How (not to call true instinct's bent And woman's very nature harm), How amiable and innocent
Her pleasure in her power to charm!
How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires,
Connubial aptitude exact, Diversity that never tires!
COVENTRY PATMORE.
SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear, their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent.
"O maiden! come into port bravely, or sail with God the seas."
WITH joys unknown, with sadness unconfessed,
The generous heart accepts the passing year,
Finds duties dear, and labor sweet as rest,
And for itself knows neither care nor fear.
Than any other planet in Heaven, The moone, or the starres seven, For all the world, so had she Surmounten them all of beauty, Of manner, and of comeliness, Of stature, and of well set gladnesse, Of goodly heed, and so well besey,1 Shortly what shall I more say, By God, and by his holowes? twelve, It was my sweet, right all herselve. She had so stedfast countenance In noble port and maintenance, And Love that well harde my bone3 Had espied me thus soone, That she full soone in my thought As, help me God, so was I caught So suddenly that I ne took No manner counsel but at her look, And at my heart for why her eyen So gladly I trow mine heart, seyen That purely then mine own thought Said, 'Twere better to serve her for nought
Than with another to be well.
I saw her dance so comely, Carol and sing so swetely, Laugh and play so womanly, And look so debonairly,
So goodly speak, and so friendly, That certes I trow that evermore N'as seen so blissful a treasore, For every hair on her head, Sooth to say, it was not red, Nor neither yellow nor brown it n'as, Methought most like gold it was, And such eyen my lady had, Debonnaire, good, glad, and sad, Simple, of good mokel, not too wide, Thereto her look was not aside, Nor overt whart, but beset so well It drew and took up every dell. All that on her 'gan behold Her eyen seemed anon she would Have mercy, folly wenden 5 so, But it was never the rather do. It was no counterfeited thing It was her own pure looking That the goddess Dame Nature Had made them open by measure And close; for, were she never so
By God my wrath is all forgive. Therewith her list so well to live, That dulness was of her adrad, She n'as too sober ne too glad; In all thinges more measure Had never I trowe creature, But many one with her look she hurt, And that sat her full little at herte: For she knew nothing of their thought,
But whether she knew, or knew it not, Alway she ne cared for them a stree;1 To get her love no near n'as he That woned at home, than he in Inde, The foremost was alway behinde; But good folk over all other
She loved as man may his brother, Of which love she was wonder large, In skilful places that bear charge: But what a visage had she thereto, Alas! my heart is wonder wo That I not can describen it;· Me lacketh both English and wit For to undo it at the full. And eke my spirits be so dull So great a thing for to devise, I have not wit that can suffice To comprehend her beauté,
But thus much I dare saine, that she Was white, ruddy, fresh, and lifely hued,
And every day her beauty newed. And nigh her face was alderbest; 3 For, certes, Nature had such lest To make that fair, that truly she Was her chief patron of beauté, And chief example of all her worke And moulter: for, be it never so derke, Methinks I see her evermo, And yet, moreover, though all tho That ever lived were now alive, Not would have founde to descrive In all her face a wicked sign, For it was sad, simple, and benign. And such a goodly sweet speech Had that sweet, my life's leech, So friendly, and so well y-grounded Upon all reason, so well founded, And so treatable to all good, That I dare swear well by the rood, Of eloquence was never found So sweet a sounding faconde,5 Nor truer tongued nor scornèd less, Nor bét could heal, that, by the Mass I durst swear, though the Pope it sung,
There was never yet through her tongue
Man or woman greatly harmèd As for her was all harm hid, No lassie flattering in her worde, That, purely, her simple record Was found as true as any bond, Or truth of any man'es hand.
Her throat, as I have now memory, Seemed as round tower of ivory, Of good greatness, and not too great, And fair white she hete
That was my lady's name right, She was thereto fair and bright, She had not her name wrong, Right fair shoulders, and body long She had, and armes ever lith Fattish, fleshy, not great therewith, Right white hands and nailès red Round breasts, and of good brede 8 Her lippes were; a straight flat back, I knew on her none other lack, That all her limbs were pure snowing In as far as I had knowing. Thereto she could so well play What that her list, that I dare say That was like to torch bright That every man may take of light Enough, and it hath never the less Of manner and of comeliness. Right so fared my lady dear For every wight of her mannere Might catch enough if that he would If he had eyes her to behold For I dare swear well if that she Had among ten thousand be, She would have been at the best, A chief mirror of all the feast Though they had stood in a row To men's eyen that could know, For whereso men had played or waked,
Methought the fellowship as naked Without her, that I saw once As a crown without stones. Truely she was to mine eye The solein phoenix of Araby, For there liveth never but one, Nor such as she ne know I none. To speak of goodness, truely she Had as much debonnairte
As ever had Hester in the Bible, And more, if more were possible; And sooth to say therewithal She had a wit so general,
So well inclined to all good That all her wit was set by the rood, Without malice, upon gladness, And thereto I saw never yet a less Harmful than she was in doing. I say not that she not had knowing What harm was, or else she Had known no good, so thinketh me: And truly, for to speak of truth But she had had, it had been ruth, Therefore she had so much her dell And I dare say, and swear it well That Truth himself over all and all Had chose his manor principal In her that was his resting place; Thereto she had the moste grace To have stedfast perseverance And easy attempre governance That ever I knew or wist yet So pure suffraunt was her wit. CHAUCER.
To heroism and holiness
How hard it is for man to soar, But how much harder to be less
Than what his mistress loves him for!
He does with ease what do he must, Or lose her, and there's nought debarred
From him who's called to meet her trust,
And credit her desired regard. Ah, wasteful woman! she that may On her sweet self set her own price,
Knowing he cannot choose but pay; How has she cheapened paradise, How given for nought her priceless gift,
How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine,
Which, spent with due, respective thrift,
Had made brutes men, and men divine.
O queen! awake to thy renown, Require what 'tis our wealth to give,
And comprehend and wear the crown Of thy despised prerogative! I who in manhood's name at length With glad songs come to abdicate The gross regality of strength,
Must yet in this thy praise abate, That through thine erring humble
And disregard of thy degree, Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellowship with thee. High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow,
The coward had grasped the hero's sword,
The vilest had been great, hadst thou,
Just to thyself, been worth's reward:
But lofty honors undersold
Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favor that makes folly bold Puts out the light in virtue's face. COVENTRY PATMORE.
I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.
My dear and only love, I pray That little world of thee Be governed by no other sway But purest monarchy: For if confusion have a part, Which virtuous souls abhor, And hold a synod in thy heart, I'll never love thee more.
As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone: My thoughts did evermore disdain A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.
But, if no faithless action stain Thy love and constant word, I'll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword. I'll serve thee in such noble ways As ne'er was known before; I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and more. MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.
TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.
RICHARD LOVELACE.
APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.
THEY that never had the use Of the grape's surprising juice, To the first delicious cup All their reason render up:
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