Thy pleasing smiles and grace,
Thy face,

Have ravished so my sprites,
That life is grown to nought
Through thought

Of love, which me affrights.

For fancy's flames of fire
Aspire

Unto such furious power
As, but the tears I shed
Make dead

The brands would me devour,

I should consume to nought
Through thought

Of thy fair shining eye,

Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles,
The wiles

That forced my heart to die;

Thy grace, thy face, the part
Where art

Stands gazing still to see

The wondrous gifts and power,

Each hour,

That hath bewitched me

T. Lodge

81.

Now What Is Love?

OW what is Love, I pray thee, tell?

NOW

It is that fountain and that well
Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
It is perhaps the sauncing bell
That tolls all into heaven or hell:
And this is Love, as I hear tell.

Yet what is Love, I prithee, say?
It is a work on holiday,

It is December matched with May,
When lusty bloods in fresh array
Hear ten months after of the play:
And this is Love, as I hear say.

Yet what is Love, good shepherd sain?
It is a sunshine mixed with rain,
It is a toothache or like pain,

It is a game where none hath gain;
The lass saith no, yet would full fain:
And this is Love, as I hear sain.

Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray?
It is a yes, it is a nay,

A pretty kind of sporting fray,

It is a thing will soon away.

Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may:
And this is Love, as I hear say.

82.

Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show?
A thing that creeps, it cannot go,
A prize that passeth to and fro,
A thing for one, a thing for moe,
And he that proves shall find it so;
And, shepherd, this is Love, I trow.

Sir W. Raleigh

My heart distraught in pain;

Dear hand, alas!

In little space

My life thou dost restrain.

O fingers slight!

Departed right,

So long, so small, so round;

Goodly begone,

And yet a bone,

Most cruel in my wound.

With lilies white

And roses bright

Doth strain thy colour fair;

Nature did lend

Each finger's end

A pearl for to repair.

CHER

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.

R. Herrick

84.

A Double Doubting

LADY, when I behold the roses sprouting,

Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting: For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses.

Anon.

85. Love Guards the Roses of Thy Lips LOVE guards the roses of thy lips

And flies about them like a bee;

If I approach he forward skips,
And if I kiss he stingeth me.

Love in thine eyes doth build his tower,
And sleeps within his pretty shrine;
And if I look the boy will lower,

And from their orbs shoot shafts divine.

Love works thy heart within his fire,
And in my tears doth firm the same;
And if I tempt it will retire,

And of my plaints doth make a game.

Love, let me cull her choicest flowers;
And pity me, and calm her eye;
Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers;
Then will I praise thy deity.

But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her
In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.
T. Lodge