Thomas Middleton

was born in London probably about 1570, and died in 1627. He was the author of various plays, and in relation to one of them, A Game at Chess, fell into some disrepute by reason of complaints from the Spanish Ambassador that the King of Spain, Conde de Gondomar, and others were represented in this 'very scandalous comedy.' Middleton's genius seemed likely to fall out of sight, but Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lamb, Leigh Hunt, and within recent years Mr. Swinburne, have directed attention to him, whilst two editions of his works have appeared, the last one under the editorship of Mr. Bullen.

The Welshwoman's Song

AFTER A KISS

CUPID is Venus' only joy,

But he is a wanton boy,

A very, very wanton boy;

He shoots at ladies' naked breasts,

He is the cause of most men's crests,
I mean upon the forehead,

Invisible but horrid ;

'Twas he first thought upon the way
To keep a lady's lip in play.

Why should not Venus chide her son
For the pranks that he hath done,
The wanton pranks that he hath done?

Thomas Middleton

He shoots his fiery darts so thick,
They hurt poor ladies to the quick,
Ah me, with cruel wounding!
His darts are so confounding,

That life and sense would soon decay,
But that he keeps their lives in play.

Can there be any part of bliss

In a quickly fleeting kiss,
A quickly fleeting kiss?

- PARI

UN VERSTLY CALIFORNIA

To one's pleasure leisures are but waste,
The slowest kiss makes too much haste,

And lose it ere we find it:

The pleasing sport they only know

That close above and close below.

What Love is like

LOVE is like a lamb, and love is like a lion;

Fly from love, he fights; fight, then does he fly on :
Love is all on fire, and yet is ever freezing;
Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing:
Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying;
Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;

Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing;
Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing.

John Donne

the son of a London merchant, was born in 1573, and was educated at both Universities. He became secretary to Chancellor Ellesmere, but offended greatly by marrying Lady Ellesmere's niece. He interested himself in the controversy between the English Reformed Church and the Church of Rome, whilst his loyal views brought him into the favour of King James. The King urged him to enter the Church, and, after three years' delay, he consented. At the King's command, Cambridge conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. A year or two later the King invited Donne to dinner, sat down himself, and proceeded to address his guest thus: 'Dr. Donne, I have invited you to dinner; and though you sit not down with me, I will carve you of a dish I know you love well; for knowing you love London, I do, therefore, make you Dean of St. Paul's, and when you have dined, then take your beloved dish home to your study, say grace there to yourself, and much good may it do you.' Donne died in 1631.

The Bait

COME live with me and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove,
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whisp'ring run,
Warm'd by thy eyes more than the sun;
And there th' enamoured fish will stay,

Begging themselves they may betray.

John Donne

When wilt thou swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Most amorously to thee will swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loath,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both;
And if mine eyes have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snares or windowy net;

Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest,
The bedded fish in banks outwrest;
Let curious traitors sleave silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes;

For thee thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait ;)
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

The Lover's Request

SEND back my long-stray'd eyes to me,
Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee :
But if from you they've learnt such ill,
To sweetly smile,

And then beguile,

Keep the deceivers, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
But if it has been taught by thine
To forfeit both

Its word and oath,

Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,

For I'll know all thy falsities;

That I one day may laugh, when thou
Shalt grieve and mourn―

Of one the scorn,

Who proves as false as thou art now.