I

THE UNDERTAKING

HAVE DONE one braver thing
Than all the Worthies did;

And yet a braver thence doth spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.

It were but madness now to impart
The skill of specular stone,

When he, which can have learn'd the art
To cut it, can find none.

So, if I now should utter this,
Others, because no more
Such stuff to work upon there is,
Would love but as before.

But he, who loveliness within

Hath found, all outward loathes : For he, who colour loves and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.

If, as I have, you also do

Virtue in woman see,

And dare love that, and say so too,
And forget the HE and SHE,-

And if this love, though placed so,
From profane men you hide,

Which will no faith on this bestow

Or, if they do, deride,—

Then you have done a braver thing
Than all the Worthies did;
And a braver thence will spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.

BREAK OF DAY

TAY, O SWEET! and do not rise !

STA

The light that shines comes from thine eyes :

The day breaks not; it is my heart,

Because that you and I must part.
Stay! or else my joys will die,
And perish in their infancy.

'Tis true, 'tis day: what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
Did we lie down because 'twas night?

Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye :
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,

And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him that had them go.

Must business thee from hence remove?

Oh, that's the worst disease of love.

The poor, the false, the foul, love can

Admit, but not the busied man.

He which hath business, and makes love, doth do Such wrong as when a married man should woo.

BEN JONSON

UP

EPITHALAMION

P! youths and virgins! up, and praise
The God whose nights outshine his days!

Hymen, whose hallow'd rites

Could never boast of brighter lights,

Whose bonds pass liberty.

Two of your troop, that with the morn were free, Are now waged to his war;

And what they are,

If you 'll perfection see,

Yourselves must be.

Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star!

What joy or honours can compare
With holy nuptials, when they are
Made out of equal parts

Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts;
When in the happy choice

The spouse and spousèd have the foremost voice?

Such, glad of Hymen's war,

Live what they are

And long perfection see:

And such ours be.

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star!

The solemn state of this one night
Were fit to last an age's light;

But there are rites behind

Have less of state and more of kind:
Love's wealthy crop of kisses,

And fruitful harvest of his mother's blisses.
Sound then to Hymen's war!

That what these are,

Who will perfection see

May haste to be.

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star !

Love's Commonwealth consists of toys;
His Council are those antic boys,

Games, Laughter, Sports, Delights,
That triumph with him on these nights:
To whom we must give way,

For now their reign begins, and lasts till day.
They sweeten Hymen's war,

And in that jar

Make all, that married be,

Perfection see.

Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star!

Why stays the bridegroom to invade
Her that would be a matron made?

Good-night whilst yet we may

Good-night to you a virgin say.
To-morrow rise the same

Your mother is, and use a nobler name!

Speed well in Hymen's war,

That what you are,

By your perfection, we
And all may see!

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star!

To-night is Venus' vigil kept,

This night no bridegroom ever slept ;
And if the fair bride do,

The married say 'tis his fault too.

Wake then, and let your lights

Wake too, for they 'll tell nothing of your nights, But that in Hymen's war

You perfect are ;

And such perfection we

Do pray should be.

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star!

That, ere the rosy-finger'd Morn
Behold nine moons, there may be born
A babe to uphold the fame

Of Ratcliffe's blood and Ramsay's name ;
That may, in his great seed,

Wear the long honours of his father's deed.

Such fruits of Hymen's war

Most perfect are :

And all perfection we

Wish you should see.

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star!