With nimble flames; and though his mind Of his tuned accents; but if once It boils out into cruelty And fraud: he makes poor mortals' hurts The objects of his cruel sports. With dainty curls his froward face" Is crown'd about; but O, what place, What farthest nook of lowest Hell танер Though bare his skin, his mind he covers, With wanton wing, now here, now there, Till at length he perching rest, His weapon is a little bow, Yet such a one as (Jove knows how) Of Heaven's high'st arches to fall narrow. 5 The gold that on his quiver smiles, His torch imperious, though but small, Though thou see the crafty elf Tell down his silver drops unto thee: His fawning cheeks, look not that way. Start, and say, the serpent hisses. Lest his kindness make thee bleed. Whate'er it be Love offers, still presume That though it shines, 'tis fire, and will consume. OUT OF THE ITALIAN. A SONG. To thy lover Dear, discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth (When those roses From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to clear the weather. Earth and Heaven Thus made even, Both will be good friends together. The air does woo thee, Winds cling to thee; Might a word once fly from out thee, Storm and thunder Would sit under, And keep silence round about thee. But if Nature's Common creatures So dear glories dare not borrow ; Owes a duty To my loving, lingering sorrow. When to end me Death shall send me All his terrors to affright me : Thine eyes' Graces Gild their faces, And those terrors shall delight me. When my dying Life is flying, Those sweet airs that often slew me Shall revive me, Or reprieve me, And to many deaths renew me. OUT OF THE ITALIAN. Love now no fire hath left him, E We two betwixt us have divided it : The heat commanding in my heart doth sit. So shall these flames, whose worth Or else partake my flames (I care not whether), And so in mutual names Of Love, burn both together. OUT OF THE ITALIAN. Would any one the true cause find How Love came naked, a boy, and blind? |