And virtues hath she many mo'
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould,
The like to whom she could not paint : With wringing hands, how she did cry, And what she said, I know it aye.
I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain ; "She could not make the like again."
Time shall moult away his wings,
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.
But the spite on 't is, no praise
Is due at all to me;
Love with me had made no stays,
Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen in her place.
SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
PHILLIS THE FAIR. ON a hill there grows a flower, Fair befall the dainty sweet! By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly muses meet. In that bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That ever eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis, fair and bright,
She that is the shepherd's joy,
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
Who would not that face admire ?
Who would not this saint adore? Who would not this sight desire? Though he thought to see no more. Thou that art the shepherd's queen, Look upon thy love-sick swain; By thy comfort have been seen Dead men brought to life again.
PHILLIS is my only joy
Faithless as the wind or seas; Sometimes coming, sometimes coy, Yet she never fails to please. If with a frown
I am cast down,
Phillis, smiling
And beguiling,
Makes me happier than before.
Though, alas! too late I find
Nothing can her fancy fix; Yet the moment she is kind
I forgive her all her tricks;
I can't get free ;
She deceiving,
I believing,
What need lovers wish for more?
GO, LOVELY ROSE.
Go, lovely rose !
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
Then die, that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
STANZA ADDED BY HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
Yet, though thou fade,
From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise;
And teach the maid,
That goodness Time's rude hand defies, That virtue lives when beauty dies.
DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE
FROM "THE FOREST."
DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!
PHILOSTRATUS (Greek). Trans. lation of BEN JONSON.
Madam, alas! your glass doth lie,
And you are much deceived; for I
A beauty know of richer grace
(Sweet, be not angry), 't is your face.
Hence, then, O, learn more mild to be,
And leave to lay your blame on me :
If me your real substance move,
When you so much your shadow love,
Wise nature would not let your eye
Look on her own bright majesty ;
Which, had you once but gazed upon,
You could, except yourself, love none :
What then you cannot love, let me,
That face I can, you cannot see.
Now you have what to love, you'll say,
What then is left for me, I pray?
My face, sweet heart, if it please thee;
That which you can, I cannot see :
So either love shall gain his due,
Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you.
WELCOME, WELCOME, DO I SING.
Welcome, welcome, do I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never
Shall enjoy a spring forever.
Love, that to the voice is near,
Breaking from your ivory pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightingale.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.
Love, that still looks on your eyes,
Though the winter have begun
To benumb our arteries,
Shall not want the summer's sun.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.
Love, that still may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes,
Is a fool if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.
Welcome, welcome, then I sing, etc.
Love, to whom your soft lip yields,
And perceives your breath in kissing,
All the odors of the fields
Never, never shall be missing.
WHENAS IN SILKS MY JULIA GOES.
WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, me thinks, how sweetly flowes
That liquefaction of her clothes.
No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome
But serves her for familiar wear;
The far-fetched diamond finds its home
Flashing and smouldering in her hair;
For her the seas their pearls reveal ;
Art and strange lands her pomp supply
With purple, chrome, and cochineal,
Ochre, and lapis lazuli ;
The worm its golden woof presents;
Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves,
All doff for her their ornaments,
Which suit her better than themselves; And all, by this their power to give Proving her right to take, proclaim Her beauty's clear prerogative To profit so by Eden's blame.
THE COMPLIMENT.
I Do not love thee for that fair Rich fan of thy most curious hair; Though the wires thereof be drawn Finer than the threads of lawn, And are softer than the leaves
On which the subtle spider weaves.
With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:
Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline !
Nature herself her shape admires ;
The gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light :
Heigh-ho, would she were mine!
Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan
The absence of fair Rosaline,
Since for a fair there's fairer none,
Nor for her virtues so divine:
Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline !
Heigh-ho, my heart! would God that she were mine !
FROM THE RAPE OF THE LOCK."
On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore,
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfixed as those :
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends:
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet, graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide;
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.
SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death:
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command ;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel-light.
TO A LADY, WITH SOME PAINTED
FLOWERS.
FLOWERS to the fair: to you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring.
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you;
Emblems of innocence, and beauty too.
With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair,
And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear.
Flowers, the sole luxury which nature knew,
In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew.
To loftier forms are rougher tasks assigned;
The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind,
The tougher yew repels invading foes,
And the tall pine for future navies grows :
But this soft family to cares unknown,
Were born for pleasure and delight alone.
Gay without toil, and lovely without art,
They spring to cheer the sense and glad the heart.
Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these;
Your best, your sweetest empire is to please.
Lo, when the Lord made north and south,
And sun and moon ordained, he,
Forth bringing each by word of mouth
In order of its dignity,
Did man from the crude clay express
By sequence, and, all else decreed,
He formed the woman; nor might less
Than Sabbath such a work succeed.
And still with favor singled out, Marred less than man by mortal fall, Her disposition is devout,
Her countenance angelical.
No faithless thought her instinct shrouds,
But fancy checkers settled sense,
Like alteration of the clouds
On noonday's azure permanence.
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