Let Venus have thy graces her resigned, And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres: CXLII No more, my dear, no more these counsels try; I do not envy Aristotle's wit, Nor do aspire to Cæsar's bleeding fame; CXLIII FALSE though she be to me and love, I'll ne'er pursue revenge; In hours of bliss we oft have met, WILLIAM Congreve. CXLIV AWAKE, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee: And if thou tarry from her,—if this could be,— Awake, the land is scattered with light, and see, Lo all things wake and tarry and look for thee: CXLV WHAT light is light, if Silvia be not seen? Fostered, illumined, cherished, kept alive. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. CXLVI I NEVER drank of Aganippe well, And Muses scorn with vulgar brains to dwell; But, God wot, wot not what they mean by it; I am no pick-purse of another's wit. How falls it then, that with so smooth an ease My thoughts I speak; and what I speak doth flow In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please? Guess we the cause? Or so? Much less. What, is it this? Fie, no. How then? Sure, thus it is,— My lips are sweet, inspired with Stella's kiss. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. CXLVII SONG To thy lover Dear, discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth When those roses It discloses All the flowers that Nature nameth. In free air, Flow thy hair, That no more Summer's best dresses Be beholden For their golden Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses. O deliver Love his quiver; From thy eyes he shoots his arrows: Where Apollo Cannot follow, Feathered with his mother's sparrows. RICHARD CRASHAW. CXLVIII TO ELECTRA I DARE not ask a kiss, I dare not beg a smile, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be That lately kissèd thee. ROBERT HERRICK. CXLIX ECHO, daughter of the air, Babbling guest of rocks and hills, Knows the name of my fierce Fair And sounds the accents of my ills. Each thing pities my despair, Whilst that she her lover kills. Whilst that she-O cruel maid !— Doth me and my true love despise ; My life's flourish is decayed, That depended on her eyes. But her will must be obeyed, And well he ends, for love who dies. SAMUEL DANIEL. CL DIVINE destroyer, pity me no more, Or else more pity me. Give me more love, ah, quickly give me more, Or else more cruelty! For left thus as I am, My heart is ice and flame; And languishing thus, I Can neither live nor die ! |