With that I stopt. Said Love, "these be, And as these flowers, thy joy shall die, And all thy hopes of her shall wither, Like these short sweets thus knit together." Thomas Carew. XXVI. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MISTRESS ELIZA WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF AMARILLIS. (H.) My dearest love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. (A) In country meadows, pearl'd with dew, There, filling inaunds with cowslips, you (H.) What have the meads to do with thee, Live thou at Court, where thou may'st be Let country wenches make 'em fine For thee with richest gems to shine, (A.) You set too high a rate upon (H.) Believe it, dearest, there's not one I prithee stay. (A.) I must away; Robert Herrick. XXVII. THE PRIMRose. Ask me why I send you here This primrose all bepearl'd with dew; What doubts and fears are in a lover. Thomas Carew. XXVIII. THE SHEPHERD's DescRIPTION OF LOVE. "SHEPHERD, what's love? I pray thee, tell!". It is that fountain, and that well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is, perhaps, that passing bell That tolls us all to heaven or hell; And this is love, as I heard tell. "Yet, what is love? I pray thee, say!"— It is a work on holiday: It is December match'd with May, When lusty woods, in fresh array, Hear, ten months after, of the play; And this is love, as I hear say. "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, saine !"— It is a sunshine mix'd with rain; It is a tooth-ache, or like pain; It is a game where none doth gain, The lass saith, No, and would full fain! And this is love, as I hear saine. "Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray?". A pretty kind of sporting fray; It is a thing will soon away; Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may, "Yet, what is love? good shepherd, show!"— A prize that passeth to and fro, And he that proves shall find it so ; And, shepherd, this is love I trow. Sir Walter Raleigh. XXIX. TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIS NEITHER TOYING NOR TAKING. You say I love not, 'cause I do not play By Love's religion, I must here confess it, Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, Robert Herrick. XXX. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more whither do stray For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Ask me no more whither doth haste Ask me no more where those stars light, Ask me no more if east or west, Thomas Carew. XXXI. JULIA'S BED. SEE'ST thou that cloud as silver clear, Plump, soft, and swelling everywhere? 'Tis Julia's bed, and she sleeps there. Robert Herrick. XXXII. UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES. WHEN as in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows Next when I cast mine eyes, and see Robert Herrick. XXXIII, DELIGHT IN DISORDER. A SWEET disorder in the dress An erring lace, which here and there A careless shoe-string, in whose tie Do more bewitch me, than when art Robert Herrick. XXXIV. My Love in her attire doth show her wit, For every season she hath dressings fit, For winter, spring, and summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Unknown. XXXV. CHERRY RIPE. THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; |