Yet, rash astrologer, refrain ;
Too dearly would be won
The prescience of another's pain,
If purchased by thine own.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

CXXXII

MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED

GIVE me more love, or more disdain.
The torrid or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain;

The temperate affords me none.
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Dane in that golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes; and he's possessed
Of heaven, that's but from hell released.
Then drown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

THOMAS CAREW.

CXXXIII

ON A GIRDLE

THAT 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 riband bound-
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

EDMUND Waller.

CXXXIV

TO CELIA

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there

It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me :

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

M

BEN JONSON.

CXXXV

My love she's but a lassie yet,
A lichtsome lovely lassie yet;
It scarce wad do

To sit an' woo

Down by the stream sae glassy yet.
But there's a braw time coming yet;
When we may gang a-roaming yet ;
An' hint wi' glee

O' joys to be,

When fa's the modest gloaming yet.

She's neither proud nor saucy yet;
She's neither plump nor gaucy yet;
But just a jinking,

Bonny blinking,

Hilty-skilty lassie yet.

But O her artless smile's mair sweet
Than hinny or than marmalete ;

An' right or wrang,

Ere it be lang,

I'll bring her to a parley yet.

I'm jealous o' what blesses her,

The very breeze that kisses her,
The flowery beds

On which she treads,

Though wae for ane that misses her.

Then O to meet my lassie yet,

Up in yon glen sae grassy yet;

For all I see

Are nought to me

Save her that's but a lassie yet !

JAMES HOGG.

CXXXVI

ACCEPT, my love, as true a heart
As ever lover gave:

'Tis free, it vows, from any art,
And proud to be your slave.

Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,

And let the giver live,

Who, with it, would the world have sent,
Had it been his to give.

And, that Dorinda may not fear

I e'er will prove untrue,

My vow shall, ending with the year,

With it begin anew.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

CXXXVII

WHO is Silvia? what is she,

That all our swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

CXXXVIII

SONG

LADIES, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes his chiefest victories,

And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue,
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.

Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain :
You are not free because you're fair,
The boy did not his mother spare :
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armour for the heart.

SIR GEORGE ETHERAGE.

CXXXIX

HONEST lover whosoever,

If in all thy love there ever

Was one wav'ring thought, if thy flame
Were not still even, still the same;

Know this,

Thou lov'st amiss,

And to love true

Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If, when she appears i' th' room,

Thou dost not quake, and art struck dumb,
And in striving this to cover

Dost not speak thy words twice over,