« PreviousContinue »
The morning rose, that untouch'd stands,
Arm'd with her briars, how sweet her smell ! But pluck'd, and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwell; But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one. Such fate, ere long, will thee betide,
When thou has handled been awhile,
And I will sigh, while some will smile,
Sir Robert Ayton.
A STOLEN KISS.
Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe; And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw. Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal
From those two melting rubies one poor kiss; None sees the theft that would the theft reveal,
Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss; Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I would do so;
O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
And I will pledge with mine;
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine;
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
It could not wither'd be:
And sent'st it back to me;
AMARYLLIS I did woo,
Wherein my lady rideth !
And well the car Love guideth.
Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth! Do but look on her, she is bright
As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arch'd brows, such a grace Sheds itself through her face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.
Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Before the soil hath smutch'd it ?
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Kindle never-dying fires;
A LOVER of late was I,
For Cupid would have it so; (The boy that had never an eye
As every man doth know.) I sigh'd, and sobb’d, and cried, “alas,” For
her that laugh'd and call’d me ass. Then knew not I what to do,
When I saw it was in vain
Who gave me the ass so plain;
Or she were as kind as me,
So pretty a sympathy:
With her I will never pair
For being a little fair-
Fain would I, Chloris, ere I die,
Whose breast has all the wealth I have,
THE WILLOW TREE.
How now, shepherd, what means that?