To give my love good-morrow.
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,
To give my love good-morrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast;
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each hill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow.
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet and cock-sparrow;
You pretty elves, among yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.
THOMAS HEYWOOD.
TO LUC.4ST.A.
ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field,
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, too, must adore;
I could not love thec, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.
SIR RICHARD LOVELACE.
CUPID AND CAMPASPE. (From Alexander and Campaspe.") NUPID and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses; Cupid paid. He staked his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek, but none knows how;
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin.
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won; and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, hath she done thus to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?
TO HIS LOVE.
NOME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, or hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;
A gown make of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs.
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Thy silver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall, on an ivory table, be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY.
AF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And age complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue-a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
FREEDOM AND LOVE.
OW delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning, When two mutual hearts are sighing For the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, mid your wooing, Love has bliss, but love has ruing; Others' smiles may make you fickle, Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays where sorest chidden,
Laughs and flies when pressed and bidden.
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