Part 5

From _The Marrow of Compliments_, 1655.

MAIDS[66] they are grown so coy of late Forsooth they will not marry; Though they be in their teens and past, They say that they can tarry. But if they knew how sweet a thing It were in youth to marry, They'd sell their petticoats, smocks, and all Ere they so long would tarry.

The wench that is most coy of all, If she had time and leisure, Would lay by all her several thoughts And turn to love and pleasure; For even the wisest heads sometimes Put on the face of folly, And maids do nevermore repent Than when they are too holy.

Winter nights are long, you know, And bitter cold the weather; Then who's so fond to lie alone When two may lie together? And is't not brave when summer's robes Have all the fields encowled To have a green gown on the grass And wear it uncontroul'd?

[66] D'Urfey printed these verses in his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_, 1700, ii. 93, as "The Silly Maids."

From HENRY LAWES' _Airs and Dialogues_, 1653.

A[67] CAUTION TO FAIR LADIES.

LADIES, you that seem so nice, And as cold in show as ice, And perhaps have held out thrice; Do not think but in a trice One or other may entice, And at last by some device Set your honours at a price.

You whose smooth and dainty skin, Rosy lips, or cheeks, or chin, All that gaze upon you win, Yet insult not: sparks within Slowly burn ere flames begin, And presumption still hath been Held a most notorious sin.

[67] This poem is ascribed by Lawes to Henry Harrington, son to Sir Henry Harrington. It is found among the _Fancies and Fantasticks_ appended to _Wit's Recreations_.

["It has also been accredited to Dr. Henry Hughes; the initials suggest the ambiguity. It is also in Playford's _Select Ayres_, 1659, p. 26."--_J. W. Ebsworth._]

From THOMAS CAMPION'S _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1617).

IF any hath the heart to kill, Come rid me of this woeful pain, For while I live I suffer still This cruel torment all in vain; Yet none alive but one can guess What is the cause of my distress.

Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart, No maladies my limbs annoy: I bear a sound and sprightful heart Yet live I quite deprived of joy; Since what I had in vain I crave, And what I had not now I have.

A love I had so fair, so sweet, As ever wanton eye did see; Once by appointment we did meet: She would, but ah! it would not be. She gave her heart, her hand she gave: All did I give, she naught could have.

What hag did then my powers forespeak, That never yet such taint did feel? Now she rejects me as one weak, Yet am I all composed of steel. Ah! this is it my heart doth grieve: Now, though she sees, she'll not believe.

From _The Academy of Compliments_, 1650.

WHEN doth Love set forth desire? In prime of youth, men say. And when again will it retire? When beauty falls away. Then you in youth that think on this, Taste what the sweetness of love is.

The night comes not at lovers' call; Being come, stays not their leisure; Hours that are sweet are swift withall, And attend not on our pleasure:[68] Then you in youth, that think on this, Taste what the sweet of beauty is.

[68] Old ed. "leasure."

From JOHN COTGRAVE'S _Wit's Interpreter_, 1655.

I[69] WALK'D abroad not long ago, But will not tell you whither; It is where flowers of beauty grow And fair ones flock together. And Cupid will great wonders show If ever you come thither.

For like two suns, two beauties bright Did shining sit together, As tempted by their double light Mine eyes were fix'd on either; And both at once so show'd their might, I loved, but knew not whether.

Such equal sweetness Venus gave That she preferr'd not either; That when for love I sought to crave, I knew not well of whether: For one while this I liked to have, And then I that had rather.

A lover of the choicest eye Might have been pleased with either, And so I must confess should I, Had they not been together: Now both must love or both deny, In one enjoy I neither.

But, happy chance, I feel no smart To curse my coming thither; For, since that my divided heart I[n] choosing knew not whether, Love angry grew and did depart: And now I care for neither.

[69] I ought perhaps to omit this poem, for it is fairly well known. The writer was George Wither, in whose _Fair Virtue_, 1622, it first appeared. There are other versions in the _Marrow of Compliments_, 1655, and similar collections.

From _Melpomene; or the Muses' Delight_, 1678.

FADING BEAUTY.

TAKE Time, my dear, ere Time takes wing: Beauty knows no second spring. Marble pillars, tombs of brass, Time breaks down, much more this glass. Then ere that tyrant Time bespeak it, Let's drink healths in't first, then break it. At twenty-five in women's eyes Beauty does fade, at thirty dies.

From _Comes Amoris_, 1687.

WHEN[70] first Amyntas sued for a kiss My innocent heart was tender, That though I pushed him away from the bliss, My eyes declared my heart was won. I fain an artful coyness would use Before the fort I did surrender; But Love would suffer no more such abuse, And soon alas! my cheat was known. He'd sit all day, and laugh and play; A thousand pretty things would say; My hand he'd squeeze, and press my knees, Till further on he got by degrees.

My heart, just like a vessel at sea, Would toss when Amyntas was near me. But ah, so cunning a pilot was he, Through doubts and fears he'd still sail on; I thought in him no danger could be, So wisely he knew how to steer me; And soon, alas! was brought t'agree To taste of joys before unknown. Well might he boast his pain not lost, For soon he found the golden coast, Enjoyed the ore, and touched the shore Where never merchant went before.

[70] This song is by Tom D'Urfey, and is printed in the first volume of his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_. In _Comes Amoris_ the reading is "Aminta."

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.

SOME men desire spouses That come of noble houses, And some would have in marriage Ladies of courtly carriage: Fa la la! But few desire, as I do, The maidenhead of a widow. Fa la la!

Some think fair youth will cherish Strength that begins to perish; I'll have no colts to taming, Let me be young'st at gaming. Fa la la! I'll get o'er, I'll go nigh to, The maidenhead of a widow. Fa la la!

From _The Westminster Drollery_, 1671.

THE ADVICE.[71]

PHILLIS, for shame! let us improve A thousand several ways These few short minutes stol'n by love From many tedious days.

Whilst you want courage to despise The censure of the grave, For all the tyrants in your eyes, Your heart is but a slave.

My love is full of noble pride, And never will submit To let that fop Discretion ride In triumph o'er our wit.

False friends I have, as well as you, That daily counsel me Vain friv'lous trifles to pursue And leave off loving thee.

When I the least belief bestow On what such fools advise, May I be dull enough to grow Most miserably wise.

[71] "With music by Pelham Humphrey, in Playford's _Choice Ayres_, i. 34. Twice given in _Windsor Drollery_. Believed to be by Charles, Earl of Dorset."--_J. W. Ebsworth._

From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W., 1654.

TO SYLVIA,

_On a Bracelet of her Hair._

KNOW, Sylvia, that your curious twist, Which charms my heart and decks my wrist, On which I gaze so oft and pay Thousands of kisses every day, Is not so much my love and care 'Cause tis composed of your hair; And yet it truly may be said Sun-beams are woven of coarser thread; Nor do I therefore like 't so much Because I find the art is such That if Arachne, when she strove With Pallas, the like web had wove, She had her skill and wrath o'ercome And gain'd a triumph, not a doom: No, Sylvia, I the truth will tell; I do not therefore like 't so well Because it is thy hair and art, But that it is thy gift, dear heart.

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

I HAVE followed thee a year at least, And never stopped myself to rest, But yet can thee o'ertake no more Than this day can the day that went before.

In this our fortunes equal prove To stars which govern them above; Our stars they move for ever round With the same distance still betwixt them found.

In vain, alas! in vain I strive The wheel of fate faster to drive, Since if around it swifter fly, She in it mends her pace as much as I.

Hearts by Love strangely shuffled are, That there can never meet a pair; Tamelier than worms are lovers slain; The wounded heart ne'er turns to wound again.

From _Tixall Poetry_,[72] 1813.

TO FLORA.

WHAT though Flora frowns on me? 'Tis but a chance of destiny. The wisest I have heard to say, 'Tis dusk before the break of day. Why should I curse that hour of night That brings the day to light?

Each angry look appears to me As witness of her modesty; And blustering storms do but forerun The lustre of a brighter sun; Which when appeased, I'm full possess'd Her frowns are but in jest.

I know, fair Flora, in thy breast A killing anger cannot rest: Yet for my humour I will love Though thou to me a fury prove: I know thy soul is so refined Thou wilt at last prove kind.

[72] From the section containing _Poems Collected by the Right Honourable Lady Aston_ (p. 136).

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

FAIREST thing that shines below, Why in this robe dost thou appear? Wouldst thou a white most perfect show, Thou must at all no garments wear: For thou wilt seem much whiter so Than winter when 'tis clad in snow.

'Tis not the linen shows so fair, Her skin shines through and makes it bright; So clouds themselves like suns appear When the sun pierces them with light; So, lilies in a glass enclose, The glass will seem as white as those.

Thou now one heap of beauty art, Nought outwards or within is foul; Condensed beams make every part, The body's clothed like the soul, Thy soul which does itself display Like a star placed i' th' milky way.

Such robes the saints departed wear, Woven all with light divine; Such their exalted bodies are, And with such full glory shine: But they regard no mortal's pain, Men pray (I fear) to both in vain.

Yet, seeing thee so gently pure, My hopes will needs continue still; Thou wouldst not take this garment, sure, When thou hadst an intent to kill: Of peace and yielding who would doubt When the white flag he sees hung out?

From _Wit's Cabinet_, n. d.

VIRGINS ADMONISHED.

PRETTY nymph, why always blushing? If thou love'st why art thou so coy? In thy cheeks these roses flushing Shew thee fearful of thy joy. What is man that thou shouldst dread To change with him a maidenhead? At first all virgins fear to do it And but trifle away their time, And still unwilling to come to it In foolish whining spend their time; But when they once have found the way, Then they are for it night and day.

From _Harl. MS._ 7332. fol. 242.

O HOW oftentimes have I Joyfully Under green trees in the shade My seat made, Dainty birds for to hear sing And the woods with music ring.

But the case is altered quite: My delight Is to hear my mistress dear Singing clear; That music's sweet harmony Makes with joy my heart to die.

O how oftentimes have I Joyfully Seen so many pleasant flowers After showers Blushingly to show their pride, As if still they should abide.

But the case is altered quite: My delight Is to see how prettily, When that I Have stol'n a kiss, she will blush And in jest me from her push.

Adieu, then, without delay, I do say, Old delights, unpleasant toys; For no joys Ye now have which me do please Or can comfort or can ease.

But pray come without delay, I do say, My new delight, most pleasant joy, And no toy; It is you which me do please, And can comfort and can ease.

From _Wit Restored_, 1658.

TO B. R. FOR HER BRACELETS.

'TIS not, dear Love, that amber twist, Which circles round thy captive wrist, Can have the power to make me more Your prisoner than I was before; Though I that bracelet dearer hold Than misers would a chain of gold. Yet this but ties my outward part: Heart-strings alone can tie my heart.

'Tis not that soft and silken wreath, Your hands did unto mine bequeath, Can bind with half so powerful charms As the embraces of your arms; Although not iron bands, my fair, Can bind more fiercely than your hair. Yet that will chain me most will be Your heart in True Love's-knot to me.

'Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all Your glorious outside doth me thrall; Although your looks have force enow[73] To make the stateliest tyrants bow, Nor any angel could deny Your person his idolatry. Yet I do not so much adore The temple, but the goddess more.

If then my soul you would confine To prison, tie your heart to mine; Your noble virtues, constant love, The only pow'rful chains will prove To bind me ever; such as those The bands of death shall ne'er unloose, Until I such a prisoner be No liberty can make me free.

[73] Old ed. "enough."

By SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE.

ICE AND FIRE.

NAKED love did to thine eye, Fairest, once to warm him fly; But its purer flame and light Scorch'd his wings and spoil'd his sight.

Forced from thence, he went to rest In the soft couch of thy breast; But there met a frost so great As his torch extinguish'd straight!

When poor Cupid, being constrain'd His cold bed to leave, complain'd, "What a lodging's here for me, If all ice and fire she be!"

From _Wit's Recreations_, 1663.

ON THE EYES AND BREASTS OF THE LADY ON WHOM HE WAS ENAMOURED.

LADY, on your eyes I gazed; When amazed At their brightness, On your breasts I cast a look, No less took With their whiteness: Both I justly did admire, These all snow and those all fire.

Whilst these wonders I survey'd, Thus I said In suspense: Nature could have done no less, To express Her providence, Than that two such fair worlds might Have two suns to give them light.

From _Tixall Poetry_,[74] 1813.

A SONG[75] FOR DRINKING.

WOULD you be a man of fashion? Would you lead a life divine? Take a little dram of passion In a lusty dose of wine.

If the nymph have no compassion, Vain it is to sigh and groan: Love was but put in for fashion, Wine will do the work alone.

A SONG FOR LOVE.

WOULD you know earth's highest pleasure? Would you rival gods above? Drink rich wines, but drink with measure, But fear no excess in love.

Or if wine you quite give over, You will nothing lose thereby; All is rapture to a lover, So in love he live or die.

[74] From the section containing _Poems Collected by the Honourable Herbert Aston_ (pp. 307, 308).

[75] "This was a song of 1683, set to music by Captain Pack, and not improbably to his own words. It was printed in 1684 in Playford's _Choice Ayres_, v. 14, and parodies soon followed. Cf. _Roxburghe Ballads_, iv. 350."--_J. W. Ebsworth._

From _Wit at a Venture: or Clio's Privy Garden_, 1674.[76]

EPITHALAMIUM.

TO bed ye two in one united go, To pleasures killing; Embrace and struggle till your spirits flow, Embrace more willing Than th' loving palms (great union's wonder), That ne'er bore any fruit asunder.

Be young to each when winter and grey hairs Your head shall climb; May your affections like the merry spheres Still move in time, And may (with many a good presage) Your marriage prove your merry age.

[76] "This appeared twenty-four years earlier, being by Robert Baron, among his _Poems_, 1650, p. 65."--_J. W. Ebsworth._

From _Rawlinson MS. Poet._ 199.

TO HIS MISTRESS FEIGNING TO CONCEAL LOVE.

DO not rack my bleeding heart; Fling away, or show thy dart; Delay is a worse pain Than proud disdain.

Do not starve my ling'ring soul, That still waits till thou control; And either send home mine Or give me thine.

Dost thou love me as thine own? O then smile and do not frown: Love soured with debate Is worse than hate.

Dost thou hate me as too vile? O then frown and do not smile: Hate sweetened so will prove Worse than love.

Sourest friend and sweetest foe, Do not love and hate me too: O 'tis a double ill To wound and kill!

Quickly, quickly, speak my fate: Dost thou love or dost thou hate? Lest I too soon remove And hate thy love.

HE. RAMSAY.

From _Rawlinson MS. Poet._ 199.

A SONG.

SIGHS, blow out those flames in me, Or else allay them, ye cold fears, Till so their heat chastised be; And then I'll quench them with my tears.

But oh! my tears but oil will prove To feed the flame of my desire: My fears they stir the coals of love, My sighs like bellows blow the fire.

But surely I'll not fail of this: I'll sigh away my soul in air, Leaving my body cold as is Her love to me or my despair.

W. R.

From _Harl. MS._ 6917. fol. 86.

HE or she that hopes to gain Love's best sweet without some pain, Hopes in vain.

Cupid's livery no one wears But must put on hopes and fears, Smiles and tears,

And, like to April weather, Rain and shine both together, Both or neither.

From _Harl. MS._ 4955. fol. 146. (By DR. ANDREWES.[77])

PHILLIS INAMORATA.

COME, be my valentine! I'll gather eglantine, Cowslips and sops-in-wine, With fragrant roses. Down by thy Phillis sit, She will white lilies get, And daffadilies fit To make thee posies.

I have a milk-white lamb, New-taken from the dam, It comes where'er I am When I call "Willy:" I have a wanton kid Under my apron hid, A colt that ne'er was rid, A pretty filly.

I bear in sign of love A sparrow in my glove, And in my breast a dove, This shall be all thine: Besides of sheep a flock, Which yieldeth many a lock, And this shall be thy stock: Come be my valentine!

[77] Dr. Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester, a prelate of rare virtue and high ability. This is the best of his poems.

By SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

THE FALL.

AS Chloe o'er the meadow past I viewed the lovely maid: She turned and blushed, renewed her haste, And feared by me to be embraced: My eyes my wish betrayed.

I trembling felt the rising flame, The charming nymph pursued; Daphne was not so bright a game, Tho' great Apollo's darling dame, Nor with such charms endued.

I followed close, the fair still flew Along the grassy plain; The grass at length my rival grew, And catched my Chloe by the shoe; Her speed was then in vain.

But, oh! as tottering down she fell, What did the fall reveal? Such limbs description cannot tell; Such charms were never in the Mall, Nor smock did e'er conceal.

She shrieked; I turned my ravished eyes And, burning with desire, I helped the Queen of Love to rise: She checked her anger and surprise, And said, "Rash youth, retire;

"Begone, and boast what you have seen; It shan't avail you much: I know you like my form and mien, Yet since so insolent you've been, The Parts disclosed you ne'er shall touch."

From _Poems_. By W[ILLIAM] H[AMMOND], 1655.

THE FORSAKEN MAID.

GO, fickle man, and teach the moon to change, The winds to vary, the coy bee to range: You that despise the conquest of a town Rendered without resistance of one frown.

Is this of easy faith the recompense? Is my prone love's too prodigal expense Rewarded with disdain? did ever dart Rebound from such a penetrable heart?

Diana, in the service of whose shrine Myself to single life I will confine, Revenge thy votaress; for unto thee The reeling Ocean bends his azure knee.

And since he loves upon rough seas to ride, Grant such an Adria whose swelling tide And stormy tongue may his false vessel wrack And make the cordage of his heart to crack.

ANOTHER.

KNOW, falsest man, as my love was Greater than thine or thy desert, My scorn shall likewise thine surpass: And thus I tear thee from my heart.

Thou art so far my love below That than my anger thou art less; I neither love nor quarrel now, But pity thy unworthiness.

Go join, before thou think to wed, Thy heart and tongue in wedlock's knot; Can peace be reaped from his bed Who with himself accordeth not?

Go learn to weigh thy words upon The balance of reality, And having that perfection Attained, come then and I'll scorn thee.

From _Malone MS._ 13. fol. 53.

TO THE LADY MAY.

YOUR smiles are not, as other women's be, Only the drawing of the mouth awry; For breasts and cheeks and forehead we may see, Parts wanting motion, all stand smiling by: Heaven hath no mouth, and yet is said to smile After your style: No more hath earth, yet that smiles too, Just as you do.

No simpering lips nor looks can breed Such smiles as from your face proceed: The sun must lend his golden beams, Soft winds their breath, green trees their shade, Sweet fields their flowers, clear springs their streams, Ere such another smile be made: But these concurring, we may say "So smiles the spring and so smiles lovely May."

AU. TOWNSEND.[78]

[78] The author of a couple of masques. He was a friend of Carew; and is introduced into Suckling's _Session of the Poets_.

From _Harl. MS._ 6918. fol. 92.

LOVE'S CONTENTMENT.

COME, my Clarinda, we'll consume Our joys no more at this low rate; More glorious titles let's assume And love according to our state.

For if Contentment wears a crown Which never tyrant could assail, How many monarchs put we down In our Utopian commonweal?

As princes rain down golden showers On those in whom they take delight, So in this happier court of ours Each is the other's favourite.

Our privacies no eye dwells near, But unobserved we embrace; And no sleek courtier's pen is there To set down either time or place.

No midnight fears disturb our bliss, Unless a golden dream awake us; For care we know not what it is, Unless to please doth careful make us.

We fear no enemy's invasion, Our counsel's wise and politic; With timely force, if not persuasion, We cool the homebred schismatic.