THE QUEEN. I. To heroism and holiness How hard it is for man to soar, But how much harder to be less Than what his mistress loves him for! He does with ease what do he must, Or lose her, and there's nought debarred From him who's called to meet her trust, And credit her desired regard. Ah, wasteful woman! she that may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing he cannot choose but pay; How has she cheapened paradise, How given for nought her priceless gift, How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine, Which, spent with due, respective thrift, Had made brutes men, and men divine. II. O queen! awake to thy renown, Require what 'tis our wealth to give, And comprehend and wear the crown Must yet in this thy praise abate, That through thine erring humble ness And disregard of thy degree, Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellowship with thee. High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, The coward had grasped the hero's sword, The vilest had been great, hadst thou, Just to thyself, been worth's reward: But lofty honors undersold Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favor that makes folly bold Puts out the light in virtue's face. COVENTRY PATMORE. I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE. My dear and only love, I pray Which virtuous souls abhor, And hold a synod in thy heart, I'll never love thee more. Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone: He either fears his fate too much, But, if no faithless action stain As ne'er was known before; I'll deck and crown thy head with bays, And love thee more and more. MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. TO LUCASTA. TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; Yet this inconstancy is such RICHARD LOVELACE. APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE. THEY that never had the use Neither do, nor care to, know, Whether it be best or no. So they that are to love inclined, Sway'd by chance, nor choice or art, To the first that's fair or kind, To man, that was in th' evening made, Stars gave the first delight; Then, at Aurora, whose fair hand But when the bright sun did appear, He neither might nor wished to know A more refulgent light; For that (as mine your beauties now), Employed his utmost sight. EDMUND WALLER. THE LADY'S YES. "YES!" I answered you last night: "No!" this morning, sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day. When the tabors played their best, Call me false; or call me free; Yet the sin is on us both: Time to dance is not to woo; Wooer light makes fickle troth, Scorn of me recoils on you. Learn to win a lady's faith Lead her from the festive boards; By your truth she shall be true, OUTGROWN. NAY, you wrong her my friend, she's not fickle; her love she has simply outgrown: One can read the whole matter, translating her heart by the light of one's own. Can you bear me to talk with you frankly? There is much that my heart would say; And you know we were children together, have quarrelled and "made up "in play. And so, for the sake of old friendship, I venture to tell you the truth, As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth. Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you stood on the selfsame plane, Face to face, heart to heart, never dreaming your souls could be parted again. She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom of her life's early May; And it is not her fault, I repeat it, that she does not love you to-day. Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up or go down; She cannot look down to her lover: her love like her soul, aspires; He must stand by her side, or above her, who would kindle its holy fires. Now farewell! For the sake of old friendship I have ventured to tell you the truth, As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I might in our earlier youth. JULIA C. R. DORR. THE PORTRAIT. GIVE place, ye ladies, and begone, The virtue of her lively looks I wish to have none other books In each of her two crystal eyes It would you all in heart suffice I think Nature hath lost the mould In life she is Diana chaste, In word and eke in deed steadfast: If all the world were sought so far, Her rosial color comes and goes At Bacchus' feast none shall her No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome But serves for her familiar wear; The far-fetch'd diamond finds its home Flashing and smouldering in her hair; For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli; The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves, All doff for her their ornaments, Which suit her better than themselves; And all, by this their power to give Proving her right to take, proclaim Her beauty's clear prerogative Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own, What are you when the rose is blown? Ye curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your voices understood By your weak accents, what's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise? So when my mistress shall be seen, In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a queen, Tell me if she was not design'd Th' eclipse and glory of her kind. SIR HENRY WOTTON. THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. THOU hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, By that pretty white hand o' thine, And by a' the lowing stars in heaven, That thou wad aye be mine! Jeanie, And by that kind heart o' thine, By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, That thou shalt aye be mine! Then foul fa' the hands that wad loose sic bands, And the heart that wad part sic luve! But there's nae hand can loose my band, But the finger o' Him above. Though the wee wee cot maun be my bield, And my clothing ne'er sa mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. Her white arm wad be a pillow for me Fu' safter than the down; And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind kind wings, Some angel she had been. Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire, Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween, Do like a golden mantle her attire; And being crownèd with a garland green, Seem like some maiden queen. But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, So far from being proud. Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing, That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see So fair a creature in your town before? So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store? Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright, Her forehead ivory white, Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded, Her lips like cherries charming men to bite, Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, Her paps like lilies budded, |