Sidor som bilder
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Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose,
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day,
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past,
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night,
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixëd become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phænix builds her spicy nest,
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

A PRAYER TO THE WIND.

Go, thou gentle whispering wind,
Bear this sigh, and if thou find
Where my cruel fair doth rest,
Cast it in her snowy breast,
So, enflamed by my desire,
It may set her heart a-fire.
Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain
Will reward thee for thy pain ;
Boldly light upon her lip,
There suck odours, and thence skip

To her bosom; lastly fall
Down, and wander over all ;
Range about those ivory hills,
From whose every part distils
Amber dew,—there spices grow,
There pure streams of nectar flow;
There perfume thyself, and bring
All those sweets upon thy wing ;
As thou return’st, change by thy power
Every weed into a flower,
Turn each thistle to a vine,
Make the bramble eglantine !
For so rich a booty made,
Do but this, and I am paid.
Thou canst with thy powerful blast
Heat apace, and cool as fast ;
Thou canst kindle hidden flame,
And again destroy the same ;
Then, for pity, either stir
Up the fire of love in her,
That alike both flames may shine,
Or else quite extinguish mine.

THE CRUEL MISTRESS.

We read of kings and gods that kindly took
A pitcher filled with water from the brook,
But I have daily tendered without thanks
Rivers of tears that overflow their banks ;
A slaughtered bull will appease angry Jove,
A horse the Sun, a lamb the god of love,
But she disdains the spotless sacrifice
Of a pure heart that at her altar lies.
Vesta is not displeased if her chaste urn
Do with repairëd fuel ever burn,
But my saint frowns, though to her honoured namc,
I consecrate a never-dying flame.
The Assyrian king did none i' the furnace throw
But those that to his image did not bow,--

With bended knees I daily worship her,
Yet she consumes her own idolater.
Of such a goddess no times leave record,
That burned the temple where she was adored.

A DEPOSITION FROM LOVE.

I was foretold your rebel sex

Nor love, nor pity knew,
And with what scorn you use to vex

Poor hearts that humbly sue ;
Yet I believed, to crown our pain,

Could we the fortress win,
The happy lover sure should gain

A paradise within.
I thought Love's plagues, like dragons, sate,
Only to fright us at the gate.
But I did enter and enjoy

What happy lovers prove,
For I could kiss, and sport and toy,

And taste those sweets of love,
Which, if they had a lasting state,

Or if in Celia's breast
The force of love might not abate,

Jove were too mean a guest.
But now her breach of faith far more
Afflicts, than did her scorn before.
Hard fate! to have been once possessed

As victor of a heart,
Achieved with labour and unrest,

And then forced to depart ;
If the stout foe will not resign,

When I besiege a town,
I lose but what was never mine,

But he that is cast down
From enjoyed beauty, feels a woe
Only deposed kings can know.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

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 art not, I despise
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes.
No tears, Celia, now shall win,

My resolved heart to return; I have searched thy soul within

And find nought but pride and scorn ; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou !

CELIA SINGING.

You that think love can convey

No other way,
But through the eyes, into the heart,

His fatal dart,
Close up those casements and but hear

This siren sing,

And on the wing
Of her sweet voice it shall appear
That love can enter at the ear.
Then unveil your eyes, behold

The curious mould
Where that voice dwells, and as we know,

When the cocks crow,

We freely may

Gaze on the day,
So may you, when the music's done,
Awake and see the rising sun.

THE LADY TO HER INCONSTANT SERVANT.

When on the altar of my hand,

Bedewed with many a kiss and tear,
Thy now revolted heart did stand

An humble martyr, thou didst swear

Thus, and the God of Love did hear :-
By those bright glances of thine eye,
Unless thou pity me, I die !
When first those perjured lips of thine,

Bepaled with blasting sighs, did seal
Their violated faith on mine,

From the soft bosom that did heal

Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal ;
My soul, enflamed with thy false breath,
Poisoned with kisses, sucked in death.
Yet I nor hand nor lip will move

Revenge or mercy to procure
From the offended god of love ;

My curse is fatal, and my pure

Love shall beyond thy scorn endure ;
If I implore the gods, they'll find
Thee too ungrateful, me too kind.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

Shepherd. Nymph. Chorus. Shep. This mossy bank they pressed.

hey pressed. Nym. That aged oak Did canopy the happy pair

All night from the damp air.
Cho Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke,

Till the day, breaking, their embraces broke.

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