"In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth or power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. "And when beside me in the dale "The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could naught of purity display To emulate his mind. "The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his, but, woe to me! Their constancy was mine. "For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart, "Till, quite dejected with my scorn, "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, "And there forlorn, despairing, hid, ON LOVE. THERE is no worldly pleasure here below, Which by experience doth not folly prove; But among all the follies that I know, The sweetest folly in the world is love : But not that passion which, with fools' consent, Above the reason bears imperious sway, Making their lifetime a perpetual Lent, As if a man were born to fast and pray. No, that is not the humor I approve, As either yielding pleasure or promotion; I like a mild and lukewarm zeal in love, Although I do not like it in devotion; For it has no coherence with my creed, To think that lovers die as they pretend; If all that say they dy had dy'd indeed, Sure, long ere now the world had had an end. Besides, we need not love but if we please, No destiny can force men's disposition; And how can any die of that disease Whereof himself may be his own physician ? But some seem so distracted of their wits, That I would think it but a venial sin To take some of those innocents that sits In Bedlam out, and put some lovers in. Yet some men, rather than incur the slander Of true apostates, will false martyrs prove, But I am neither Iphis nor Leander, I'll neither drown nor hang myself for love. Methinks a wise man's actions should be such As always yield to reason's best advice; Now, for to love too little or too much Are both extreams, and all extreams are vice. Yet have I been a lover by report, Yea I have dy'd for love, as others do; But, praised be God, it was in such a sort, That I revived within an hour or two. Thus have I lived, thus have I loved till now, And find no reason to repent me yet; And whosoever otherways will do, His courage is as little as his wit. SIR ROBERT AYTON. MY CHOICE. SHALL I tell you whom I love? As I now shall versify, Nature did her so much right WHAT gift for passionate lovers shall we find? EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE |