« PreviousContinue »
Joy crown our bowers! Philomel
Let trees dance,
[From " Love Tricks or the School of Complement,” 1631.)
WHY DO YOU DWELL.
Why do you dwell so long in clouds,
And smother your best graces ?
And clear your manly faces.
Or not behave yourselves like spies
Upon the ladies here;
Beauty and love shine there.
You tread dull measures thus alone,
Not satisfy delight;
With every touch more white.
[Found in Shirley's masque of “ The Triumph of Peace," and sung while the masquers are in their revels with the ladies."]
LOVE FLIES AWAY.
Born about 1596.—Died 1652.
Dear, do not you fair beauty wrong, In thinking still you are too young; The rose and lilies in your cheek Flourish, and no more ripeness seek. Your cherry lip, red, soft and sweet, Proclaims such fruit for taste most meet ; Then lose no time, for love has wings,
from aged things.
Barn about 1600-Died about 1639. He that loves a rosy cheek,
coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires ;
old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Kindle never dying fires.
No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
And find nought but pride, and scorn;
admired as he deserves.
[From “ Poemes by Thomas Carew, Esq. one of the gentlemen of the Privie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his Majesty Charles 1,7 Lond. 1640." Carew is a very elegant writer-though not so much
Mr. Campbell in his Specimens of the Poets after printing this very pretty song as Carew's-some hundred pages after strangely enough inserts it as an anonymous piece from “ Lawes’ Ayres and Dialogues, 1653.” See Campbell's Specimens, vol. 3, p. 192, and Ib. p. 404.]
ASK ME NO MORE.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
Ask me no more whither doe stray
That killing power is none of thine,
it to thy voice and eyes : Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies ; Then dart not, from thy borrow'd sphere, Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate : Let fools thy mystic forms adore,
I'll know thee in thy mortal state. Wise poets that wrapp'd truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.
MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED.
Give me more love, or more disdain ;
The torrid or the frozen zone
The temperate affords me none :
Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in a golden shower I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes; and his possessed Of Heaven, that's but from hell releas'd: Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; Give me more love or more disdain.