Neither do, nor care to, know, Whether it be best or no.

So they that are to love inclined, Sway'd by chance, nor choice or art,

To the first that's fair or kind,

Make a present of their heart: Tis not she that first we love, But whom dying we approve.

To man, that was in th' evening made,

Stars gave the first delight;
Admiring in the gloomy shade
Those little drops of light.

Then, at Aurora, whose fair hand
Removed them from the skies,
He gazing toward the east did stand,
She entertained his eyes.

But when the bright sun did appear,
All those he 'gan despise;
His wonder was determin'd there.
And could no higher rise.

He neither might nor wished to know

A more refulgent light;

For that (as mine your beauties now).

Employed his utmost sight. EDMUND WALLER.

THE LADY'S YES.

"YES!" I answered you last night: "No!" this morning, sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day.

When the tabors played their best,
Lamps above, and laughs below,
Love me sounded like a jest,
Fit for Yes, or fit for No!

Call me false; or call me free; Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on thy face shall see Any grief for change on mine.

Yet the sin is on us both: Time to dance is not to woo; Wooer light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you.

At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet,

Nor at no wanton play,
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as astray.

The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mixt with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair!

How might I do to get a graffe
Of this unspotted tree?
For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.
HEYWOOD.

THE TRIBUTE.

No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome

But serves for her familiar wear; The far-fetch'd diamond finds its home

Flashing and smouldering in her hair;

For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply

With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli;

The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves,

All doff for her their ornaments,

Which suit her better than themselves;

And all, by this their power to give Proving her right to take, proclaim

Her beauty's clear prerogative
To profit so by Eden's blame.
COVENTRY PATMORE.

Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands,

And the heart that wad part sic luve! But there's nae hand can loose my

band,

But the finger o' Him above. Though the wee wee cot maun be my bield,

And my clothing ne'er sa mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve,

Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for

me

Fu' safter than the down; And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind kind wings,

And for my werk right nothing wol I axe;

My lord and I ben ful of one accord. I made her to the worship of my Lord. CHAUCER.

THE BRIDE.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,

Like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,

Arising forth to run her mighty race, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.

So well it her beseems, that ye would

ween

Some angel she had been.

Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,

Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,

Do like a golden mantle her attire; And being crownèd with a garland

green,

Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes abashèd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too
bold,

But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,

So far from being proud. Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see

So fair a creature in your town before?

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,

Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store?

Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright,

Her forehead ivory white,

Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,

Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,

Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,

Her paps like lilies budded,