MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD.
WHENCE comes my love? O heart, disclose!
'Twas from cheeks that shamed the rose:
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise;
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze.
Whence comes my woe as freely own;
Ah, me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
The blushing cheek speaks modeft mind,
The lips befitting words most kind;
The eye does tempt to love's defire,
And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire:
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Sith naught doth say the heart of stone.
Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek,
Yet not a heart to save my pain?
O Venus, take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like our own.
Mr true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
AWAY with these self-loving lads,
Whom Cupid's arrow never glads;
Away, poor souls, that figh and weep,
In love of them that lie and fleep:
For Cupid is a merry god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
Sweet Cupid's fhafts, like destiny,
Do causeless good or ill decree:
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his wing doth go..
What fools are they that have not known
That love likes no laws but his own!
My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I wear her rings on holy-days;
On every tree I write her name,
And every day I read the same.
Where Honour Cupid's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.
If Cynthia crave her ring of me,
I blot her name out of the tree.
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then well-fare nothing once a year.
For many run, but one must win,
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
The worth that worthiness should move,
Is love, which is the due of love;
And love as well the shepherd can,
As can the mighty nobleman.
Sweet nymph, 'tis true, you worthy be,
Yet without love, naught worth to me.
FULKE GREVILLE, Lord Brooke.
CUPID and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses, Cupid paid;
He takes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how)
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin ;
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has he done this to thee?
What fball, alas! become of me?
WHAT bird so fings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
66 Jug, jug, jug, jug, terue," he cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick song! who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so fhrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates fhe claps her wings,
The morn not waking till fhe fings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreaft tunes his note;
Hark, how the jolly cuckoos fing,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring!
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring!
PAN'S Syrinx was a girl indeed,
Though now he's turned into a reed;
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come,
A pipe that ftrikes Apollo dumb;
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can
So chant it as the pipe of Pan.
Croff-gartered swains and dairy girls,
With faces smug and round as pearls,
When Pan's frill pipe begins to play,
With dancing wear out night and day;
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by,
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy.
His minstrelsy, O base!
This quill,
Which at my mouth with wind I fill,
Puts me in mind, though her I miss,
That fill my Syrinx' lips I kiss.
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