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THE SILENT LOVER.
WRONG not, sweet empress of my heart,
The merit of true passion,
That sues for no compassion ;
The conquest of thy beauty,
But from excess of duty.
A saint of such perfection,
A place in her affection,
Than venture the revealing ;
Despair distrusts the healing.
For any mortal lover,
Discretion doth them cover.
The plaints that they should utter,
That silence is a suitor.
Than words tho' ne'er so witty ;
May challenge double pity.
My true, tho' secret passion;
Sir Walter Raleigh.
SINCE first I saw your face I vowed
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 too much,
That fault you may forgive me;
Then justly might you leave me.
Is't now a time to chide me?
What fortune e'er betide me.
The sun, whose beams most glorious are,
Rejecteth no beholder ;
Made my poor eyes the bolder.
And signs of kindness bind me,
Phillis is my only joy,
Faithless as the winds or seas,
If with a frown
Though, alas ! too late I find
Nothing can her fancy fix,
Which though I see,
Sir Charles Sedley.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
That can sing both high and low;
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love? 'tis not hereafter ;
What's to come is still unsure;
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,
That kisses everything it meets :
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.