Chapter 3

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise'; His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet arise: Arise, arise.

William Shakespeare.

THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.

While that the sun with his beams hot Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon the shepherd, late forgot, Sitting beside a crystal fountain, In shadow of a green oak tree Upon his pipe this song play'd he: Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight I was your heart, your soul, and treasure; And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd Burning in flames beyond all measure: --Three days endured your love to me, And it was lost in other three! Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Another Shepherd you did see To whom your heart was soon enchained; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtained. Soon came a third, your love to win, And we were out and he was in. Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Sure you have made me passing glad That you your mind so soon removed, Before that I the leisure had To choose you for my best beloved: For all your love was past and done Two days before it was begun:-- Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

Anon., circa 1564.

TRUE LOVELINESS.

It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair:

Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed:--

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,

These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? Coral beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slips, Full oft he perisheth on them.

And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good?

Eyes can with baleful ardour burn; Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed; There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.

For crystal brows there's nought within, They are but empty cells for pride; He who the Siren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide.

Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind, Which with temptation I would trust, Yet never link'd with error find,--

One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly That hides his murmurs in the rose,--

My earthly Comforter! whose love So indefeasible might be, That when my spirit wonn'd above, Hers could not stay, for sympathy.

Anon.

A WOMAN'S REASON.

Love me not for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part; No! nor for my constant heart,-- For these may fail, or turn to ill; So thou and I shall sever: Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, And love me well, but know not why. So hast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever!

Anon.

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey; Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture, Lest herself fast she lay; If love come, he will enter And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him A child for his might; Or you may deem him A coward for his flight; But if she whom Love doth honour Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him By having him confin'd, And some do suppose him, Poor thing, to be blind; But if ne'er so close you wall him, Do the best that you may; Blind Love, if so ye call him, Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist; Or you may inveigle The Phoenix of the East; The lioness, you may move her To give o'er her prey; But you will never stop a lover-- He will find out his way.

Anon.

PHILLIDA FLOUTS ME.

Oh, what a plague is love! I cannot bear it, She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it; It so torments my mind, That my heart faileth, She wavers with the wind, As a ship saileth; Please her the best I may, She looks another way; Alack and well a-day! Phillida flouts me.

I often heard her say That she loved posies: In the last month of May I gave her roses, Cowslips and gillyflow'rs And the sweet lily, I got to deck the bow'rs Of my dear Philly; She did them all disdain, And threw them back again; Therefore, 'tis flat and plain Phillida flouts me.

Which way soe'er I go, She still torments me; And whatsoe'er I do, Nothing contents me: I fade, and pine away With grief and sorrow; I fall quite to decay, Like any shadow; Since 'twill no better be, I'll bear it patiently; Yet all the world may see Phillida flouts me.

Circa 1610.

IN PRAISE OF TWO.

Faustina hath the fairest face, And Phillida the better grace; Both have mine eye enriched: This sings full sweetly with her voice; Her fingers make so sweet a noise: Both have mine ear bewitched. Ah me! sith Fates have so provided, My heart, alas! must be divided.

Anon.

TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS.

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, but find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favours are but like the wind, That kisses everything it meets; And since thou can 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 sweetly smells; But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, Her sweet no longer with her dwells. But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide, When thou hast handled been a while; 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 Aytoun.

ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.

I Lov'd thee once, I'll love no more, Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wert before, What reason I should be the same? He that can love unlov'd again, Hath better store of love than brain: God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away.

Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine. But thou thy freedom did recall, That if thou might elsewhere inthral; And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain?

When new desires had conquer'd thee, And chang'd the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy to love thee still. Yea it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so, Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice of his good fortune's boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost; The height of my disdain shall be, To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging to a beggar's door.

Sir Robert Aytoun.

THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN.

In a maiden-time profess'd, Then we say that life is bless'd; Tasting once the married life, Then we only praise the wife; There's but one state more to try, Which makes women laugh or cry-- Widow, widow: of these three The middle's best, and that give me.

Thomas Middleton.

MY LOVE AND I MUST PART.

Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part. Cruel fates true love do soonest sever; O, I shall see thee never, never, never! O, happy is the maid whose life takes end Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend! Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part.

Thomas Middleton.

PERFECT BEAUTY.

It was a beauty that I saw, So pure, so perfect, as the frame Of all the universe was lame, To that one figure, could I draw, Or give least line of it a law! A skein of silk without a knot, A fair march made without a halt, A curious form without a fault, A printed book without a blot, All beauty, and without a spot!

Ben Jonson.

TO CELIA.

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 withered 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.

A WOMAN'S CONSTANCY.

Now thou hast loved me one whole day, To-morrow, when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say? Wilt thou then ante-date some new-made vow? Or say, that now We are not just those persons which we were? Or, that oaths made in reverential fear Of Love and his wrath any may forswear? Or, as true deaths true marriages untie, So lovers' contracts, images of those, Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose? Or, your own end to justify For having purposed change and falsehood, you Can have no way but falsehood to be true? Vain lunatic! Against these scapes I could Dispute and conquer if I would; Which I abstain to do; For, by to-morrow, I may think so too.

Dr. John Donne.

SWEETEST LOVE.

Sweetest love, I do not go For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me. But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best Thus to use myself in jest By feigned death to die.

Yester-night the sun went hence, And yet is here to-day; He hath no desire nor sense, Nor half so short a way: Then fear not me, But believe that I shall make Hastier journeys, since I take More wings and spurs than he.

Dr. John Donne.

TO AURORA.

O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest; Then would'st thou melt the ice out of thy breast, And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. O, if thy pride did not our joys control, What world of loving wonders should'st thou see! For if I saw thee once transform'd in me, Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul; Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone: No, I would have my share in what were thine: And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, This happy harmony would make them none.

W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling.

PHILLIS.

In petticoat of green, Her hair about her eyne, Phillis, beneath an oak, Sat milking her fair flock. 'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight! Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.

William Drummond.

TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY.

Take, O, take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, bring again; Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain.

Hide, O, hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free, Bound in icy chains by thee.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

TELL ME, WHAT IS LOVE?

Tell me, dearest, what is love? 'Tis a lightning from above, 'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 'Tis a boy they call Desire. 'Tis a grave Gapes to have Those poor fools that long to prove.

Tell me more, are women true? Yes, some are, and some as you; Some are willing, some are strange, Since you men first taught to change. And till truth Be in both All shall love to love anew.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve? Yes, and sicken sore, but live: And be wise and delay, When you men are as wise as they. Then I see Faith will be Never till they both believe.

Francis Beaumont.

PINING FOR LOVE.

How long shall I pine for love? How long shall I sue in vain? How long like the turtle-dove, Shall I heartily thus complain? Shall the sails of my heart stand still? Shall the grists of my hope be unground? Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, Let the mill, let the mill go round.

Francis Beaumont.

FIE ON LOVE.

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits Or man or woman know it. Love was not meant for people in their wits, And they that fondly show it Betray the straw, and features in their brain, And shall have Bedlam for their pain: If simple love be such a curse, To marry is to make it ten times worse.

Francis Beaumont.

DAMOETAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.

Tune on my pipe the praises of my love, Love fair and bright; Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above, Heavens Jove's delight, With Daphnis' praise.

Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold, Gold bright and sheen; Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd, Scyll o'erseen Through Minos' love.

Her eyes like shining lamps in midst of night, Night dark and dead: Or as the stars that give the seamen light, Light for to lead Their wandering ships.

Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive, Lily snow-white: When their contest doth make their colour thrive, Colour too bright For shepherds' eyes.

Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye, Scarlet blood-red: Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie, Hills overspread By winter's force.

Her skin as soft as is the finest silk, Silk soft and fine: Of colour like unto the whitest milk, Milk of the kine Of Daphnis' herd.

As swift of foot as is the pretty roe, Roe swift of pace: When yelping hounds pursue her to and fro, Hounds fierce in chase To reave her life.

Cease to tell of any more compare, Compares too rude, Daphnis' deserts and beauty are too rare: Then here conclude Fair Daphnis' praise.

John Wootton.

SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?

Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or my cheeks make pale with care, 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind; Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her merit's value known, Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of Best; If she seem not such to me, What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want, of riches find. Think what with them they would do Who without them dare to woo: And unless that mind I see, What care I tho' great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?

George Wither.

TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.

Wonder not, though I am blind, For you must be Dark in your eyes, or in your mind, If, when you see Her face, you prove not blind like me; If the powerful beams that fly From her eye, And those amorous sweets that lie Scatter'd in each neighbouring part, Find a passage to your heart, Then you'll confess your mortal sight Too weak for such a glorious light: For if her graces you discover, You grow, like me, a dazzled lover; But if those beauties you not spy, Then are you blinder far than I.

Thomas Carew.

HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK

He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires; Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

Thomas Carew.

MATIN SONG.

Rise, Lady Mistress! rise! The night hath tedious been; No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes, Nor slumbers made me sin. Is not she a saint, then, say! Thought of whom keeps sin away?

Rise, madam! rise, and give me light, Whom darkness still will cover, And ignorance, more dark than night, Till thou smile on thy lover. All want day till thy beauty rise, For the gray morn breaks from thine eyes.

Nathaniel Field.

JULIA.

Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing did I say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where; Then spake I to my girl, To part her lips and show me there The quarelets of pearl.

One asked me where the roses grew; I bade him not go seek, But forthwith bade my Julia show A bud in either cheek.

Robert Herrick.

CHERRY RIPE.

"Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe," I cry, "Full and fair ones--come and buy;" If so be you ask me where They do grow? I answer, "There, Where my Julia's lips do smile;" There's the land, or cherry-isle, Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow!

Robert Herrick.

TO THE VIRGINS.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Robert Herrick.

TO ELECTRA.

I dare not ask a kiss; I dare not beg a smile; Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while.

No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be, Only to kiss that air That lately kissed thee.

Robert Herrick.

DRY THOSE EYES.

Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, Which like growing fountains rise To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks Would better flow in furrow'd looks: Thy lovely face was never meant To be the shore of discontent.

Then clear those waterish stars again, Which else portend a lasting rain; Lest the clouds which settle there Prolong my winter all the year, And thy example others make In love with sorrow, for thy sake.

Dr. Henry King.

LOVE'S CONSTANCY.

Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again; Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love; Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain; Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove. Dear, sweet, fair, wise,--change, shrink, nor be not weak; And, on my faith, my faith shall never break.

Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn; Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe shall move; Fire heat shall lose, and frosts of flames be born; Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove: Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view, Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you.

John Dowland.

FAREWELL, MY JOY.

Farewell! my joy! Adieu! my love and pleasure! To sport and toy We have no longer leisure. Fa la la!

Farewell! adieu! Until our next consorting! Sweet love, be true! And thus we end our sporting. Fa la la!

Thomas Weelkes.

THE LARK NOW LEAVES HIS WAT'RY NEST.

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, And climbing, shakes his dewy wings, He takes your window for the east, And to implore your light, he sings; Awake, awake, the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes; But still the lover wonders what they are, Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn, Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn.

Sir William Davenant.

GO, LOVELY ROSE.

Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share Who are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Edmund Waller.

HIS MISTRESS.

I have a mistress, for perfections rare In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair. Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes; Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice. And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin, Still her perfection lets religion in. We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers. I touch her, like my beads, with devout care, And come unto my courtship as my prayer.

Thomas Randolph.

CHLORIS.