Ask me no more-where those Stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.
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!
No more shall meads be deck'd with flowers,
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers,
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing,
Nor April Violets paint the grove ;
If I forsake my Celia's love!
The fish shall in the ocean burn;
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;
The humble oak no flood shall know,
When floods shall highest hills o'crflow;
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave;
If e'er my Celia I deceive!
Love shall his bow and shafts lay by,
And Venus' Doves want wings to fly;
The sun refuse to shew his light;
And day shall then be turn'd to night,
And in that night no star appear;
If once I leave my Celia dear.
Love shall no more inhabit earth,
Nor lovers more shall love for worth;
Nor joy above in heaven dwell,
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell;
Grim death no more shall horrid prove,
If e'er I leave bright Celia's love.
He that loves a rosic cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like cyes doth seck
Fucl to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes.
No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have search'd thy soul within,
And find nought but pride and scorn,
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.
Some Pow'r in my revenge, convey
That love to her 1 cast away.
JOHN FLETCHER, born 1576, died 1625.
FRANCIS BEAUMONT, born 1585, died 1615.
Now the lusty spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view.
Every where, on every green.
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull;
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not pluck'd, we die."
Yet, the lusty spring hath staid;
Blushing red, and purest white,
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid.
Cherries kissing as they grow,
And inviting men to taste;
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waist:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not pluck'd, we dic."
Can you love for love, and make that the reward?
The old man shall not love his heaps of gold
With a more doting superstition,
Than I'll love you; the young man, his delights;
The merchant, when he ploughs the angry sea up,
And sees the mountain-billows falling on him,
As if all elements, and all their angers,
Were turn'd into one vow'd destruction,
Shall not with greater joy embrace his safety.
We'll live together like two wanton vines,
Circling our souls and loves in one another;
We'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit;
One joy shall make us smile, and one grief mourn,
One age go with us, and one hour of death
Shall close our eyes, and one grave make us happy.
My Phabe shadow'd in a sable cloud!
Those pearly drops which thou lett'st fall like beads, Numbering on them thy vestal orisons,
Alas! are spent in vain; I love thee still.
In midst of all these showers thou sweetlier scent'st,
Like a green meadow on an April day,
In which the sun and west wind play together,
Striving to catch and drink its pearly drops.
Born about 1580, died 1630.
LOVE IN THE COUNTRY.
Dear, leave thy home and come with me,
That scorn the world for love of thee;
Here we will live, within this park,
A court of joy and pleasure's ark.
Here we will hunt, here we will range;
Constant in love, our sports we'll change;
Of hearts, if any change we make,
I will have thine, thou mine shalt take..
Here we will walk upon the lawns,
And see the tripping of the fawns:
And all the deer shall wait on thee,-
Thou shalt command both them and me.
The leaves a whisp'ring noise shall make,
Their musick-notes the birds shall wake;
And while thou art in quiet sleep,
Through the green wood shall silence keep.
And while my herds about thee feed,
Love's lessons in thy face I'll read,
And feed upon thy lovely look,
For beauty hath no fairer book.
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