SIR FRANCIS KINASTON. 1585-1644. ["Leoline and Sydanis." 1642.] TO CYNTHIA, ON HER CHANGING. DEAR Cynthia, though thou bear'st the name Who changing yet is still the same, Who monthly doth herself conceal, Do not thou so, not being sure May crop thy beauty's lovely flowers, Which with his wings will fly away, And will return no more; As, having got so rich a prey, Nature can not restore. Reserve thou, then, and do not waste Let not grief make thee pine. Think that the lily, we behold, Flourish, although the mother mould There is no cause, nor yet no sense, That dainty fruits should rot, Though the tree die and wither, whence The apricots were got. SYDNEY GODOLPHIN. 1610-1643. SONG. OR love me less, or love me more; Bind me at least, or set me free! "Tis true that I have nursed before That hope, of which I now complain; Fearing to meet with your disdain. And yet have gained, by all this care, I see you wear that pitying smile Which you have still vouchsafed my smart, Content thus cheaply to beguile And entertain an harmless heart: But I no longer can give way To hope which doth so little pay; And yet I dare no freedom owe, Then give me more, or give me less: Or your unpitying beauties dress In their own free indifference! But show not a severer eye, For I shall love the very scorn Which, for my sake, you do put on. WILLIAM CARTRIGHT. 1611-1643. [“ Comedies, Tragi-comedies, with other Poems." 1651.] A SIGH SENT TO HIS ABSENT LOVE. I SENT a sigh unto my blest one's ear, I hastened after, lest some other fair Should mildly entertain this travelling air; It might mistake a lily for her ear; And having there took lodging, might still dwell She took it, and preferred it to her ear, And now it hears each thing that's whispered there. O how I envy grief, when that I see My sorrow makes a gem more blest than me! Yet, little pendant, porter to the ear, Let not my rival have admittance there; Upon her lip inflict a gentle pain |