But a smooth and stedfast mind, No tears, Celia, now shall win Can disdain as much as thou. Some power in my revenge convey, [From "Poemes by Thomas Carew, Esq. one of the gentlemen of the Privie-chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his Majesty (Charles I. Lond. 1640." Carew is a very elegant writer-though not so much admired as he deserves. 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. THOMAS CAREW. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more whither doe stray Ask me no more whither doth haste Ask me no more where those stars light, Ask me no more if East or West, [From Carew's Poems, third edition. 12mo. 1651.] INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. THOMAS CAREW. Know Celia, (since thou art so proud,) 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name And with it impt the wings of fame, VOL. 1. G That killing power is none of thine, 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, MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED. THOMAS CAREW. Give me more love, or more disdain; 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. THE PROTESTATION. THOMAS CAREW. No more shall meads be deck'd with flowers, The fish shall in the ocean burn, Love shall his bow and shaft lay by, And in that night no star appear; If once I leave my Celia dear. Love shall no more inhabit earth, THE PRIMROSE. THOMAS CAREW. Ask me why I send you here This primrose all bepearl'd with dew; What doubts and fears are in a lover. [This very pretty song of Carew's met the eye of Burns in an old collection-when he was gathering English songs for a proposed publication of Mr. George Thomson's. He writes:-"For 'Todlin Hame,' take the following old English song, which I dare say is but little known. I have altered it a little : THE PRIMROSE. Dost ask me why I send thee here, 1 must whisper to thy ears The sweets of love are wash'd with tears,— This lovely native of the dale Thou seest, how languid, pensive, pale. |