WALLER

77

TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY

HY came I so untimely forth

WHY

Into a world which, wanting thee,

Could entertain us with no worth

Or shadow of felicity,

That time should me so far remove
From that which I was born to love?

Yet, Fairest Blossom! do not slight

That age which you may know so soon:

The rosy morn resigns her light

And milder glory to the noon;

And then what wonders shall you do
Whose dawning beauty warms us so?

Hope waits upon the flowery prime ;
And Summer, though it be less gay,
Yet is not look'd on as a time

Of declination or decay:

For with a full hand that does bring
All that was promised by the Spring.

TO A LADY

WHO GAVE HIM A LOST COPY OF A POEM

NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes;

All they subdue become their spies ;
Secrets, as choicest jewels, are
Presented to oblige the Fair:

No wonder then that a lost thought

Should there be found where souls are caught.
The picture of fair Venus (that

For which men say the Goddess sat)
Was lost, till Lely from your look
Again that glorious image took.
If Virtue's self were lost, we might
From your fair mind new copies write.
All things but one you can restore :
The heart you get returns no more.

STAY, PHOEBUS!

TAY, Phoebus! stay!

STAY

The world to which you fly so fast,
Conveying day

From us to them, can pay your haste

With no such object nor salute your rise

With no such wonder as De Mornay's eyes.

Well does this prove

The error of those antique books

Which made you move

About the world: Her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day,

Did not the rolling earth snatch her away.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING

LOVING AMISS

HONEST LOVER whosoever!

If in all thy love there ever
Was one wavering thought, thy flame
Were not still even, still the same,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

If when She appears i' the room
Thou dost not quake and art struck dumb,
And in striving this to cover

Dost not speak thy words twice over,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

If fondly thou dost not mistake
And all defects for graces take,

Persuade thyself that jests are broken
When she hath little or nought spoken,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

If when thou appear'st to be within
Thou lett'st not men ask and ask again,
And when thou answerest, if it be
To what was ask'd thee properly,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

If when thy stomach calls to eat
Thou cutt'st not fingers 'stead of meat
And, with much gazing on her face,
Dost not rise hungry from thy place,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

If by this thou dost discover
That thou art no perfect lover

And, desiring to love true,

Thou dost begin to love anew,
Know this:

Thou lovest amiss

And, to love true,

Thou must begin again and love anew.

RICHARD LOVELACE

O

THE GRASSHOPPER

To my noble friend – Mr. Charles Cotton

THOU that swing'st upon the waving hair

Of some well-filled oaten beard,

Drunk every night with a delicious tear

Dropp'd thee from heaven, where thou wast rear'd!

The joys of earth and air are thine entire,

That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly;
And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire
To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.

Up with the day, the sun thou welcomest then,
Sport'st in the gilt plaits of his beams;
And all these merry days makest merry men,
Thyself, and melancholy streams.

But, ah! the sickle! golden ears are cropp'd,
Ceres and Bacchus bid good-night,

Sharp frosty fingers all your flowers have topp'd,
And what scythes spared winds shave off quite.

Poor verdant fool, and now green ice! thy joys
(Large and as lasting as thy perch of grass)
Bid us lay in 'gainst winter rains, and poise
Their floods with an o'erflowing glass.

N