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XII.

A VALENTINE.

WHEN slumber first unclouds my brain,
And thought is free,

And sense refresh'd renews her reign,—
I think of thee.

When next in prayer to God above

I bend my knee,

Then when I pray for those I love,-
I pray for thee.

And when the duties of the day
Demand of me

To rise and journey on life's way,—
I work for thee.

Or if, perchance, I sing some lay,
Whate'er it be;

All that the idle verses say,

They say of thee.

If of an eye whose liquid light

Gleams like the sea,

They sing, or tresses brown and bright,—

They sing of thee.

And if a weary mood, or sad,

Possesses me,

One thought can all times make me glad,—

The thought of thee.

And when once more upon my bed,

Full wearily,

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Or gladly if one pang 'twould save,—

I'd die for thee.

Unknown.

XIII.

SINCE first I saw your face I resolved
To honour and renown you;
If now I be disdain'd, I wish

My heart I had never known you.
What? I that loved, and you that liked—
Shall we begin to wrangle?—
No, no, no, my heart is fast,

And cannot disentangle!

If I admire or praise you too much,
That fault you may forgive me;
Or if my hands had stray'd to touch,
Then justly might you leave me.
I ask'd you leave, you bade me love,
Is't now a time to chide me?

No, no, no, I'll love you still,
What fortune e'er betide me.

The sun, whose beams most glorious are,
Rejecteth no beholder;

And thy sweet beauty, past compare,
Made my poor eyes the bolder.
Where beauty moves, and wit delights,
And signs of kindness bind me,

There, oh! there, where'er I go,

I leave my heart behind me.

Unknown.

XIV.

As at noon Dulcina rested

In her sweet and shady bower,
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lap to sleep an hour.
But from her look

A wound he took

So deep, that for a further boon
The nymph he prays,

Whereto she says,

"Forego me now, come to me soon."

But in vain she did conjure him
To depart her presence so;

Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him go:
Where lips invite,

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And eyes delight,

And cheeks, as fresh as rose in June,
Persuade delay;

What boots she say,

Forego me now, come to me soon."

Unknown.

XV.

O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear! your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low;
Trip no further, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting-
Every wise mans' son doth know.

What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure;
In delay there lies no plenty,—
Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

XVI.

William Shakspere.

I DO Confess thou'rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee;

Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak had power to move thee: But I can let thee now alone,

As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,
That kisses everything it meets:

And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

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,
Like sere flowers to be thrown aside;

And I will sigh, while some will smile,
To see thy love for more than one
Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

XVII.

Sir Robert Ayton.

A STOLEN KISS.

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes
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;
Why then should I this robbery delay?

O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow!
Well, if she do, I'll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.
George Wither.

XVIII.

TO CELIA.

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 honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not wither'd 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!

Ben Jonson.

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SEE the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my lady rideth !

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd, do wish, as they might

But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

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