No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, CXV Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more, whither do stray Ask me no more, whither doth haste Ask me no more, where those stars light, For in your eyes they sit, and there Ask me no more, if east or west, THOMAS CAREW. CXVI Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spy'd, In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired, Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee,— How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair. CXVII DALLYING EDMUND WALLER. DEAR love, I have not ask'd you yet; Nor heard you, murmuring low As wood-doves by a rivulet, Say if it shall be so. The colour on your cheek which plays, In its unworded language, says, See, pluck this flower of wood-sorrel, Its woodland grace becomes you well, Oft you sit 'mid the daisies here, Yet day by day goes by ;-I fear As some first autumn tint looks strange, Would your soft ". yes our loving change?— Love, I'll not ask you yet. THOMAS ASHE. CXVIII PHYLLIS, for shame, let us improve A thousand different ways Those few short moments snatch'd by love If you want courage to despise The censure of the grave, Though love's a tyrant in your eyes, Your heart is but a slave. My love is full of noble pride, Nor can it e'er submit To let that fop, Discretion, ride False friends I have, as well as you, Who daily counsel me Fame and ambition to pursue, And leave off loving thee. But when the least regard I show As miserably wise. CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL of Dorset CXIX TAKE, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, Bring again, Seals of love, but sealed in vain, Sealed in vain. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXX I PRYTHEE send me back my heart, For if from yours you will not part, Yet now I think on't, let it lie; To find it were in vain, For thou'st a thief in either eye Why should two hearts in one breast lie, If thus our breasts thou sever? But love is such a mystery, I cannot find it out: For when I think I'm best resolved, I then am in most doubt. Then farewell care, and farewell woe, I will no longer pine; For I'll believe I have her heart As much as she has mine. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. CXXI KISSING USURY BIANCHA, let I owe thee for a kiss Thou lend'st to me; And I to thee Will render ten for this. If thou wilt say |