      Hovers within my gates,
+    And my divine Althea brings
+      To whisper at the grates;
+    When I lie tangled in her hair,
+      And fetter'd to her eye--
+    The birds that wanton in the air,
+      Know no such liberty.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Stone walls do not a prison make,
+      Nor iron bars a cage;
+    Minds innocent and quiet take
+      That for an hermitage.
+    If I have freedom in my love,
+      And in my soul am free,--
+    Angels alone, that soar above,
+      Enjoy such liberty.
+
+Richard Lovelace.
+
+
+
+
+A MOCK SONG.
+
+
+    Tis true I never was in love:
+      But now I mean to be,
+          For there's no art
+          Can shield a heart
+      From love's supremacy.
+
+    Though in my nonage I have seen
+      A world of taking faces,
+    I had not age or wit to ken
+      Their several hidden graces.
+
+    Those virtues which, though thinly set,
+      In others are admired,
+    In thee are altogether met,
+      Which make thee so desired.
+
+    That though I never was in love,
+      Nor never meant to be,
+          Thyself and parts
+          Above my arts
+      Have drawn my heart to thee.
+
+Alexander Brome.
+
+
+
+
+SPEAKING AND KISSING.
+
+
+    The air which thy smooth voice doth break,
+      Into my soul like lightning flies;
+    My life retires while thou dost speak,
+      And thy soft breath its room supplies.
+
+    Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
+      I join my trembling lips to thine,
+    And back receive that life from thee
+      Which I so gladly did resign.
+
+    Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire
+      What numbers do the soul compose;
+    No harmony can life inspire
+      But that which from these accents flows.
+
+Thomas Stanley.
+
+
+
+
+LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.
+
+
+    Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
+    Love owes its chiefest victories,
+    And borrows those bright arms from you
+    With which he does the world subdue;
+    Yet you yourselves are not above
+    The empire nor the griefs of love.
+
+    Then rack not lovers with disdain,
+    Lest love on you revenge their pain:
+    You are not free because you're fair,
+    The Boy did not his mother spare:
+    Though beauty be a killing dart,
+    It is no armour for the heart.
+
+George Etherege.
+
+
+
+
+DORINDA.
+
+
+    Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,
+      United, cast too fierce a light,
+    Which blazes high, but quickly dies,
+      Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.
+
+    Love is a calmer, gentler joy,
+      Smooth are his looks and soft his pace;
+    Her Cupid is a blackguard boy
+      That runs his link full in your face.
+
+Charles Sackville.
+
+
+
+
+CELIA AND SYLVIA.
+
+
+    Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou,
+      I must confess art kind;
+    But in her cruelty, I vow,
+      I more repose can find.
+    For, oh! thy fancy at all games does fly,
+    Fond of address, and willing to comply.
+
+    Thus he that loves must be undone,
+      Each way on rocks we fall;
+    Either you will be kind to none,
+      Or worse, be kind to all.
+    Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care;
+    We must be jealous, or we must despair.
+
+Robert Gould.
+
+
+
+
+TRUE LOVE.
+
+
+    Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid
+      Of sighs, nor aches, to make it known,
+    And to convince the cruellest maid,
+      Lovers should use their love alone.
+
+    Into their very looks 'twill steal,
+      And he that most would hide his flame,
+    Does in that case his pain reveal:
+      Silence itself can love proclaim.
+
+Sir Charles Sedley.
+
+
+
+
+TOO LATE!
+
+
+    Too late, alas! I must confess,
+      You need not arts to move me;
+    Such charms by nature you possess,
+      'Twere madness not to love ye.
+
+    Then spare a heart you may surprise,
+      And give my tongue the glory
+    To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
+      Betray a tender story.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+MY MISTRESS' HEART.
+
+
+    My dear mistress has a heart
+      Soft as those kind looks she gave me;
+    When with Love's resistless art,
+      And her eyes, she did enslave me.
+    But her constancy's so weak,
+      She's so wild and apt to wander;
+    That my jealous heart would break
+      Should we live one day asunder.
+
+    Melting joys about her move,
+      Killing pleasures, wounding blisses;
+    She can dress her eyes in love,
+      And her lips can arm with kisses.
+    Angels listen when she speaks,
+      She's my delight, all mankind wonder;
+    But my jealous heart would break
+      Should we live one day asunder.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+CONSTANCY.
+
+
+    I cannot change, as others do,
+      Though you unjustly scorn;
+    Since the poor swain that sighs for you,
+      For you alone was born.
+    No, Phillis, no, your heart to move
+      A surer way I'll try;
+    And to revenge my slighted love,
+      Will still love on and die.
+
+    When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies,
+      And you to mind shall call
+    The sighs that now unpitied rise,
+      The tears that vainly fall;
+    That welcome hour that ends his smart,
+      Will then begin your pain;
+    For such a faithful tender heart
+      Can never break in vain.
+
+John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
+
+
+
+
+MAN AND WOMAN.
+
+
+    Man is for woman made,
+      And woman made for man;
+    As the spur is for the jade,
+    As the scabbard for the blade,
+      As for liquor is the can,
+    So man's for woman made,
+      And woman made for man.
+
+    As the sceptre to be sway'd,
+    As to night the serenade,
+      As for pudding is the pan,
+      As to cool us is the fan,
+    So man's for woman made,
+      And woman made for man.
+
+Peter Antony Motteux.
+
+
+
+
+ACCEPT MY HEART.
+
+
+    Accept, my love, as true a heart
+      As ever lover gave:
+    'Tis free, it vows, from any art,
+      And proud to be your slave.
+
+    Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,
+      And let the giver live,
+    Who, with it, would the world have sent
+      Had it been his to give.
+
+    And, that Dorinda may not fear
+      I e'er will prove untrue,
+    My vow shall, ending with the year,
+      With it begin anew.
+
+Matthew Prior.
+
+
+
+
+AN ANGELIC WOMAN.
+
+
+    Not an angel dwells above
+    Half so fair as her I love.
+    Heaven knows how she'll receive me:
+    If she smiles I'm blest indeed;
+    If she frowns I'm quickly freed;
+    Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me.
+
+    None can love her more than I,
+    Yet she ne'er shall make me die,
+    If my flame can never warm her:
+    Lasting beauty I'll adore,
+    I shall never love her more,
+    Cruelty will so deform her.
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh.
+
+
+
+
+I SMILE AT LOVE.
+
+
+    I smile at Love, and all its arts,
+      The charming Cynthia cried:
+    Take heed, for Love has piercing darts,
+      A wounded swain replied.
+    Once free and blest as you are now,
+      I trifled with his charms,
+    I pointed at his little bow,
+      And sported with his arms,
+    Till urged too far, Revenge! he cries,
+      A fatal shaft he drew,
+    It took its passage through your eyes,
+      And to my heart it flew.
+
+    To tear it thence I tried in vain;
+      To strive, I quickly found
+    Was only to increase the pain,
+      And to enlarge the wound.
+    Ah! much too well, I fear, you know
+      What pain I'm to endure,
+    Since what your eyes alone can do
+      Your heart alone can cure.
+    And that (grant Heaven, I may mistake!)
+      I doubt is doom'd to bear
+    A burden for another's sake,
+      Who ill rewards its care.
+
+Sir John Vanbrugh.
+
+
+
+
+ADIEU L'AMOUR.
+
+
+    Here end my chains, and thraldom cease,
+    If not in joy, I'll live at least in peace;
+    Since for the pleasures of an hour,
+    We must endure an age of pain;
+    I'll be this abject thing no more,
+    Love, give me back my heart again.
+
+    Despair tormented first my breast,
+    Now falsehood, a more cruel guest;
+    O! for the peace of human kind,
+    Make women longer true, or sooner kind:
+    With justice, or with mercy reign,
+    O Love! or give me back my heart again.
+
+George Granville.
+
+
+
+
+SABINA WAKES.
+
+
+    See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes!
+      And now the sun begins to rise;
+    Less glorious is the morn that breaks
+      From his bright beams, than her fair eyes.
+
+    With light united, day they give,
+      But different fates ere night fulfil;
+    How many by his warmth will live!
+      How many will her coldness kill!
+
+William Congreve.
+
+
+
+
+FALSE! OR INCONSTANCY.
+
+
+    False though she be to me and love,
+      I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
+    For still the charmer I approve,
+      Though I deplore her change.
+
+    In hours of bliss we oft have met,
+      They could not always last;
+    And though the present I regret,
+      I'm grateful for the past.
+
+William Congreve.
+
+
+
+
+LOVE AND HATE.
+
+
+    Why we love, and why we hate,
+      Is not granted us to know:
+    Random chance, or wilful fate,
+      Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.
+
+    If on me Zelinda frown,
+      Madness 'tis in me to grieve:
+    Since her will is not her own,
+      Why should I uneasy live?
+
+    If I for Zelinda die,
+      Deaf to poor Mizella's cries,
+    Ask not me the reason why:
+      Seek the riddle in the skies.
+
+Ambrose Philips.
+
+
+
+
+I LATELY VOWED.
+
+
+    I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste,
+      That I no more would court
+    The joys that seem when they are past
+      As dull as they are short.
+
+    I oft to hate my mistress swear,
+      But soon my weakness find;
+    I make my oaths when she's severe,
+      But break them when she's kind.
+
+John Oldmixon.
+
+
+
+
+FEW HAPPY MATCHES.
+
+
+    Say, mighty Love, and teach my song
+    To whom thy sweetest joys belong,
+      And who the happy pairs
+    Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands,
+    Find blessings twisted with their bands
+      To soften all their cares.
+
+           *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Two kindest souls alone must meet,
+    'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet,
+      And feeds their mutual loves:
+    Bright Venus on her rolling throne
+    Is drawn by gentlest birds alone,
+      And Cupids yoke the doves.
+
+Dr. Isaac Watts.
+
+
+
+
+DORINDA'S CONQUEST.
+
+
+    Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought
+      The God of Love her charms to view;
+    To wound th' unwary maid he thought,
+      But soon became her conquest too.
+
+    He dropp'd half-drawn his feeble bow,
+      He look'd, he raved, and sighing pined;
+    And wish'd in vain he had been now,
+      As painters falsely draw him, blind.
+
+    Disarm'd, he to his mother flies;
+      Help, Venus, help thy wretched son!
+    Who now will pay us sacrifice?
+      For Love himself's, alas! undone.
+
+    To Cupid now no lover's prayer
+      Shall be address'd in suppliant sighs;
+    My darts are gone, but, oh! beware,
+      Fond mortals, of Dorinda's eyes!
+
+John Hughes.
+
+
+
+
+LOVERS IN DISGUISE.
+
+
+    How bless'd are lovers in disguise!
+        Like gods, they see,
+        As I do thee,
+    Unseen by human eyes.
+        Exposed to view,
+        I'm hid from view,
+    I'm altered, yet the same:
+        The dark conceals me,
+        Love reveals me:
+    Love, which lights me by its flame.
+
+    Were you not false, you would me know;
+        For though your eyes
+        Could not devise,
+    Your heart had told you so.
+        Your heart would beat
+        With eager heat,
+    And me by sympathy would find:
+        True love might see,
+        One changed like me,
+    False love is only blind.
+
+George Farquhar.
+
+
+
+
+WHEN THY BEAUTY APPEARS.
+
+
+    When thy beauty appears
+    In its graces and airs,
+      All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;
+    At a distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,
+      So strangely you dazzle my eye!
+
+    But then, without art,
+    Your kind thought you impart,
+      When your love runs in blushes through every vein;
+    When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,
+      Then I know you're a woman again.
+
+    There's a passion and pride
+    In our sex, she replied,
+      And thus, might I gratify both, would I do:
+    Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
+      But still be a woman to you.
+
+Thomas Parnell.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
+
+
+Accept, my love, as true a heart. 124.
+
+Ah! I remember well (and how can I. 48.
+
+Ah! my sweet sweeting! 5.
+
+Amarantha, sweet and fair. 112.
+
+Amid my bale I bathe in bliss. 14.
+
+Amyntas, go! Thou art undone. 100.
+
+And wilt thou leave me thus? 2.
+
+Away with these self-loving lads. 24.
+
+
+Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou. 118.
+
+Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry. 91.
+
+Come live with me, and be my love. 50.
+
+Cupid and my Campaspe played. 26.
+
+
+Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again. 95.
+
+Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly. 46.
+
+Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes. 117.
+
+Drink to me only with thine eyes. 74.
+
+Dry those fair, those crystal eyes. 94.
+
+
+Fain would I change that note. 102.
+
+False though she be to me and love. 129.
+
+Fame of Dorinda's conquest brought. 133.
+
+Farewell! my joy. 96.
+
+Faustina hath the fairest face. 66.
+
+Foolish love is only folly. 41.
+
+
+Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. 92.
+
+Go, lovely Rose. 98.
+
+
+Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 56.
+
+He that loves a rosy cheek. 88.
+
+He that loves and fears to try. 30.
+
+Help me to seek! For I lost it there. 1.
+
+Here end my chains, and thraldom cease, 127.
+
+How bless'd are lovers in disguise! 134.
+
+How long shall I pine for love? 81.
+
+
+I cannot change, as others do. 122.
+
+I dare not ask a kiss. 93.
+
+I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair. 67.
+
+I have a mistress, for perfections rare. 99.
+
+I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste. 131.
+
+I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more. 69.
+
+I pr'ythee send me back my heart. 106.
+
+I smile at Love, and all its arts. 126.
+
+I wonder what those lovers mean, who say. 110.
+
+If all the world and Love were young. 22.
+
+If women could be fair, and yet not fond. 11.
+
+In a maiden-time profess'd. 71.
+
+In petticoat of green. 78.
+
+In the merry month of May. 35.
+
+It is not Beauty I demand. 59.
+
+It was a beauty that I saw. 73.
+
+
+Ladies, though to your conquering eyes. 116.
+
+Like to Diana in her summer weed. 39.
+
+Like to the clear in highest sphere. 32.
+
+Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose. 47.
+
+Love guards the roses of thy lips. 31.
+
+Love is a sickness full of woes. 49.
+
+Love me little, love me long. 101.
+
+Love me not for comely grace. 61.
+
+Love mistress is of many minds. 43.
+
+Love, that liveth and reigneth in my thought. 3.
+
+Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid. 119.
+
+
+Man is for woman made. 123.
+
+My dear mistress has a heart. 121.
+
+My girl, thou gazest much. 6.
+
+My Phyllis hath the morning sun. 16.
+
+My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 27.
+
+
+Naked Love did to thine eye. 111.
+
+Not an angel dwells above. 125.
+
+Now fie on foolish love, it not befits. 82.
+
+Now thou hast loved me one whole day. 75.
+
+
+O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed! 17.
+
+O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm. 77.
+
+Oh, what a plague is love! 64.
+
+Once I loved a maiden fair. 105.
+
+Over the mountains. 62.
+
+
+Phylida was a fair maid. 12.
+
+Pretty twinkling starry eyes. 42.
+
+
+Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread. 28.
+
+Rise, Lady Mistress! rise! 89.
+
+
+Say, mighty Love, and teach my song. 132.
+
+See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes! 128.
+
+Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green. 4.
+
+Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee. 37.
+
+Shall I like a hermit dwell. 18.
+
+Shall I, wasting in despair. 85.
+
+Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell! 20.
+
+Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. 55.
+
+Since first I saw your face I resolved. 108.
+
+Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part. 53.
+
+Some asked me where the rubies grew. 90.
+
+Sweetest love, I do not go. 76.
+
+
+Take, O, take those lips away. 79.
+
+Tell me, dearest, what is love? 80.
+
+The air which thy smooth voice doth break. 115.
+
+The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest. 97.
+
+There is a garden in her face. 38.
+
+Thou pretty bird, how do I see. 104.
+
+'Tis true I never was in love. 114.
+
+Too late, alas! I must confess. 120.
+
+Tune on my pipe the praises of my love. 83.
+
+Two lines shall teach you how. 8.
+
+Two lines shall tell the grief. 7.
+
+
+Weep eyes, break heart! 72.
+
+Were I as base as is the lowly plain. 52.
+
+What shepherd can express. 9.
+
+When love, with unconfined wings. 113.
+
+When thy beauty appears. 135.
+
+Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose! 45.
+
+While that the sun with his beams hot. 57.
+
+Who is Sylvia? What is she. 54.
+
+Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 107.
+
+Why we love, and why we hate. 130.
+
+With fragrant flowers we strew the way. 34.
+
+Wonder not, though I am blind. 87.
+
+
+Ye blushing Virgins happy are. 103.
+
+
+
+
+INDEX OF AUTHORS.
+
+
+Alexander, W., Earl of Stirling. 77.
+
+Anonymous. 5, 57, 59, 61, 62, 64, 66, 101, 105.
+
+Aytoun, Sir Robert. 67.
+
+
+Beaumont, Francis. 80.
+
+Beaumont and Fletcher. 79.
+
+Breton, Richard. 35.
+
+Brome, Alexander. 114.
+
+Brooke, Lord. 24.
+
+
+Campion, Thomas. 37.
+
+Carew, Thomas. 87.
+
+Congreve, William. 128.
+
+Constable, Henry. 46.
+
+Cowley, Abraham, 110.
+
+
+Daniel, John. 104.
+
+Daniel, Samuel. 47.
+
+Davenant, Sir William. 97.
+
+Donne, Dr. John. 75.
+
+Dowland, John. 95.
+
+Drayton, Michael. 53.
+
+Drummond, William. 78.
+
+Dyer, Sir Edward. 16.
+
+
+Etherege, Sir George. 116.
+
+
+Farquhar, George. 134.
+
+Field, Nathaniel. 89.
+
+Fletcher, _see_ Beaumont and F.
+
+
+Gascoigne, George. 14.
+
+Googe, Barnaby. 12.
+
+Gould, Robert. 118.
+
+Granville, George. 127.
+
+Greene, Robert. 39.
+
+Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke. 24.
+
+
+Habington, William. 103.
+
+Harrington, Sir John. 45.
+
+Herrick, Robert. 90.
+
+Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey. 3.
+
+Hughes, John. 133.
+
+Hume, Capt. Tobias. 102.
+
+
+Jonson, Ben. 73.
+
+
+King, Bp. Henry. 94.
+
+
+Lodge, Thomas. 31.
+
+Lovelace, Richard. 112.
+
+Lyly, John. 26.
+
+
+Marlowe, Christopher. 50.
+
+Middleton, Thomas. 71.
+
+Motteux, Peter Anthony. 123.
+
+
+Oldmixon, John. 131.
+
+Oxford, Earl of. 9.
+
+
+Parnell, Thomas. 135.
+
+Peele, George. 17.
+
+Philips, Ambrose. 130.
+
+Prior, Matthew. 124.
+
+
+Raleigh, Sir Walter. 18.
+
+Randolph, Thomas, 99.
+
+Rochester, Earl of. 120.
+
+
+Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset. 117.
+
+Sedley, Sir Charles, 119.
+
+Shakespeare, William. 54.
+
+Sherburne, Sir Edmund. 111.
+
+Sidney, Sir Philip. 27.
+
+Southwell, Robert. 43.
+
+Stanley, Thomas. 115.
+
+Stirling, Earl of. 77.
+
+Suckling, Sir John. 106.
+
+Surrey, Earl of. 3.
+
+Sylvester, J. 52.
+
+
+Turberville, George. 6.
+
+
+Vanbrugh, Sir John. 125.
+
+Vaughan, Henry. 100.
+
+Vere, E., Earl of Oxford, 9.
+
+
+Waller, Edmund. 98.
+
+Watson, Thomas. 34.
+
+Watts, Dr. Isaac. 132.
+
+Weelkes, Thomas. 96.
+
+Wilmot, John. 120.
+
+Wither, George. 85.
+
+Wootton, John. 83.
+
+Wyatt, Sir Thomas. 1.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+Chiswick Press: Charles Whittingham and Co.
+Tooks Court, Chancery Lane, London.
+
+
+
+
+
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