I do confess thee sweet, but find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind

That kisseth every thing it meets :
And since thou canst with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.

The morning rose that untouched stands,

Armed with her briers, doth sweetly smell, But plucked and strained through ruder hands Her sweets no longer with her dwell, Her scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide,

When thou hast handled been awhileLike sere flowers to be thrown aside;

And I shall sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love to every one

Hath caused thee to be loved by none.

3

John Donne.

[BORN 1573. DIED 1631.]

THE MESSAGE.

END home my long-strayed eyes to me, Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee, But if they there have learned such ill, Such forced fashions

And false passions,

That they be

Made by thee

Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain; But if it be taught by thine

To make jestings

Of protestings,

And break both

Word and oath,

Keep it still, 'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back heart and eyes,

my

That I may know and see thy lies,

And may joy and laugh when thou
Art in anguish

And dost languish

For some one

That will none,

Or

prove

false as thou dost now.

THE PROHIBITION.

AKE heed of loving me

At least remember I forbade it thee;

Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste

Of breath and blood upon thy sighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou wast; But so great joy our life at once outwears; Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be, If thou love me, take heed of loving me.

Take heed of hating me,

Or too much triumph in the victory;
Not that I shall be mine own officer,

And hate with hate again retaliate;

But thou wilt lose the style of Conqueror,

If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate; Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee, If thou hate me, take heed of hating me.

Yet love and hate me too,

So these extremes shall ne'er their office do;
Love me, that I may die the gentler way;

Hate me, because thy love's too great for me
Or let these two themselves, not me, decay;
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be:
Then lest thy love thou hate, and me undo,
O let me live, yet love and hate me too.

Ben Jonson.

[BORN 1574 DIED 1637.]

"DRINK TO ME ONLY."

RINK 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 my soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sip,
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 would not withered be,
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent it back to me;

Since then, it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.