103.

S

Than e'er he did his mother's doves,
Supposing her the queen of loves,
That was thy mistress, best of gloves.

In Tears Her Triumph

O sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

B. Jonson

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheek down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep; No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, So ridest thou triumphing in my woe: Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will show: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel, No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell! W. Shakespeare

104.

STILL

Simplex Munditiis

L to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powdered, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

105.

106.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Upon Julia's Clothes

B. Jonson

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,

Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows

The liquefaction of her clothes!

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free,

-O how that glittering taketh me!

A

Delight in Disorder

R. Herrick

SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction:

An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher:
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly:
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat:

107.

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:

Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.

R. Herrick

THAT

On a Girdle

HAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer:
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair!
Give me but what this ribband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round!

E. Waller

108.

To the Western Wind

SWEE

WEET western wind, whose luck it is,
Made rival with the air,

To give Perenna's lips a kiss,

And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,
Instead of common showers,

Thy wings shall be embalmed by me,
And all beset with flowers.

R. Herrick

109.

Phyllis

N petticoat of green,

IN

Her hair about her eyne,
Phyllis beneath an oak

Sat milking her fair flock:

'Mongst that sweet-strainèd moisture, rare delight, Her hand seemed milk, in milk it was so white.

IIO.

A Dialogue

W. Drummond

"AR

RT thou that she than whom no fairer is? Art thou that she desire so strives to kiss? "Say I am, how then?

Maids may not kiss

Such wanton-humoured men."

"Art thou that she the world commends for wit?

Art thou so wise and mak'st no use of it?

99

Christ Church MS.

III.

II2.

O

Rosalind

FROM the east to western Ind,

No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures, fairest lined,
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind,

But the fair of Rosalind.

Promised Weal

W. Shakespeare

WORDS, which fall like summer dew on me!

O breath, more sweet than is the growing bean!
O tongue, in which all honeyed liquors be!
O voice, that doth the thrush in shrillness stain!
Do you say still this is her promise due:
That she is mine, as I to her am true!

Gay hair, more gay than straw when harvest lies!
Lips, red and plump as cherries' ruddy side!
Eyes, fair and great, like fair great ox's eyes!
O breast, in which two white sheep swell in pride!
Join you with me to seal this promise due:
That she be mine, as I to her am true!

But thou, white skin, as white as curds well pressed,
So smooth as sleek-stone like it smoothes each part!
And thou, dear flesh, as soft as wool new dressed,
And yet as hard as brawn made hard by art!

First four but say, next four their saying seal;
But you must pay the gage of promised weal.
Sir P. Sidney