The Resolve

(Chiefly if I like them should tell All change of weathers that befell) Than Holinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and a nobler strain
My present Empress does claim,
Eleanora, first o' the name,

Whom God grant long to reign!

799

Abraham Cowley [1618-1667]

THE RESOLVE

TELL me not of a face that's fair,
Nor lip and cheek that's red,
Nor of the tresses of her hair,
Nor curls in order laid,
Nor of a rare seraphic voice
That like an angel sings;
Though if I were to take my choice
I would have all these things:
But if that thou wilt have me love,
And it must be a she,

The only argument can move
Is that she will love me.

The glories of your ladies be

But metaphors of things, And but resemble what we see

Each common object brings. Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,

Lilies their whiteness stain; What fool is he that shadows seeks

And may the substance gain? Then if thou'lt have me love a lass, Let it be one that's kind:

Else I'm a servant to the glass

That's with Canary lined.

Alexander Brome [1620-1666]

"ONCE DID MY THOUGHTS BOTH EBB AND FLOW"

ONCE did my thoughts both ebb and flow,

As passion did them move;

Once did I hope, straight fear again,—

And then I was in love.

Once did I waking spend the night,

And tell how many minutes move;
Once did I wishing waste the day,-
And then I was in love,

Once, by my carving true love's knot,

The weeping trees did prove

That wounds and tears were both our lot,—

And then I was in love.

Once did I breathe another's breath

And in my mistress move,

Once was I not mine own at all,

And then I was in love.

Once wore I bracelets made of hair,

And collars did approve,

Once wore my clothes made out of wax,

And then I was in love.

Once did I sonnet to my saint,

My soul in numbers move,

Once did I tell a thousand lies,

And then I was in love.

Once in my car did dangling hang

A little turtle-dove,

Once, in a word, I was a fool,—

And then I was in love.

Unknown

The Relapse

801

“ONCE DID I LOVE AND YET I LIVE”

ONCE did I love and yet I live,

Though love and truth be now forgotten;

Then did I joy, now do I grieve

That holy vows must now be broken.

Hers be the blame that caused it so,
Mine be the grief though it be mickle;
She shall have shame, I cause to know
What 'tis to love a dame so fickle.

Love her that list, I am content

For that chameleon-like she changeth, Yielding such mists as may prevent

My sight to view her when she rangeth.

Let him not vaunt that gains my loss,

For when that he and time hath proved her, She may bring him to Weeping-Cross:

I say no more, because I loved her.

Unknown

THE RELAPSE

O TURN away those cruel eyes,
The stars of my undoing!

Or death, in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blind and impious pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;

It was my fall that deified

Thy name, and sealed thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice

No other for thy fuel,

And if thou burn one victim twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel.

Thomas Stanley [1625-1678]

PHYLLIS

PHYLLIS is my only joy,

Faithless as the winds or seas,
Sometimes cunning, sometimes coy,
Yet she never fails to please:
If with a frown

LOVE in fantastic triumph sate

Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed,
For whom fresh pains he did create
And strange tyrannic power he showed:
From thy bright eyes he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurled;

But 'twas from mine he took desires
Enough t' undo the amorous world.

Les Amours

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee.
Thus thou and I the god have armed
And set him up a deity;

But my poor heart alone is harmed,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free!

803

Aphra Behn [1640–1689]

LES AMOURS

SHE that I pursue, still flies me;
Her that follows me, I fly;
She that I still court, denies me;
Her that courts me, I deny;
Thus in one web we're subtly wove,
And yet we mutiny in love.

She that can save me, must not do it;
She that cannot, fain would do;
Her love is bound, yet I still woo it;
Hers by love is bound in woe:
Yet how can I of love complain,
Since I have love for love again?

This is thy work, imperious Child,
Thine's this labyrinth of love,
That thus hast our desires beguiled,

Nor seest how thine arrows rove.
Then, prithee, to compose this stir,
Make her love me, or me love her.

But, if irrevocable are

Those keen shafts that wound us so,

Let me prevail with thee thus far,

That thou once more take thy bow; Wound her hard heart, and by my troth,

I'll be content to take them both.

Charles Cotton [1630-1687]