MONTROSE'S LOVE.
Y dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be govern'd by no other sway
Than purest monarchy.
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And call a synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.
Like Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My soul did ever more disdain
A rival to my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch
To win or lose it all.
Then in the empire of thy heart,
Where I alone would be,
If others should pretend a part,
Or dare to share with me;
By love my peace shall ne'er be wreck'd,
I'll spurn him from my door,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.
But if no faithless action stain
Thy truth 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 were known before;
I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and more.
MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.
1612-1650.
TILL to be neat, still to be drest
As you were going to a feast,
Still to be powder'd, still perfumed,
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace,
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free ;-
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art;
They strike my eyes, but not my heart.
UDELY thou wrongèst my deare heart's desire
In finding fault with her too portly pride.
The thing which I doe most in her admire
Is of the world unworthy most envide: For in those loftie lookes is close implide
Scorn of base things, disdain of foul dishonour, Threatening rash eyes that gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her:
Such pride is praise; such portlinesse is honor,
That boldened innocence beares in hir eies;
And her fair count'nance, like a goodlie banner,
Spreds in defiance of all enemies.
Was never in this world aught worthy tride,
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.
HALL I tell you whom I love?
Hearken then awhile to me,
And if such a woman move
As I now shall versify,
Be assured 'tis she, or none,
That I love, and love alone.
Nature did her so much right,
As she scorns the help of art.
In as many virtues dight
As e'er yet embraced a heart.
So much good, so truly tried,
Some for less were deified.
Wit she hath, without desire
To make known how much she hath,
And her anger flames no higher
Than may fitly sweeten wrath,-
Full of pity as may be,
Though, perhaps, not so to me.
Reason masters every sense,
And her virtues grace her birth,
Lovely as all excellence,
Modest in her most of mirth,
Likelihood enough to prove
Only worth could kindle love.
Such she is; and if you know
Such an one as I have sung,
Be she brown, or fair, or- -SO
That she be but somewhile young,
Be assured 'tis she, or none,
That I love, and love alone.
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