JAMES SHIRLEY

HE

TO ODELIA

EALTH to my fair Odelia! Some that know
How many months are past

Since I beheld thy lovely brow,
Would count an age at least;
But unto me,

Whose thoughts are still on thee,
I vow

By thy black eyes, 'tis but an hour ago.

That Mistress I pronounce but poor in bliss
That, when her servant parts,

Gives not as much with her last kiss

As will maintain two hearts

Till both do meet

To taste what else is sweet.

Is 't fit

Time measure love, or our affection it?

Cherish that heart, Odelia! that is mine:
And if the North thou fear,

Dispatch but from thy southern clime

A sigh, to warm thine here!

But be so kind

To send by the next wind:

And many

'Tis far,

accidents do wait on war.

HUE AND CRY

N LOVE'S NAME you are charged. O fly,

IN

And make a speedy hue and cry

After a face, which t' other day

Stole my wandering heart away!
To direct you take, in brief,

These few marks to know the thief.
Her hair, a net of beams, would prove
Strong enough to imprison Jove
Dress'd in his eagle's shape; her brow
Is a spacious field of snow;

Her eyes so rich, so pure a grey,
Every look creates a day,

And if they close themselves (not when

The sun doth set) 'tis night again;

In her cheeks are to be seen

Of flowers both the king and queen,
Thither by all the Graces led
And smiling in their nuptial bed;
On whom, like pretty nymphs, do wait
Her twin-born lips, whose virgin state
They do deplore themselves, nor miss
To blush so often as they kiss
Without a man. Beside the rest,
You shall know this felon best

By her tongue: for when your ear

Once a harmony shall hear
So ravishing you do not know
Whether you be in heaven or no,
That, that is She. O straight surprize
And bring her unto Love's assize!
But lose no time, for fear that she
Ruin all mankind like me,

Fate and philosophy controul,

And leave the world without a soul.

I

TO HIS MISTRESS

WOULD the God of Love would die,
And give his bow and shafts to me:

I ask no other legacy :

This happy fate I then would prove,
That, since thy heart I can not move
I'd cure and kill my own with love.

Yet why should I so cruel be,
To kill myself with loving thee,

And thou a tyrant still to me?
Perhaps, could'st thou affection show
To me, I should not love thee so,
And that would be my medicine too.

Then choose to love me or deny,

I will not be so fond to die,

A martyr to thy cruelty:
If thou be'st weary of me, when
Thou art so wise to love again,
Command, and I'll forsake thee then.

SONG TO HYMEN

WHAT HELP of tongue do they require

Or use of other art,

Whose hands thus speak their chaste desire
And grasp each other's heart?

Weak is that chain that 's made of air,
Our tongues but chase our breath :
When palms thus meet there's no despair
To make a double wreath.

Give but a sigh, a speaking look,

I care not for more noise;
Or let me kiss your hand- the book,

And I have made my choice.

TO ONE SAYING SHE WAS OLD

ELL ME NOT Time hath play'd the thief

TEL

Upon her beauty! My belief

Might have been mock'd, and I had been

An heretic, if I had not seen

My Mistress is still fair to me,

And now I all those graces see

That did adorn her virgin brow.

Her eye hath the same flame in 't now,

To kill or save, the chemist's fire
Equally burns, so my desire;

Not any rose-bud less within

Her cheek; the same snow on her chin;

Her voice that heavenly music bears

First charm'd my soul, and in my ears
Did leave it trembling; her lips are
The self-same lovely twins they were ;—
After so many years I miss

No flower in all my paradise.

Time! I despise thy rage and thee:
Thieves do not always thrive, I see.

THE LOOKING-GLASS

HEN this crystal shall present

WHEN

Your beauty to your eye,

Think! that lovely face was meant
To dress another by.

For not to make them proud
These glasses are allow'd

To those are fair,

But to compare

The inward beauty with the outward grace, And make them fair in soul as well as face.

I

ON HER DANCING

STOOD and saw my Mistress dance,
Silent, and with so fix'd an eye,

Some might suppose me in a trance :
But being asked why,

By One that knew I was in love,
I could not but impart

My wonder, to behold her move
So nimbly with a marble heart.