ΤΗ

ON A GIRDLE

HAT which her slender waist confined, Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done.

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely dear.
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love
Did all within this circle move!

A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair;
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Edmund Waller.

I

TO MY LOVE

PR'YTHEE send me back my heart,
Since I can not have thine;

For if from yours you will not part,
Why then should'st thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie;
To find it, were in vain:
For thou'st a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
And yet not lodge together?
O love! where is thy sympathy,
If thus our breasts you sever?

But love is such a mystery

I can not find it out;

For when I think I'm best resolved,

I then am in most doubt.

Then farewell care, and farewell woe,

I will no longer pine;

For I'll believe I have her heart,

As much as she has mine.

Sir John Suckling.

TO ALTHEA (FROM PRISON)

WHEN Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,

WHEN

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,

The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;

When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace.

H

SONG

EARS not my Phyllis how the birds
Their feathered mates salute?

They tell their passion in their words; Must I alone be mute?

Phyllis, without frown or smile,

Sat and knotted all the while.

The god of love in thy bright eyes
Does like a tyrant reign;
But in thy heart a child he lies,
Without his dart or flame.
Phyllis without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.

So many months in silence past,
And yet in raging love,

Might well deserve one word at last
My passion should approve.
Phyllis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.

Must then your faithful swain expire,

And not one look obtain,

Which he, to soothe his fond desire,
Might pleasantly explain?

Phyllis, without frown or smile,

Sat and knotted all the while.

Sir Charles Sedley.

THE DESPAIRING LOVER

D'

ISTRACTED with care,
For Phyllis the fair,
Since nothing can move her,

Poor Damon, her lover,
Resolves in despair

No longer to languish,
Nor bear so much anguish;
But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes,
Where a leap from above
Will soon finish his woes.

When, in rage, he came there,
Beholding how steep
The sides did appear,

And the bottom how deep;

His torments projecting,

And sadly reflecting

That a lover forsaken

A new lover may get;

But a neck, when once broken,

Can never be set:

And that he could die
Whenever he would;

But that he could live

But as long as he could;

How grievous soever

The torment might grow,