What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is till unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty!
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

W. Shakespeare

70.

Madrigal

BROWN is my love but graceful;

And each renowned whiteness,

Matched with thy lovely brown, loseth its brightness.

Fair is my love, but scornful;

Yet have I seen despised

Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prizèd. Anon.

71. Know, Celia, Since Thou Art So Proud

K NOW, Celia, since thou art so proud,

'Twas I that gave thee thy renown.

Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties lived unknown,
Had not my verse extolled thy name,
And with it imp'd the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine;

I gave it to thy voice and eyes;
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies;

Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate;

Let fools thy mystic form adore,
I know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrapt Truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.

72.

O

73.

The Kiss

T. Carew

THAT joy so soon should waste!

Or so sweet a bliss

As a kiss

Might not for ever last!

So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,
The dew that lies on roses,

When the morn herself discloses,

Is not so precious.

O, rather than it would I smother,
Were I to taste such another;

It should be my wishing

That I might die kissing.

Gratiana Dancing

HE beat the happy pavement

SHE

By such a star made firmament,
Which now no more the roof enviès!

B. Jonson

But swells up high, with Atlas even,
Bearing the brighter nobler heaven,
And, in her, all the deities.

74.

Each step trod out a Lover's thought,
And the ambitious hopes he brought
Chained to her brave feet with such arts,
Such sweet command and gentle awe,
As, when she ceased, we sighing saw
The floor lay paved with broken hearts.

In Praise of Two

FAUSTINA hath the fairer face,

R. Lovelace

And Phyllida the feater grace;
Both have mine eyes enriched:
This sings full sweetly with her voice;
Her fingers make as sweet a noise:
Both have mine ears bewitched.
Ah me! sith Fates have so provided,
My heart, alas, must be divided.

75.

Enone.

Fair and Fair

FAIR

AIR and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;

The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.

Paris. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,

As fair as any may be;

Thy love is fair, for thee alone

And for no other lady.

Enone. My love is fair, my love is gay,

As fresh as bin the flowers in May,

Anon.

And of my love my roundelay,
My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
Concludes with Cupid's curse,

"They that do change old love for new, Pray gods they change for worse!" Ambo simul. They that do change old love for new Pray gods they change for worse!

Enone. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;

The fairest shepherd on our green,
A love for any lady.

Paris. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,
As fair as any may be;

Thy love is fair for thee alone

And for no other lady.

Enone. My love can pipe, my love can sing,
My love can many a pretty thing,

And of his lovely praises ring

My merry, merry, merry roundelays.

Amen to Cupid's curse,

"They that do change old love for new

Pray gods they change for worse!"

Ambo simul. They that do change old love for new Pray gods they change for worse.

76.

G. Peele

A Pastoral of Phyllis and Corydon

Na hill there grows a flower,

ON

Fair befall the dainty sweet!

By that flower there is a bower,
Where the heavenly Muses meet.

In that bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold;
Where doth sit the fairest fair,
That did ever eye behold.

It is Phyllis fair and bright,
She that is the shepherds' joy;
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.

This is she, the wise, the rich,
And the world desires to see;
This is ipsa quae the which
There is none but only she.

Who would not this face admire?
Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire,
Though he thought to see no more?

O, fair eyes! yet let me see,

One good look, and I am gone;
Look on me, for I am he,
Thy poor silly Corydon.

Thou that art the shepherd's queen,

2

Look upon thy silly swain;

By thy comfort have been seen

Dead men brought to life again.

N. Breton