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WRONG not, sweet empress of my heart,

The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart,

That sues for no compassion ;
Since, if my plaints serve not to approve

The conquest of thy beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,

But from excess of duty.
For knowing that I sue to serve

A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve,

A place in her affection,
I rather choose to want reliei

Than venture the revealing ;
Where glory recommends the grief,

Despair distrusts the healing.
Thus those desires that aim too high

For any mortal lover,
When reason cannot make them die,

Discretion doth them cover.
Yet, when discretion doth bereave

The plaints that they should utter,
Then thy discretion may perceive

That silence is a suitor.
Silence in love bewrays more woe

Than words tho' ne'er so witty ;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,

May challenge double pity.
Then wrong not, dearest to my heart,

My true, tho' secret passion;
He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

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;
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.



Phillis is my only joy,

Faithless as the winds or seas,
Sometimes cunning, sometimes coy,
Yet she never fails to please ;

If with a frown
I am cast down,
Phillis smiling,

And beguiling,
Makes me happier than before.

Though, alas ! too late I find

Nothing can her fancy fix,
Yet the moment she is kind
I forgive her with her tricks;

Which though I see,
I can't get free,
She deceiving,

I believing,
What need lovers wish for more?

Sir Charles Sedley.


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 farther, pretty sweeting,
Journeys end in lovers' meeting-

Every wise man's 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.

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.

Sir Robert Ayton.


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.


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.



AMARYLLIS I did woo,
And I courted Phillis too;
Daphne for her love I chose,
Chloris, for that damask rose
In her cheek, I held so dear,
Yea, a thousand liked well near;
And, in love with all together,
Feared the enjoying either:
'Cause to be of one possess'd,
Barr'd the hope of all the rest.

George Wither.



Her Triumph.
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


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