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SONG TO CELIA.

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 a 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.

WILLIAM BROWNE,

SONG TO CELIA.

Drink 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.

69

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

BEN JONSON,

LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.

Love me little, love me long,

Is the burden of my song.
Love that is too hot and strong

Burneth soon to waste.

Still I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward or too bold;
Love that lasteth till 'tis old
Fadeth not in haste.

If thou lovest me too much,
"Twill not prove as true as touch;

LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG. 71

Love me little, more than such,

For I fear the end.

I'm with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be a steadfast friend.

Say thou lov'st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures;
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth
As now in my May of youth,
This my love assures.

Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life perséver;
Give me that, with true endeavor
I will it restore;

A suit of durance let it be

For all weathers; that for me,

For the land or for the sea,
Lasting evermore.

Winter's cold or summer's heat,
Autumn's tempests on it beat,
It can never know defeat,

Never can rebel;

Such the love that I would gain;
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Thou must give, or woo in vain—
So to thee farewell!

ANONYMOUS.

ROBIN ADAIR.

What's this dull town to me?
Robin's not near,—

He whom I wished to see,

Wished for to hear!

Where's all the joy and mirth
Made life a heaven on earth?
Oh, they're all fled with thee
Robin Adair.

Who made the assembly shine?
Robin Adair.

What made the ball so fine?

Robin was there!

What, when the play was o'er,
What made my heart so sore?
Oh, it was parting with

Robin Adair!

But now thou'rt far from me,
Robin Adair;

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