SONG.

TO CELIA.

COME, my CELIA, let us prove,
While we may, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours for ever:
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys!
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies;
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal,
But the sweet theft to reveal:
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.

Kiss me, sweet; the wary lover
Can you favours keep, and cover,
When the common courting jay
All your bounties will betray.
Kiss again no creature comes.
Kiss, and score up wealthy sums
On my lips thus hardly sundred,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the other
Add a thousand, and so more :
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,

Or the drops in silver Thames,
Or the stars that gild his streams,
In the silent Summer-nights,
When youths ply their stolen delights;
That the curious may not know
How to tell 'em as they flow,
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.

THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS.

FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you,
Seem to fly it, it will pursue:
So court a mistress, she denies you;
Let her alone, she will court you.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even shades are longest;

At noon they are or short, or none:
So men at weakest, they are strongest,

But grant us perfect, they're not known.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men?

FOR CHARIS.

HER TRIUMPH.

SEE the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my Lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;

...22...

And enamour'd, do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would

[ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair, it is bright

As Love's star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her:
And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the bever?
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar?
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

BEGGING ANOTHER KISS, ON COLOUR OF MENDING THE FORMER.

FOR Love's sake, kiss me once again,
I long, and should not beg in vain,
Here's none to spy, or see;

Why do you doubt or stay?
I'll taste as lightly as the bee,

That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone,
Can he that loves ask less than one?
Nay, you may err in this,

And all your bounty wrong:
This could be call'd but half a kiss ;
What we're but once to do, we should do long.

I will but mend the last, and tell
Where, how, it would have relish'd well;
Join lip to lip, and try:

Each suck the other's breath,

And whilst our tongues perplexed lie, Let who will think us dead, or wish our death.

A SONG.

On do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.

Oh be not angry with those fires,

For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,

For then my hopes will spill me.

Oh do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow stay me;
Nor spread them as distract with fears;
Mine own enough botray me.

INVITING A FRIEND TO SUPPER.

TO-NIGHT, grave sir, both my poor house and I
Do equally desire your company:

Not that we think us worthy such a guest,
But that your worth will dignify our feast,
With those that come; whose grace may make that

seem

Something, which else would hope for no esteem.
It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates

The entertainment perfect, not the cates.
Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better sallad
Ushering the mutton: with a short-legg'd hen,
If we can get her full of eggs, and then,
Limons, and wine for sauce: to these, a coney
Is not to be despair'd of for our money;
And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks,
The sky not falling, think we may have larks.
I'll tell you of more, and lie, so you will come :
Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some
May yet be there; and godwit if we can ;
Knat, rail, and ruff too. Howsoe'er, my man
Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,

Livy, or of some better book to us,

Of which we'll speak our minds, amidst our meat;
And I'll profess no verses to repeat:
To this if aught appear, which I not know of,
That will the pastry, not my paper, show of,
Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be;
But that which most doth take my muse and me,
Is a pure cup of rich Canary wine,

Which is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine :
Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted,
Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted.