FROM “CYNTHIA'S REVELS."
O that joy so soon should waste !
Or so sweet a bliss
As a kiss
Might not forever last !
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious;
The dew that lies on roses,
When the morn herself discloses,
Is not so precious.
0, rather than I would it smother,
Were I to taste such another,
It should be my wishing
That I might die, kissing.
“ CYNTHIA'S REVELS."
Thou more than most sweet glove
Unto my more sweet love,
Suffer me to store with kisses
This empty lodging, that now misses
The pure rosy hand that ware thee,
Whiter than the kid that bare thee.
Thou art soft, but that was softer ;
Cupid's self hath kissed it ofter
Than e'er he did his mother's doves,
Supposing her the Queen of loves,
That was thy mistress, best of gloves.
HYMN TO CYNTHIA.
FROM “CYNTHIA'S REVELS."
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver car,
State in wonted manner keep.
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose ;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close.
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever;
Thou that maks't a day of night,
Goddess, excellently bright.
A LOVER'S INVENTORY.
POETASTER."
If I freely may discover
What would please me in my
lover :
I would have her fair and witty,
Savoring more of court than city ;
A little proud, but full of pity;
Light and humorous in her toying,
Oft building hopes, and soon destroying;
Long, but sweet in the enjoying.
Neither too easy nor too hard, -
All extremes I would have barred.
She should be allowed her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
Sometimes froward and then frowning,
Sometimes sickish and then swowning,
Every fit, with change still crowning.
Purely jealous I would have her,
Then only constant when I crave her ;
'Tis a virtue should not save her. Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, Neither her peevishness annoy me.
FROM VOLPONE ; OR THE FOX."
Fools, they are the only nation
Worth men's envy or admiration ;
Free from care or sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry making;
All they speak or do is sterling
Your fool he is your great man's dearling,
And your ladies' sport and pleasure ;
Tongue and bauble are his treasure.
E'en his face begetteth laughter,
And he speaks truth free from slaughter:
He's the
grace
of
every feast,
And sometimes the chiefest guest;
Hath his trencher and his stool
When wit waits upon the fool.
0, who would not be
He, he, he ?
A MISTRESS' PERFECTIONS.
THE DEVIL IS AN ASS." 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 touched it? Have
you
marked but the fall of the snow Before the soil hath smutched it ?
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