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 honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be.
But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
And sent 'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

["Underwoods." 1640.]

A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS.

HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVING.

Let it not your wonder move,
Less your laughter, that I love.
Though I now write fifty years,
I have had, and have my peers;
Poets, though divine, are men:
Some have loved as old again.
And it is not always face,
Clothes, or fortune gives the grace;
Or the feature, or the youth;
But the language, and the truth,
With the ardour, and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then will read the story,
First, prepare you to be sorry,
That you never knew till now,
Either whom to love, or how:

But be glad, as soon with me,
When you know that this is she,
Of whose beauty it was sung,
She shall make the old man young.
Keep the middle age at stay,
And let nothing high decay,

Till she be the reason, why,
All the world for love may die.

HIS DISCOURSE WITH CUPID.

Noblest Charis, you that are
Both my fortune and my star!
And do govern more my blood,
Than the various moon the flood!
Hear, what late discourse of you,
Love and I have had; and true.
'Mongst my muses finding me,
Where he chanced your name to see
Set, and to this softer strain :
"Sure," said he, "if I have brain,
This, here sung, can be no other
By description, but my mother!
So hath Homer praised her hair;
So Anacreon drawn the air

Of her face, and made to rise,
Just about her sparkling eyes,

Both her brows, bent like my bow;

By her looks I do her know,
Which you call my shafts. And see!
Such my mother's blushes be,

As the bath your verse discloses

In her cheeks, of milk and roses;

Such as oft I wanton in:

And, above her even chin,

Have you placed the bank of kisses, Where, you say, men gather blisses,