Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies!

Thomas Carew.

CV.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

HIS MISTRESS EVERYTHING.

WOULD you know what's soft? I dare
Not bring you to the down or air,
Nor to stars to show what's bright,
Nor to snow to teach you white.

Nor, if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor to please your sense bring forth
Bruised nard or what's more worth.

Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nectar, for a taste:
Would you have all these in one,

Name my mistress, and 't is done.

CVI.

Thomas Carew.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

LIPS AND EYES.

IN Celia's face a question did arise,

Which were more beautiful, her lips or eyes:
We, said the eyes, send forth those pointed darts
Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts.
From us, replied the lips, proceed those blisses
Which lovers reap by kind words and sweet kisses.
Then wept the eyes, and from their springs did pour
Of liquid oriental pearl a shower,

Whereat the lips, moved with delight and pleasure, Through a sweet smile unlocked their pearly treasure, And bade Love judge, whether did add more grace, Weeping or smiling pearls in Celia's face.

Thomas Carew.

CVII.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

A FAIR SINGER.

To make a final conquest of all me,
Love did compose so sweet an enemy
In whom both beauties to my death agree,
Joining themselves in fatal harmony,
That, while she with her eyes my heart does bind,
She with her voice might captivate my mind.

I could have fled from one but singly fair;
My disentangled soul itself might save,
Breaking the trammels curlèd of her hair;

But how should I avoid to be her slave,
Whose subtle art invisibly can wreathe
My fetters of the very air I breathe?

It had been easy fighting in some plain,
Where victory might hang in equal choice;

But all resistance against her is in vain,

Who has the advantage both of eyes and voice;

And all my forces needs must be undone,

She having gainèd both the wind and sun.

CVIII.

Andrew Marvell.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

HANDSOME AND KIND.

NOT, Celia, that I juster am

Or better than the rest;

For I would change each hour, like them,
Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee

By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is adored
In thy dear self I find-
For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,
And still make love anew?

When change itself can give no more,

"T is easy to be true.

Sir Charles Sedley.

CIX.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

CHLORIS.

AH, Chloris! could I now but sit

As unconcerned as when
Your infant beauty could beget
No happiness or pain!

When I the dawn used to admire,
And praised the coming day,
I little thought the rising fire
Would take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay
Like metals in a mine;

Age from no face takes more away

Than youth concealed in thine.

But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection prest,
So love as unperceived did fly,
And centered in my breast.

My passion with your beauty grew,
While Cupid at my heart
Still as his mother favoured you

Threw a new flaming dart :

G

Each gloried in their wanton part;

To make a lover, he
Employed the utmost of his art-

To make a beauty, she.

Sir Charles Sedley.

CX.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

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 ribband bound,

Take all the rest the sun goes round.

CXI.

Edmund Waller.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

TO A ROSE.

Go, lovely rose !

Tell her, that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired :
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die! that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee!

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

Edmund Waller.

CXII.

LOVE'S PRAISES.

MARY MORISON.

O MARY at thy window be,

It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see
That makes the miser's treasure poor :

How blythely wad I bide the stoure,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,

The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha',

To thee my fancy took its wing,—

I sat, but neither heard nor saw :
Though this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a' the town,
I sighed and said amang them a',
"Ye are na Mary Morison."

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace

Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee?