S

CHARIS' TRIUMPH

From UNDERWOODS

BEN JONSON

EE the chariot at hand here of Love,

Wherein my Lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;

And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her;

And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the element's strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall o' the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver?
Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier?
Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white,

AEGLAMOUR'S LAMENT

From THE SAD SHEPHERD

BEN JONSON

ERE she was wont to go, and here, and here!

Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow: The world may find the spring by following her; For other print her airy steps ne'er left: Her treading would not bend a blade of grass, Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk; But like the soft west-wind she shot along;

And where she went, the flowers took the thickest root As she had sowed them with her odorous foot.

HYMN TO DIANA

From CYNTHIA'S REVELS

BEN JONSON

UEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,

Seated in thy silver chair,

State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wishèd sight
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart

And thy crystal-shining quiver;

Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever :

Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

PHYLLIS

WILLIAM DRUMMOND

N petticoat of green,

IN of

Her hair about her eyne,

Phyllis beneath an oak

Sat milking her fair flock:

'Mongst that sweet-strainèd moisture, rare delight, Her hand seemed milk, in milk it was so white.